by Shade, S. M.
“Thank you!”
Reeve runs his gaze over me, and I swear I can feel it on my skin.
“Oh, before I let you go, good call on not hooking up with Dax.”
“That was never an option,” I clarify, my eyes locked on Reeve’s. “But what did he do?” He seemed like a sweet guy, but I’ve learned that doesn’t always mean much.
“He ghosted Paul. We haven’t heard from him since we got back from your place. Paul has gone by his house and he’s never there. He won’t answer his phone. I guess they had a disagreement about an upcoming gig, but he didn’t expect him to just disappear, you know?”
Fear trickles into me, and Reeve’s gaze has never felt so scrutinizing. He can’t hear what she’s saying, but my expression never hides much. “Did he…Do you think he’s okay? Are you worried something may have happened to him?”
“Nah, Paul said he’s probably just mad and doesn’t want to talk to him. They have a rehearsal tonight, and he’s betting he’ll show for that when he’s done sulking.”
Unless my psycho stalker stabbed him.
My knees have turned to water, and the smell of burnt bacon begins to fill the air. “Darcy? You there?” Thea asks.
“Yeah, sorry. I burnt my bacon. I’m going to have to call you back.”
“No problem. Get your food. I’ll talk to you later.”
No, I’m overreacting. Just because Reeve acted jealous when Dax was here doesn’t mean he’d do something that terrible. So, it’s just a coincidence that he showed up that night covered in blood with wounds on his hands?
Oh god. I don’t know what to think.
The bacon smokes enough to set off the detector. At least it gives me a few moments to focus on something and get my thoughts straight. Reeve staring me down from the doorway has my heart in my throat while I fling open the back door to vent some smoke, and fan the detector until it stops squealing. Silence hangs thick and heavy.
“Darcy.”
Ignoring him, I toss the burnt food into the garbage. I’m not hungry anymore.
“Darcy, look at me.”
Not a bit of me wants to comply. It’s not fear of him, but fear that he’ll say he did it. All of this will come to an end. Dax was an innocent guy who did nothing wrong. If he hurt him… It takes all my strength to look him in the eye.
“Ask.”
“What?”
He approaches one slow step at a time. “Ask the question that’s writhing on your tongue.”
Fine. “Did you hurt Dax? The guy who visited with my friends?”
His gaze never leaves mine. “No.”
“He’s missing. You showed up bloody. You stabbed someone. I know you did.”
My back hits the counter when I retreat a step as he comes toward me. A frown appears on his face, and he stops. “I never touched him.”
I’ve never wanted to believe something so badly in my life, but my logical mind isn’t having it. It’s too big of a coincidence. “Who did you touch?” Maybe if I know that, I won’t have such doubt.
“Someone who deserved it.” Not only is there no denial, but no remorse lives in his voice. He stares at me. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
He steps up so close, I can feel his body heat. “I don’t punish people who don’t deserve it. I wouldn’t hurt your friend.” His fingers brush my face as he pushes a lock of hair away from my eye. “I can’t promise the same for anyone who hurts you. You should know that now. I’ll always protect you.”
He plants a searing kiss on my lips, then walks away. Maybe I should call out to him, tell him I believe him, ask him to come back, but I don’t. I let him walk away and the fear I feel is in equal parts. What if he never comes back? What if he does?
He wouldn’t hurt me, I’m confident of that, but if he has something to do with Dax, then no one else is safe. His promise that he only punishes people who deserve it isn’t reassuring. What qualifies as deserving it in his mind?
My head aches. A haze of smoke still hangs in the kitchen over the half made breakfast. The day went bad so fast. All I want to do is crawl back into bed, but the couch will do. The heaviness that settles over me is familiar, but feels more devastating after the break I’ve had from it. Because of him. Because of the joy he gave me, the life he reminded me could exist, but having that at the detriment or danger of people around me isn’t an option. My next thought is a disturbing one. What if there were no people around me?
Isn’t that what I aimed for when I came to live here anyway? Solitude, an escape from a world that only seems determined to get worse? God, just the idea that I’m willing to cut off the only friend I have, the only person who cares about me to keep a relationship with someone who may murder innocent people. I’m not that far gone, am I?
No. I’m not.
The churning thoughts in my head need to stop, or I’m going to drive myself crazy. The TV can be a good distraction. I turn on the news since I’m not in the headspace to follow any sort of narrative right now. Another mistake.
While I lie on the couch, the news anchor drones on about a mass shooting, a town being poisoned by the drinking water, the bombing of a school in the Middle East, a new law that will drop thousands of children from school lunch programs. They’ve saved what they consider the good news puff piece until the end. It’s about a classroom of kids who raised enough money for their classmate to get the wheelchair he needs.
All I can think of is Reeve’s statement that we’re all animals underneath. Society is just a veneer we’ve painted over our brutality. Wipe it away and we’re savages. Even animals take care of their own. It seems an insulting comparison to them.
Why care for morality in a world where right and wrong don’t matter? Could I let it go?
The sight of Senator Miller’s face popping on the screen makes me pay attention. He’s won re-election again. That’s not a surprise, but the next shot of him is taken at the local veteran’s home here in town. It makes my stomach clench to know he’s so close, even after all these years. He’s doing a statewide tour of veteran facilities in an attempt to show how much he cares. How do they fall for it? How do people not see through that oily, fake smile?
Many times over the years, I’ve considered reporting what he tried to do to me, but watching what the others in power get away with, I knew it wouldn’t matter. The bottom line is that they can do what they want. I’d just be seen as the crazy woman looking for attention or lying to boost book sales.
Most of my day is spent on the couch, wallowing in negative thoughts until I get a text from Thea.
Thea: Hey, do you think it’s trashy not to wear a white wedding dress? Because I found a blue one that’s beautiful.
Me: I think it’s your wedding and you should wear what you love.
Thea sends me a picture of her in the dress, standing in front of a dressing room mirror. It’s perfect for her.
Me: You look gorgeous in that! It’s perfect.
Thea: Yes! Fuck tradition. I’m getting it! Have to run to meet Paul and Dax. Call you later.
Wait.
Me: Dax? You said he was missing?
Thea: Yeah, dumbass was visiting his parents out of state and lost his phone. Showed back up a couple of hours ago.
Relief and guilt visit in equal measures. Reeve was telling the truth.
It’s times like these I hate that I can’t call him or go to his place to apologize. It’s when it stands out how strange this relationship really is. How have I developed such intense feelings for someone I know next to nothing about? Someone I’m also unsure of enough to instantly suspect may have hurt or killed an innocent person.
I’m tired of overthinking everything when it comes to him. He hides so much of who he is, but don’t I do the same? It’s how I’ve lived my entire adult life. There’s a lot I may never know about him, but I know this. He’s been there every time I’ve needed him. He’s never gotten angry at me, even when I accused him
of something terrible he didn’t do. It’s better treatment than what I’ve had from any man in the past.
Weighed down with regret, I go to bed, and lie awake in the dark. Every tiny sound fills me with hope that slowly fades when Reeve doesn’t step into my room. What if he doesn’t come back? Tears leak down my face at the thought that those deep green eyes may never look into mine again. That I won’t feel his arms around me when things get hard. How would I get through the nights without knowing he’s out there, watching me? What do I have without him?
“I’m sorry,” I sob into the empty room. “I should’ve believed you. Please come back.” All the things he’s told me play in my head, a constant torture.
You’ve always been mine.
You need me, I’m here.
I’ll always bleed for you.
Wherever you are, I am.
I can’t believe I suspected him of hurting Dax. He’s secretive and strange, but he’s not a monster. I’ve met enough monsters to know the difference.
Chapter Fourteen
Disappointment greets me first thing the next day. Reeve didn’t come back overnight, and I can hardly blame him. It’s my own fault for jumping to a conclusion. For thinking the worst of him. The last thing he said to me was “I’ll always protect you.” They don’t sound like the words of someone who’s done with me, and I try to hold onto that.
It’s tempting to sulk in bed all day, but I’ve come too far to let myself get dragged back down that depression hole again. It’s a bright, sunny day. A good day to be outside. Maybe I’ll just lounge on the patio.
The unopened box containing my new laptop catches my eye from the desk in the corner of the living room. That’s what I should do. It’s ridiculous that it’s gathering dust because I’m afraid of how I’ll feel.
I’m not writing, I remind myself, retrieving the box and unpacking the contents. The battery is already half full. It gets set aside while I make a cup of coffee and some toast, then I take everything out to the back patio. Distracting myself has become an art form for me, and I’m practicing it hard today, desperate not to worry about whether Reeve will return.
It doesn’t take long for me to get the computer set up and the programs I usually use installed. My email pops up with messages instantly. As tempting as it is to ignore, I click on the one sent last night from my agent. She has the paperwork and contracts for me to sign regarding the rights to the Midnight Terror film, and asks to meet while she’s going to be close to my town.
After thinking about it for a moment, I respond, and we make arrangements to meet at a coffee shop in town tomorrow afternoon. As soon as I turn the computer off and set it on the small table beside me, I feel him.
My back straightens, and I scan my surroundings, waiting to see him walking toward me with that intense look he always has. Only the trees stare back, rustled by the faint breeze. My ears strain to listen for his voice, his laugh, but all that’s audible is the buzz of cicadas and the birds competing with their songs.
It doesn’t matter. I know he’s near. He’s watching, and it fills me with relief. “Reeve,” I call, standing up. “I know you’re there. Come out.” An apology waits on my tongue. He deserves it, but I want to give it to him face to face, not while he’s lurking.
Nothing. Not a sound or a glimpse of him. The man’s stubborn as hell. An idea occurs to me. A way to lure him out and back to me, but do I dare? It’s the middle of the afternoon.
Screw it, I’m surrounded by woods and I can’t remember the last time a stranger came around to the back of my property. Facing the forest where I can feel his gaze, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it onto the lounger. My shorts go next. Pausing, I peruse my surroundings again. Excitement fights with uncertainty when my panties are added to the pile of discarded clothes. My skin heats and not just because of the sun. He’s watching. The awareness of his gaze on me has never been so strong as I raise my arms above my head in a stretch, then leisurely lie down on the lounger.
He loves to surprise me by showing up unexpectedly, so I close my eyes and soak in the sensations of being nude in the afternoon sunlight; warmth covering me like a blanket, the breeze rubbing its back across my nipples and playing with my hair. Every second is full of anticipation. Is he approaching? Will his hands find my body any moment?
Lying on my back, I bend my knees, and move them slightly apart. Just enough to give him a peek. In my head is a picture of him, watching from the woods while my hands run up to caress my breasts. My fingers travel over my stomach then down to stroke my thigh so slowly. A sound to my right brings a smile to my face. I knew he couldn’t resist.
Instant mortification makes me want to hide under the lawn when I open my eyes. It’s not Reeve. A man in a company uniform stands maybe fifty feet away, on the edge of the yard, typing into a little device. He’s doing his best to pretend he doesn’t see me, but there’s no way that’s possible.
I’m frozen in place with embarrassment and alarm. He doesn’t come any closer, just types in the numbers and walks away. A meter reader. Someone from the electric company comes out to read the meter three times a year and it just happens to be today.
He’s gone, but the mood is broken. It’s the fastest I’ve ever gotten dressed. It’s safe to say exhibitionism isn’t my thing. Whether it’s just my frazzled mood, or he’s actually left, it doesn’t feel like Reeve is watching anymore, and I scoop up my stuff to retreat inside.
The time limps by, maybe because I’m not getting anything accomplished except waiting for Reeve to show up. He had to have seen what happened, which is even more embarrassing. What was I thinking?
The day crawls into night with no sign of him. Everything I do feels like going through the motions. My appetite is nonexistent, and I only nibble at dinner before tossing the rest and heading to my room. All I want is to get this day over with. Surely, Reeve will show up tonight. Before bed, I pick out a decent looking outfit to wear to meet my agent tomorrow, then shower, and call it a night far earlier than usual.
Despite my broken sleep the night before, tonight isn’t any better. Tossing and turning finally exhausts me enough to enter a thin sleep which doesn’t leave me feeling the least bit rested when I wake the next morning.
Bloodshot eyes look back at me from the mirror. As tempting as it is to cancel my lunch meeting with my agent today, it’ll at least be a distraction from the growing anxiety that I won’t see Reeve again.
A small amount of makeup coupled with the nice skirt and blouse I’ve chosen can’t cover up the mess I am right now. That’s clear as soon as I approach my agent, Amelia, at the small coffee shop downtown. Her expression is full of concern when she greets me.
“Darcy, hi, it’s good to see you again. How are you doing?”
“I’m good. How have you been?”
A frown creases her face at my perfunctory answer, showing wrinkles that weren’t present before. Now approaching her sixties, her age has started to show more since I saw her last, around two years ago. Most of our communication stays over email or phone.
“I’m fine. Just fine.”
Before she can start in about whether I’m writing or what I’m writing, I put the subject where I want it. “Do you have the contracts I need to sign?”
“I do.” She pats a manila file folder sitting beside her cup. Her small purse sits atop it, keeping the papers from blowing away in the wind since she’s chosen a table on the patio. “I’ve looked them over, as has the lawyer, and everything looks good. The stipulations you insisted on are included. You’ll be afforded the opportunity to read the screenplay once it’s completed.” She grins at me. “They’re really moving along on this. Already holding auditions. It’s very exciting.”
“It is.” Does my smile look as forced as it feels? This movie is far down my list of priorities. “Nash Fullman needs to be allowed to read the screenplay as well and give his opinion on it.” It may not make a difference—in the end they’ll do as they please—but I�
�m not going to leave him out.
“That was something I wanted to talk to you about.” Amelia pauses to sip her drink. “Are you certain that you want to hand all the royalties over to him?”
“Yes.”
When it’s clear I’m not going to continue, she does. “And you want that to include your portion of the merchandising profits? Do you realize how lucrative this could turn out to be if the movie does well?”
“I hope so. Nash needs it.”
Amelia hesitates then leans on the table. “This is your work, Darcy. He signed off long ago for you to have the rights to tell his story. You don’t have to do this, you know.”
She doesn’t understand. To everyone else, it’s all about the money. “It’s my work, but it’s his story. Not to mention I have no shortage of funds. My decision on this is final. You get your cut, he gets the royalties and my percentage of the merchandising, along with whatever else comes with it. I’m not doing this for a profit.”
She thinks I’m crazy, I can hear it in her sigh as she sits back. “Okay, it’s quite a sum so you understand why I wanted to double check with you.”
“Absolutely, and I appreciate it.”
Amelia opens the file, but whatever she says escapes me because a familiar face walks right past us. Pausing for a moment, Reeve stares at me, then steps out of sight around the corner of the building.
“Darcy?” Amelia says.
Reeve just walked by me. That’s all I can care about. “Sorry, excuse me for a minute,” I exclaim. I’m on my feet and stepping over the scrolled metal fence that separates the patio from the sidewalk before she can respond.
When I look around the corner of the building, he’s at the next intersection, walking away. I’m not going to let him go. Turnabout is fair play, and this time, I’m the stalker. I follow him for three blocks until he gets lost in a crowd of people. By this time I’m running, bumping into shoulders and excusing myself, but not slowing down.
