by Brynne Asher
“Good.” He breathes, probably worried he’d have to lock me up and throw away the key. “Then you’ll lay low for the time being? Keep yourself safe until this plays out?”
I shift underneath him as best as I can with his heavy bulk pressing me into the bed. “I will. I’d be stupid not to, plus my schedule is so heavy over the next few weeks, I wouldn’t have time to gallivant if I wanted. I threw myself into my work to keep my mind off of you and I’m overextended with events. I’m hoping Charlotte will help me out in the short term to get me through the next month. I’ve already hired her to take over advertising for the blog. She’s better at it than me, plus likes the part time work and extra money.”
He ignores all I said and mutters, “You had to keep your mind off me?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you only made me work for it for three days and even then, you apologized for it?” he asks me something he already knows.
“I didn’t make you work that hard. I was sleeping in your bed and cleaning your house,” I argue.
“Yeah, but you had me worried,” he admits.
“See, Rosa was right.” I roll my eyes back before muttering, “I’m so not a lady.”
I feel him shaking on me and when I look to him, he’s doing the silent laughing thing.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re not a lady?” he chuckles.
“You know what I mean,” I mutter.
His laughter dies and he dips his face close. “Well, whatever you are, Paige Elizabeth Carpino, you’re perfect for me. And you’re also finally mine. Not one thing about that’s going to change.”
And then, Campbell Montgomery, the football player slash cowboy slash smarty pants math teacher slash coach slash hot dad, kissed me crazy. And since we had an early to bed night, there was still time for more fun.
Chapter Thirty
Sick
Paige
I hurry to the sink to wash the sticky bread mush from my fingers so I can answer my phone. I just mixed up a bread pudding that my client will bake right before serving. It’s no fun to eat a deflated bread pudding. It needs to be eaten right out of the oven when it comes out all puffy and pretty. All she has to do is reheat the caramel sauce. It’s a perfect dessert in the fall and the third order I’ve had in the past three weeks.
Three weeks.
Three weeks back with Cam, Jordy, and Cara. It took a day or two, but I fell back into life with the Montgomerys with such ease, I had no problem putting our six-week separation out of my head. I was happy to erase it from my memory for good—it was miserable. I agree with Cam, life together again couldn’t be sweeter. He reminds me multiple times a day with his words and actions showing me how happy he is to have my “sweet” back. Oh, he still complains how I can be a wiseass, but he does it smirking. So I go on being myself because for some reason, I think he gets off on that, too.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d overscheduled my work. It’s good I have people to help, I’ve either been in the kitchen or at my computer working on my blog ten to twelve hours a day. Because it’s the nature of the business, I’m busiest on weekends—not many people plan events for Tuesday afternoons. As much as I love being back with Cam, the last three weeks have zipped by despite my hectic work schedule and I’m starting to feel the effects. I’m tired and it’s not like me to be tired. I’m normally a bundle of energy.
I guess I should be grateful for the long work hours because I haven’t felt trapped like I otherwise would’ve by staying put and not gallivanting. I’ve kept my promise to Cam. And to my parents, my brother, not to mention my sisters, their husbands, my cousins, and their spouses. And Hattie, Kipp, Jen, and Ellie. Who, by the way, were over the moon about us getting back together.
I wanted to call Brian, reach out, take his pulse on the matter. But then Jude informed me of his disposition when the police went to “visit” him at his job about my apartment incident. He was so agitated by the insinuation of their questioning that the police almost arrested him for unruly conduct. But he stuck to his guns, insisted he was innocent and refused to offer a DNA sample because in his words, “he shouldn’t have to prove he’s not a sick bastard.”
I feel bad but there’s nothing I can do. Brian’s behavior since I met Cam has been disconcerting, to say the least. He’s not himself. Aside from the time Cam and I were apart, he’s been a little scary. As much as I don’t want to believe he was responsible for the Goldilocks Creeper event, I can’t help but let my mind go there.
So, I’ve worked, let other people shop and deliver for me, and focused on being back where I want to be. Other than the cloud of what happened at my apartment hanging over us, life couldn’t be better.
Just as I promise myself to never again over schedule to avoid the fatigue I just can’t shake, I go to my ringing phone.
Drying my hands, I pick it up quickly and see it’s Charlotte. “Hey.”
“I’m checking out, you need anything else?” she asks.
“Brown sugar and whipping cream. I’m almost out from making the caramel sauce. I think that’s it.”
“You know, you really need to start ordering in bulk now that you’re working out of Cam’s kitchen. I know you didn’t have room when you had your apartment, but now you do. This grocery shopping for normal amounts of food when you deal in massive amounts is a pain in my ass,” she complains.
“I know. I just haven’t had time.” I try to cut off my yawn, but not able to. “I’ve got to keep up for another week or so and will look into it. I’m sure that will cut my costs, too.” My phone beeps with another call. “I’m getting a call. Gotta go.”
I click over without looking to see who it is and answer with a perky, “Hello?”
“Paige?” It’s a woman I don’t recognize.
I don’t miss a beat because I use this phone for business and go on. “This is Paige. How may I help you?”
“Well,” she starts hesitantly. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but this is Anne, Brian’s mom.”
At that, I stop what I’m doing.
“Anne, how are you?” I ask carefully.
“I,” she wavers a bit, “I’m worried.”
“Worried?” I ask, lowering myself to a kitchen chair.
“Yes. Well, I was worried about Brian. I’ve been trying to get hold of him for a few days. And before that, I hadn’t spoken to him in more than a week. He’s not normally chatty with me, but he never ignores me, either. He’s always been good about returning my calls. I finally decided to check in on him,” she explains, yet leaves me hanging.
“Is he not okay?” I ask, staring at the floor, my eyes going unfocused.
“The last time I asked about you, he seemed angry. He said you were involved with someone that wasn’t good for you. That must’ve been a couple months ago. I could tell it upset him, so I didn’t ask again,” she explains.
“Yes, I am,” I confirm. “But, is he okay?”
“He’s been up and down,” her voice hitches. “I’ve been so worried. I try to give him his space, he doesn’t like it when I hover but with his moods over the last six months, I just couldn’t help it.”
“Anne,” I say firmly, losing my patience, finally coming out of my hazy shock from her phone call. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. Is he okay or not?”
“I’m at his condo—he gave me a key forever ago. He probably forgot I had it. I … I don’t know what to do,” she breathes. “I could tell he had feelings for you but—oh—this can’t be good. I was afraid he’d take a turn, but this … I never dreamed anything like this could happen.”
“What are you talking about?” I raise my voice.
“There’re pictures of you. All over. Of you and another man, a few with kids in them and even more cut in pieces with only you,” she says, almost on a wince.
“What?” I breathe, realizing that everyone around me was right. Like always, I was blinded by what I wante
d to believe instead of what was in front of my face.
“Yes,” she says. “But I don’t understand. There’re women’s clothes strewn about in his bedroom.”
“Describe them to me,” I whisper.
When she does, I close my eyes and pull in a shaky breath because what she describes are the things I thought I’d misplaced between the back and forth of Cam’s house and my apartment, plus more I hadn’t even noticed missing. And the thought of how he got my clothes makes my stomach pitch.
“Paige?” she calls to me.
“They’re mine,” I inform her in a small voice. “Pieces I couldn’t find and others I haven’t had the chance to miss yet. Anne, tell me what you meant when you said you didn’t think this could happen?”
I hear her voice break when she says, “Brian is so much like Dan, his dad. I’ve watched him carefully for years, looking for signs. I didn’t want to believe it when I thought I noticed something months ago.”
“Signs of what?”
“Dan was bipolar. He suffered from depression for years before he was diagnosed. The doctors tried to get his medication evened out, but they had trouble. He stopped sleeping, he became anxious and aggressive, even with me. And it was never like him to be aggressive. Then he fell into deep bouts of depression and refused to take his medication. Oh, I’m so afraid this is happening with Brian. I can’t live through that again.” She starts to cry.
“Has he seen a doctor?” I ask.
“I mentioned it once. He wouldn’t go.”
“What happened to his dad?” I ask softly.
“The kids were so little when it happened, but he was having issues at work, probably stemming from the disease not being under control. He’d fallen into a deep depression, quit taking his medication, and took his own life,” her last words come across pained through her sobs.
“I’m so sorry, Anne,” I whisper. “I have to tell you, someone broke into my apartment, did some things and took my pictures. I’ve been missing clothes. I didn’t want to believe everyone around me, but I’m afraid it’s Brian.”
“I could tell he had feelings for you, but this is unhealthy,” she agrees.
“Where is he?” I ask. “He needs help.”
“He should be at work,” she sniffles. “I guess I’ll go there to see him. He’ll be so angry with me.”
“I need to warn you that my … well, my dad and some other people are going to want a DNA sample. They’re upset about what happened at my apartment. I understand he’s ill, but my family is worried about me,” I explain as gently as I can. “Brian’s been different. I understand why now. But he’s made me uncomfortable and my family’s on edge.”
“Please, let me try and talk to him first,” she begs. “Maybe I can get him to go to a doctor.”
“I’m sorry. The man I’m seeing has kids and it sounds like Brian is taking pictures of me with them. I have other people to think about.”
“I’m going now,” she says in a rush. “I’ll call if I have any updates. I understand you have to do what you have to do, but please, just remember he needs help.”
“I will. Thanks for calling me and let me know what you find out,” I say before I hang up.
I put my fingers to my phone to text Cam since he’s in class and I can’t call. As I do this, I think about how I knew something wasn’t right with Brian. I knew he was off somehow and I hate that all this time has passed when he needed help.
Me: Call me when you get a chance. It’s important. About Brian.
I go to my contacts to call my dad when I get a text right back.
Cam: Shit. Give me 2 min.
I decide to sit and wait and he didn’t even take the two minutes he said he needed before my phone rang.
I tell him all about Brian, the pictures, my clothes, his dad, how Anne asked me to remember that he needed help and not do anything yet.
Cam goes silent.
I give him his silence for a few moments before calling out to him. “Cam?”
“You’re my priority,” he growls in my ear.
I sigh. “I get that, but—”
“And Jordy and Cara,” he interrupts, shutting me right the hell up, because I get that, too. “It’s not like they’ll lock him up and throw away the key. But I’m tired of worrying about you being there when I’m here not knowing what he could do next. I’m calling it in and I want you to call Jude. Tell him everything you just told me and tell him I’ll call him soon. I’m sorry, baby, but this is what needs to happen. Now, tell me if you’re okay, my class is taking a test. I need to get back.”
I close my eyes and slump back into the chair. “I’m tired.”
“We’ll talk about that soon. I know you were already booked, but we need family time. We’ve gotta figure out a balance, I don’t like you being tired. Now, are you okay?”
“I’m good. Go back to your class. I’ll call Jude and fill him in.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I return before we disconnect and I muster up the energy to tackle my next project. I’ve been cutting, cooking, baking, and sautéing all day for two events tonight. Now I get to clean up and start prepping for tomorrow’s, right after I call Jude.
Cam
Sitting in my car across the street from a row of nice condominiums, I look through the dark to see the door finally open. A disheveled-looking Brian appears, his hands cuffed behind his back, an officer directing him with a hand on his bicep. His mom follows, looking as devastated as he is disheveled.
Paige got a call back from his mom today. After going to his place of employment, she’d found he no longer worked there as of a little over a week ago. They couldn’t tell her why because of HR laws, but she had no trouble reading between the lines. He’d been let go.
He was nowhere to be found most of the day. Jude agreed to sit on his condo, see if he came home tonight and, when he finally did, he called the cops and then me. I’ve been waiting for thirty minutes for this shit to play out and see for myself that this is taken care of.
Once they got him into a cruiser and pulled out with his mom following, I see Jude lean out the front door and motion for me, giving me the green light. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but Jude’s doing me a favor. I need to see this shit for myself.
Once I get there, Jude mutters, “Man, she’s not gonna want her clothes back.”
I frown. “More of the same?”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “They’ll take everything in for evidence, but you’ll want to take her shopping instead of giving her those back as a reminder.”
I move through the messy but mostly nice condo and immediately see the evidence of his obsession. There’re pictures everywhere. Every-fucking-where. Tons of them. Some he took from afar are poor quality, as if he took them on his phone and zoomed in. And damn, Jordy and Cara are in them, too. Some are taken outside my house, others outside the kids’ school, and some of Paige running errands. I’m in a few at the high school and practice. Shit, he’s even been to my games as I look at myself on the sidelines by my team. I can tell which ones he stole from her apartment because she’s posed, but anything and everything else has been cut out of the picture.
“Follow me,” Jude says.
When we get upstairs, I immediately decide to take Paige shopping. I’m not giving her a choice. She’s not getting this shit back when the police are done with it.
“Cum rags, every one of them,” Jude says as we watch the police officers wearing plastic gloves collect them for evidence. Shirts, panties, and bras. Hell, he even took a bikini.
“We didn’t expect this,” Jude says and I look over where he’s standing at a dresser.
I’m shocked when I see what he’s pointing at. The guy has printed off my school schedule, practice schedule, and there’re papers lying around everywhere from the school’s website. My teacher page, information on the team, my bio, and more.
“He could be OCD,” Jude says. “I’ve had some training on dea
ling with unstable criminals—OCD can go hand-in-hand with bipolar disorder. If this isn’t obsessive, I don’t know what is.”
I look around the room. “What’ll happen now that the police know what they know?”
“He’ll be booked and charged. If he gets decent representation, they’ll ask for a medical evaluation and probably psych, too. That’ll take precedence—then we’ll know what we’re dealing with,” he explains.
“Will they let him out?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see what kind of representation he gets. Bail will be high. I don’t think he’ll be considered a flight risk, but this shit is sick and threatening. We’ll just have to wait.”
I sigh, thinking at least we know who we’re dealing with.
“Look at this,” we hear from behind us and a police officer is holding a spiral notebook open, leafing through it with his gloved hands.
When we meet in the center of the room, he turns it to us and, without touching, I lean closer to read the scribbly writing.
“What the fuck?” Jude mumbles.
I let my eyes move and, as I do, my stomach turns as I read about what he planned for her. The officer turns the page and there’s more. Sex scenes, but really more like detailed rape scenes. The more I read, the more I want to fucking tear him to shreds. Because he didn’t plan on being gentle. No, he wanted it rough and he wanted her available at all times. He described how he wanted to keep her naked and waiting for him, where he could come and go, then come back when he felt the need. And he planned on making sure she obliged by tying her up and keeping her that way.
Fuck. He didn’t want a woman in his bed. He wanted a sex slave and he wants that person to be Paige.
“Hey,” Jude calls to me. If his face is etched with anger, I can’t imagine how mine appears.
