Sweet Hearts (The Lindstroms Book 3)

in front of him that had a staircase along the right side, presumably leading to her apartment. “Sure.”
She preceded him up the stairs and when her sweatshirt rode up a little, he got another peek at her perfect, adorable backside in tight yoga pants, briefly wondering again if Wade Doyle was the stupidest man who’d ever lived.
***
Katrin winced at the cardboard and silver duct tape that Kristian had used to cover the gaping hole in the door. It brought back such strong memories of Friday night, Katrin’s stomach flipped over and she paused at the door, placing her hand over her belly and trying to take a deep breath as the keys rattled in her trembling fingers.
She didn’t expect to feel Erik’s warm hand on her shoulder, but it comforted and grounded her for a second before her stomach flipped over again for an entirely different reason.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching around her for the hand that held her keys and gently pulling them away.
His chest felt solid as it brushed against her back and for an instant she forgot about Friday night and Wade and Skidoo Bay and closed her eyes, inhaling the clean-laundry smell of Erik Lindstrom.
“Uh-huh,” she murmured.
His voice was low behind her. “You haven’t been back here since Friday?”
“No.”
“It can be pretty traumatic to return to the scene of—”
“Wade didn’t actually attack me,” she blurted out. She didn’t want Erik to think of her only as a victim.
“Just because he didn’t touch you, doesn’t mean he didn’t attack you. You must have been terrified.”
Katrin swallowed painfully, remembering the banging of Wade’s fists, the glass breaking, the metal of the knife in her hands glinting as it shook in her trembling fingers.
“He’d never done anything like that before.”
“He’s escalating.”
Erik’s fingers flexed on her shoulder once, then twice, and Katrin’s face flushed with heat, grateful for the distraction from her frightening memories. He leaned forward to fit the key into the lock and pushed the door open, leaning away from her so she could enter first.
She took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Either Ingrid or Kristian had cleaned up the glass, and aside from the depressing cardboard and tape over the window, you’d hardly know something dreadful had happened here. The living room to her left was just as she had left it—puffy floral couch and apothecary coffee table invitingly situated across from her flat-screen TV. Bookshelves lining the far left wall.
She peeked to her right and her kitchen was similarly tidy, two chairs pushed into a small table that stood next to the windows and was covered with a cheerful pink and yellow plaid tablecloth. Her eyes flicked to the knife block beside the microwave and a chill passed through her to see all six knives neatly sheathed.
“Hey,” said Erik. “Want me to wait for you in the car? Give you a minute?”
She turned to face him and found him hovering in the doorway, his massive body taking up every inch of space. Lord, he was big.
“Actually…please stay,” she said softly, clasping her trembling hands together in an effort to hide the panic she felt at being alone. “I—I’d prefer it.”
Erik’s face hardened, but he nodded, stepping into the room and pulling the door shut behind him.
She turned and faced him. “What you said, about Wade escalating. He’s been getting worse for a while now.”
“Must have made him mad when you broke up with him.”
“Yes,” she said, crossing to the kitchen and taking two glasses out of the cupboard over the sink. She filled them with water then turned and handed one to him.
When Wade hadn’t showed up at their wedding back in December, Katrin, in a moment of long-overdue clarity, had realized it was her last chance to escape Wade. The following day, she’d broken up with him, once and for all.
He had come to her apartment to apologize, pores reeking, eyes red and raw, burst blood vessels angry on his cheeks as he thrust a crushed bouquet of white roses at her in a pathetic offering.
“It’ll never happen again, Kitty-Kat,” he had promised, beads of sweat on his forehead, despite the sub-zero January weather. He shrugged. “It was an early Christmas party.”
“It was our wedding day.”
“I know. I-I’m sorry. I got caught up in a celebration. But my mom called the church. We can reschedule for next month. I’ll prove it to you. I’m going to change.”
The same words he always used. She had stared at him for a moment, feeling something shift inside of her, to a place that couldn’t be reclaimed, couldn’t be cajoled, or charmed, or bargained with, or bought.
“No.” She’d been proud the word had come out of her mouth with surprising ease, her tone firm and inflexible.
In an instant, his face had turned angry, but he quickly composed himself, forcing a smile. “You have a right to be pissed, but it’s not like this is over, Kat. You’re still my fiancée. We’ve been together for five years. It’s not just over.”
She had looked down at the tiny diamond engagement ring on the fourth finger of her left hand like it was a vestige of something lost, something long gone. She quickly took it off and plopped it into the bouquet of flowers. “Yes, Wade, that’s exactly what it is: over.”
Katrin took a sip of her water and looked up to catch Erik Lindstrom’s blue eyes fixed on her. He was waiting for her to say something and she felt like she owed him a little bit of an explanation since he was now a part of her getaway too.
“Wade was always a drinker, even in high school.” She smiled lightly, remembering the handsome boy who’d been the life of every party. “He was fun—everybody thought so. It changed when we went to college.