Vaguely, as if from a great distance, Chrissie felt Ian’s hands on her shoulders. In the back of her mind, she appreciated the support, because her grandfather’s note pressed down on her with the weight of a mountain range.
She breathed in a long inhale. Air. She needed air. Space. Air and space. Distance. Everything she’d had before she’d come back to Yatesville.
There had to be thirty of those damn journals stacked on her bed. She knew exactly what was in them; incomprehensible notes and ramblings and theories and doodles.
“What is it?” Ian’s voice rumbled from above her head. His body was warm and solid at her back. Surprisingly so. She felt hard muscle and not a bit of fat. He probably kept himself in great shape for his marathon surgeries. That was what he saved his hands for, and
