by Layla Frost
Round and round, my thoughts circled. Twisting. Tying. Like thorny vines, they wrapped around me, squeezing and slicing until I couldn’t breathe.
Until my very existence hurt.
My phone rang and rang, but I didn’t pick it up.
Couldn’t.
I knew he’d be able to hear the pain in my voice.
When the ringing stopped, it buzzed with a text. I could lie in a text.
Tech Nerd: What’s wrong?
Me: What? Nothing.
Tech Nerd: Don’t lie to me, flower, I can see something is wrong.
See?
A crackle filled the air, making me jolt as tears sprung to my eyes.
“I’ll be right there, flower,” the warbly voice said.
The cameras. He replaced the fucking cameras.
Whether it was warbly from the tech or the blood roaring in my ears, I wasn’t sure.
“No!” I shouted, but the crackling was gone. I picked up my phone and tried to return Alexander’s call, but it was his turn to not answer.
Me: I’m fine, I swear. Don’t come over.
Standing, I grabbed the camera he’d put back on my window. I held it up and forced lightness I didn’t feel. “I thought you told me you weren’t a total stalker. Nothing is wrong. I’m fine.”
It was all a lie.
He was a total stalker.
Everything was wrong.
And I was far from fine.
Would someone who was fine be fucking their stalker?
No.
No, they would not.
I threw the camera into the garbage and grabbed my phone to shoot off another text in case he hadn’t been watching.
Me: Nothing is wrong, stalker. I’m fine. See you tomorrow.
I should’ve gone in search of other cameras. I should’ve done something more productive than sitting on my kitchen floor in front of the garbage, fighting the vomit and bile that was choking me.
But I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
I sat there, staring at old tea bags, takeout containers, and the damn stalker cam as I wondered.
I wondered if my pouch was still in the closet.
I wondered if the butter knives in the drawer were sharp enough to draw blood.
I wondered how many multivitamins I’d have to take before I OD’d since they were the only pills I had—and they weren’t even pills, they were gummies. I was pretty sure I’d end up barfing from all the sugar before they did any harm.
I worked through my list of all the ways. All the options.
All the paths I wasn’t taking.
I went through each one, a mantra of destruction, until my door opened.
My locked door, not that it seemed to do anything.
Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt—meaning I’d interrupted something more important than watching ESPN highlights in his hotel room—Alexander stalked across the room. His brows were furrowed with concern.
And that did it.
Not because it added to my guilt—though it did.
Not because I was happy to see him—though I was.
But because I’d so rarely seen a look of genuine concern from anyone other than Aria.
And by rarely, I meant never.
There was no slow buildup of tears. I didn’t look elegant and poignant as a single lovely tear slid down my cheek.
Nope.
The dam broke and all the pent-up anguish I’d always wished I could cathartically shed came out as body wracking sobs.
“Flower,” he whispered, sitting on my floor and pulling me into his lap.
I buried my face in his quality shirt and wept on it like it was a one-ply tissue. “Aria… And then… Firefighter. And you… Muppet.”
I knew I wasn’t making any sense to him. Hell, I wasn’t making sense to me and I knew what I was trying to say. But I was too far gone to do anything but have a total and complete meltdown.
Those damn thorny vines of embarrassment and shame and guilt—so much fucking guilt—tore at me. Shredded me. Flayed me open. I was vulnerable and exposed when I’d sworn I would never be again.
“Christ.” Alexander shifted me off his lap, laying me down away from him.
I didn’t blame him.
If people hadn’t wanted me around when I was trying my best, it was no wonder he didn’t want me when I was the absolute fucking worst.
He moved again, but I couldn’t bring myself to watch him leave. I closed my eyes so tight, orbs and sparks of light burst behind my lids.
And stinging and burning burst from my hip, right above the waistband of my sleep shorts.
My lids shot open, and I gaped at Alexander kneeling next to me, a knife in one hand. I wasn’t sure where he’d gotten it, and I didn’t care.
“Again?” he asked.
I nodded.
He sliced again. A tiny, barely-there cut, but it was enough.
The pain grounded me like my mantra never could.
He didn’t ask before cutting one last time.
Tossing the knife into my sink, he sat and pulled me back into his lap.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out, fighting for air. Fighting for control.
“Don’t.” The harsh bite of that one word made me jump, and he softened his tone. “Don’t apologize because there’s nothing to apologize for.” Once my breaths weren’t shuddering and I was no longer hiccupping, he said, “Tell me what happened.”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Really. I’m just being dramatic. First Aria has to worry over me and now you had to leave work to come here and deal with me. I’m fucking shit up left and right.”
“Stop.” He gripped my hip and squeezed, increasing the sting. “You think you’re a burden, but you do a shit-ton more for others than you think. Talk to me. Help me understand what’s going through that pretty head.”
Inhaling, I told him about Aria and two of her three Ds—I left out her newfound debt—before the thorns stabbed my psyche and my breathing grew ragged again. “I almost fucked up her life even more than I already have. If I’d—”
“You didn’t. You’re here. You can help Aria, and that’s what matters. Not the what-ifs and never-wases. Don’t punish yourself for fiction while ignoring fact.”
“Okay, the fact is I’m still being selfish right now by acting so melodramatic. Like I’m trying to make her drama my drama so it can be about me. My mom used to say I always needed to be the center of attention, but I swear that’s not it.”
“What a load of bullshit.”
“But she was right.”
“Fuck no, she wasn’t. You have empathy, Briar. Christ, that’s a good thing, and it makes me wonder what kind of psychopaths raised you that you think it’s a flaw.” He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “It’s no wonder you’re always tied in knots. You’re trying to force yourself to be the shitty person your mother was.”
“That’s not…” I shook my head. “You don’t get it. You like me so you think I’m a good person, but I’m not. I’m fucked up.”
His large hands cupped my cheeks and he leaned me back so I had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. “I do like you. I like you a hell of a lot. Because you are a good person. Sweet and funny and snarky and raw and real.”
He believed that.
He saw me at my worst, and he still believed I was worth liking.
“And everyone is fucked up in their own way, flower. You. Me. Aria. Everyone.”
I burst out laughing, but it was tinged with acrid bitterness. “Not Aria. Trust me, wait until you meet her.” My stomach clenched and the bitterness grew to full-blown jealousy. “Never mind. You’re never meeting her. She’s too perfect and you’re—”
When I caught myself before the word could tumble out, Alexander prodded, “I’m what, Briar?”
“And you’re pretty okay.”
“That’s not what you were going to say.”
It wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to admit that.
&
nbsp; Unfortunately, he knew without me voicing it. “Were you going to say that I’m yours, Briar?” Before I could lie and deny it, he gripped my chin and tilted my head up. “Because I am. Just like you’re mine.”
God, in all the good he’d said to me—and there’d been a lot since he had a knack for saying the exact right thing—that was the best. I wanted to record it so I could listen to it on repeat. I wanted to tattoo the words onto my flesh.
Sear them into my soul.
But he wasn’t done.
“And I’m going to do every damn thing I can to undo all the destruction your mother caused until you see what I see. Until you know how fucking perfect you are,” he whispered, dropping his hand to run his bent index finger along my scars. His touch was gentle. Reverent. He didn’t view them with pity or disgust.
He liked them.
I thought we were neck and neck on the crazy scale, but if he actually thinks I’m perfect, he wins. He’s officially crazier than me.
I’ll get him a trophy. And not some participation ribbon shit—he deserves a big one.
I tugged the fabric of my shorts down to hide my scars and moved my leg to the side as I changed the subject before saying something I’d regret.
Like you’re insane.
Or get the hell out of my life before you break me.
Or please don’t ever leave.
“How’re you even here?”
“I’ll always be here when you need me.” He opened his mouth like there was more he wanted to say before closing it again.
“I meant how’re you here so fast?” I knew I’d lost track of time, but not the hours it’d take him to drive back from Portland.
“Duncan is good.”
“So is David…” I raised my brows. “Are we just saying random men’s names?”
Alexander chuckled. “My helicopter pilot.”
Oh.
Right.
Of course.
How silly of me.
He twisted my braid around his fingers.
Fingers that’d given me pain and clarity. Beauty and understanding.
Fingers I knew would bring me pleasure before the night was done.
“You okay?” He studied me as if he could read my secrets in my expression.
I was better than before, which wasn’t saying much. That hadn’t exactly been a tall benchmark to hurdle over. The anxiety elephant had hauled his heavy ass off my chest to lurk in the corner. My heart wasn’t thumping, my palms were no longer slicked with sweat, and my stomach had unclenched.
But I was still a dumpster fire of a hot mess.
Because I was beginning to fear I didn’t like Alexander despite his stalking.
I was pretty sure I liked Alexander and his stalking. How he was there when I needed him. How it reassured me.
Okay, I take it back. I’m still the crazier one.
I get the trophy.
“I’m better,” I said, leaving it at that.
“Good.” His thumb stroked the oversensitive skin where he’d cut, his gaze dropping to follow the movement.
I glanced down to see what had him so entranced before sighing. “Really?”
His three slices earlier hadn’t been arbitrary lines.
On my hip, there was a tiny red A.
My own scarlet letter.
Only instead of labelling me as a sinner, it marked me as his.
And I fucking loved it.
Okay, never mind. We’re tied for craziest. We’ll share the trophy.
Alexander’s unapologetic grin was loaded with male satisfaction and possessive heat.
Before I could think, I rolled my eyes. And rather than earning a lecture about my snark or attitude, I was gifted with his laughter and a tight hug.
“Can I ask you something?”
He gave me the same response as always. “Anything.”
“When you were implementing the upgrades at the center, did you access my records?”
“No.”
“But you could’ve.”
It wasn’t a question, but his answer was immediate. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because when I find out what caused those shadows in your pretty eyes and what gives you all those nightmares, I want it to be because you trust me enough to tell me.”
God.
It was too much.
He was too much.
Too fast, too intense, too twisted, and too wrong.
But that didn’t stop me from liking it. All of it.
He leaned back. “Can I ask you something?”
I gave him the same response he’d given me. “Anything.”
That wasn’t a lie. He could ask me anything.
It didn’t mean I’d answer.
He stood, taking me with him so I was forced to wrap my limbs around him to hold on. “Why were you crying over a muppet?”
“They’ve always got a hand up their butt. It’s traumatic.”
“Or kinky,” he pointed out, making me laugh and cringe. “I don’t judge.”
No.
He really didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Treats
Briar
For Sun, Sand, and Sex
“YOU SEEM HAPPY, Briar.”
Getting good dick may not have been a magic cure, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt. Not that I shared that with Dr. Linda.
“I’m feeling settled,” I said instead.
“That’s good. Is it the apartment?”
No.
“Yeah.”
“You talked about trying to make the space your own. Have you made any progress with that?”
“I bought a succulent.”
That I keep forgetting to water.
Does it even need water?
I need to Google that.
Making a metal note, I continued. “And my boss gave me a picture of me and one of the dogs from the shelter, and some plant with a cool twisted trunk.”
“A money tree. They’re a common housewarming gift.”
“Money tree? Good, I can retire now.”
“Are you not happy at the shelter?”
I liked Dr. Linda a lot. She was nice and seemed to care about more than billing my insurance.
That said, she had all the sense of humor of an uncooked brick of ramen.
“Very happy,” I said rather than explaining my corny joke.
“Good. Tell me what else has changed.”
Uncharacteristically, I’d been dying to tell someone about Alexander. I wasn’t ready to tell Aria—she had her own dating life to focus on, and I didn’t want to be a story topper by stealing her thunder. So who better to tell than someone I had doctor-patient confidentiality with?
I pulled my hair out of my messy bun and began braiding it as I spoke. “I met someone.”
“That’s fantastic. Where?”
“Here.”
Her smile dropped faster than my panties did for Alexander.
While friendship between patients was encouraged, romance was not. They were likely to enable each other, forming a codependent relationship.
People still did it, of course. It was inevitable. Meghan had dated someone in our group therapy sessions, but he’d switched to a different day to make it work. I was fairly certain Jenna was secretly seeing someone since her sharing had shifted from woe to humblebrags.
My money was on Jared.
Hopefully she didn’t have any plant babies that’d be boner killers for him.
“He’s not a patient,” I said before she could remind me of the rule that wasn’t technically a rule, but I’d still get shit if I’d broken it. “We met outside while I was waiting for the bus.”
Though that didn’t stop him from enabling me.
Or stop me from quickly becoming codependent.
Her smile of approval returned. “Then that really is terrific. Tell me about him.”
I paused and tried to figure out how to succinctly describe someone who ma
de me feel alive for the first time ever. Since I wasn’t about to tell her about how well he understood my jacked-up mind or how he loved my scarred body, I shared the only other thing I could think of.
“He cooked me tacos and bought my favorite salsa and hot sauce to go with them.”
“That’s a win. Is this your first relationship since you’ve been here?”
“Pretty much.” Shortly after I’d moved, I’d had a casual thing with a vet tech who used to volunteer at the shelter, but that fling had long ago flung.
“You didn’t balk at me calling it a relationship,” she pointed out, jotting a note in her book about me. It could probably be a whole series if I told her my life story.
Actually, it could probably be an encyclopedia on fuck-uppedness, leading to multiple case studies and a TV special.
It’d air on Hallmark if things with Alexander stayed so perfect or Lifetime if shit went off the deep end.
When all I did was shrug, she prompted, “How are you feeling about that?”
Such a stereotypical shrink question.
“It’s good. He’s good. I’m good. We’re good. Clearly in need of a thesaurus, but ya know… Good.” I’d reached the end of what I was willing to divulge, so I switched the subject. “Aria adopted a dog.”
And she paid fifteen-fucking-grand for him and a firefighter.
He’s totally worth the cost.
Muppet, not the firefighter.
Although, I hope the firefighter is, too.
“Did she get him from you?”
It took me a moment to realize she was asking about Muppet and not the firefighter.
“Yeah. I’m not sure which one she got, but I know they were from the puppy mill. I told Aria I’d help puppysit while she works, so I’m gonna pick him up after this and take him to the rescue with me.”
In everything I’d shared, that bit of info seemed to be the most shocking. The friendly-yet-blasé mask she wore slipped. “That’s major.”
I lifted a shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “It’s no big deal, Sue already said it was cool for me to bring Muppet.”
Technically her text had offered to convert her office into a puppy utopia specifically for him as a thank you to Aria, but that was a mouthful.
“Not that.” She finished making a note before setting the book down. “You volunteered to have someone rely on you.”
“It’s Aria,” I said simply, as if that explained everything. Which it kinda did.
