‘No,’ I said, voice weak, as my eyes darted around. The drapes were pulled shut so I couldn’t see out – and worse, no one could see in. ‘No, no, no.’

He frowned. ‘So you don’t want to talk, I see.’

I struggled to catch my breath. ‘What do you want?’

‘What do I want?’ He laughed. ‘You’re the one who was always going on about relationships needing an open line of communication. I’d hardly call this open, babe.’

I stared at him, and I could see it, beneath his pseudo-calm demeanor: his anger, simmering, just about ready to boil. He was trying to hold it in, trying to keep it from exploding, but I worried that this time, he couldn’t.

‘We haven’t had a relationship in a long time,’ I said.

He pressed his lips together. ‘Hard to, when you disappear without so much as saying goodbye,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘When you abandon me, leave me like that – without even checking to see if I was okay or not.’

He glared at me, still trying to hold it together, and my eyes flitted, instinctively, to the door.

I shouldn’t have done it. As if making a decision, pulling the long-sought-after trigger, Davis rushed.

I stepped aside, but in seconds, he had blocked the front door and grabbed my bag from the ground.

Dusty whimpered, tail down and terrified, and I knew it clear as day, knew what I had to do, what I’d been training myself to do for so long.

I ran.

For the sofa, my knee smashing into the hard edge of the coffee table, Dusty quivering as I grabbed him and held his warm body tight.

Then to the kitchen, toward the back door, but Davis was too fast. He blocked the exit, trapping me in the hallway, and in the dim light of the bedroom, I saw it – my dad’s hammer on the nightstand.

I bolted through the doorway, my breath already coming in gasps. Dusty leapt from my grasp, scurrying beneath the bed, and my vision blurred as I flipped around, tried to shut the door.

Davis’s arm stopped me. He shoved the door open, and I backed away, reaching for the hammer, only he was too fast. In seconds, he’d pushed me onto the bed, taken it himself.

Beneath us, Dusty howled.

‘What do you want?’ I asked, my chest tight and painful, my stomach like a rock, my eyes darting around the room, searching for exits I knew weren’t there. ‘Whatever you want, I’ll do it if you’ll just leave me alone.’

He ignored me. My bag still in his other hand, he backed away, tipping it over – everything clattering against the hardwood floor – my wallet, loose change, a couple of Dusty’s treats. My phone. In another world, the mess, the chaos, would have driven him nuts. But not in this one.