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Did you or Dad send me something? I got a package in the mail with no return address.
I held my breath, waiting.
And then there it was.
Mom: Why on Earth would we send you anything?
It was a low blow, one my heart felt down to each string holding it together.
But no matter how much it hurt I had to force myself to suck in a breath and brush the pain aside. I couldn’t let it get to me. I had my answer and there was nothing more I wanted or needed from them.
Saying to hell with it, I approached the package resting on the island and tore it open, blinking down at a white box with the logo from the local flower shop printed on it. There was a small envelope with my first name written in the same sloppy handwriting taped to the box. Somebody sent me flowers.
But who?
My curiosity got the best of me, so I removed the envelope first and opened it, my brows furrowing.
It should’ve been you.
I gaped dumfounded at the note, not fully sure what the hell that was about, and placed it down to focus on the box, lifting it open to find a stunning bouquet of red and white roses resting inside.
I took a step back then and peeked another glance at the card, barely having time to read over it again before my phone dinged with an alert from my security system. My heart leapt into my throat when I opened the app and found a truck idling at the end of my driveway.
It was Karl's pickup truck.
“Oh, fuck no,” I whispered, scoffing as I gave the evidence a hasty once over before hurling the card and flower box straight into the trash.
It should’ve been you.
As in he should’ve chosen me instead of his secret teenage fling.
That motherfucker.
He had a lot of goddamn nerve.
Maybe it was my anger that had my feet striding toward the front door to glare out the peephole, and maybe I was certifiably insane for opening the door and trudging down the driveway with numbing anticipation, but I’d had enough of this shit.
Blaire was right. Restraining orders really were a bullshit asset to our judicial system.
I should’ve known better than to think that a fucking ankle monitor would be enough to keep Karl away from me.
“You have ten seconds to get the fuck up and out of my driveway before I call the cops, Karl,” I shouted, smirking when he got out of the truck and nervously pressed his back against the metal door, his hands raised and eyes pleading. “Matter of fact, I’m sure they’ll be on their way to arrest your ass any minute now.”
“Please don’t,” he called out, raising his hands up and high like he was trying to prove he wasn’t a threat.
I stopped moving then and gushed out a furious breath. My driveway was rather long and although Karl was still well within his safety zone, that didn’t necessarily mean I was safe. What made it worse was that the closest neighbor was half a mile down the road. I couldn’t push it.
I wouldn’t.
“A buddy of mine is keeping watch over the tracker for me at the precinct. If you turn me in, I’m done for.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I sneered.
Does he not understand that this gave me even more ammunition to lock his ass up?
“Please, just listen to me,” he begged, his voice cracking as he dropped his hands back to his sides. “All I need is five minutes.”
I shook my head, not believing I was actually considering this, but what other choice did I have? I had no idea what Karl’s true intentions were, and the fact he was risking prison time by being here was a thought I had to admit, did leave me a bit flummoxed. Karl had to have been either extremely stupid or as much as I hated to dare think it… Desperate.
