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“I didn’t sleep at home. I actually slept on a couch… At, uh, this guy’s house.”
“Oh?” It’s the same question, different tone, and she leans in. There’s a hint of an interested smile on her face.
“His name’s Nick. He’s Charlie’s dad,” I say. Her eyes widen, and I see the question in them before she even asks it. “We didn’t hook up. I was just babysitting Charlie while he was doing something for work. It got late, and I nodded off. Then he took me out for breakfast this morning.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Sounds like you had almost all the ingredients for a date… except for the really fun parts.”
“Maybe.”
“Would you go out with him again in a non-babysitting way?”
I smile, then turn my attention to the screen. “I have a lot of work to do, Mags.”
“Sure, Emily. You know, that’s one thing I appreciate about you the most: your sense of responsibility. I know that whatever you have going on with Nick is exciting — and I don’t blame you, if I were younger, or if I knew he were into older women, maybe I would… anyway, don’t let that distract you from your work or your studies. Yes, Em, I see you rolling your eyes, even if you won’t admit it. I have to do my part as your mentor and remind you that you’re just a short time out from your paper’s due date and, without it, you won’t be going on to the final year of your degree.”
“I’m aware, Mags,” I say, still smiling. It makes me feel lucky to have someone like her watching out for me, even if I’m acutely aware of everything I need to complete my Doctor’s of Pharmacy degree. And it makes me aware of the fact that there will be no way for me to hide my failure, if that should even happen, because she and my professor have lunch together once a month and have for the last ten years. “You don’t need to worry.”
Which is the truth. She doesn’t need to worry about my relationship with Hunter distracting me from my studies. Because the actual threat to my education, not to mention my physical and mental well-being, is the man that I keep seeing in shadows… who also happens to be the man that I cannot mention to Hunter because I’m sure that the second I do, either he’ll do something rash that might get him arrested and Charlie put into the foster care system, or Hunter will decide that being with me and my stalker-baggage is not worth the risk, and he’ll dump me faster than I can blink.
Which means is that I’m on my own.
“Good. I’m not trying to stop you from having fun. I just really care about you, OK?”
I smile at her. “Thank you. I appreciate it, Maggie.”
She hugs me and then returns to work, while I continue frowning at the computer screen, losing myself in fantasies about Hunter — who I definitely would not say ‘no’ to if he wanted our relationship to be more than just babysitter-client — and waking nightmares about Jay, who still pops up in every third shadow I see.
It’s a long day.
I barely get all my regular work done, and find no time to work on my paper, despite the fact that it’s a slow-as-molasses day and I should have time to write and revise at least a few pages. Disappointment wraps me like a wet blanket as I wrap up behind the pharmacy counter and head to the parking lot. A full day, practically wasted, and all thanks to ghosts and fantasies. I have to get my head together.
Out in the parking lot, after a few nervous glances to scan for anyone hiding in the shadows — and thankfully finding nothing — I walk to my car at the end of the lot.
At my car, something shimmery catches my eye. It’s the metal beneath the paint job.
I frown, lean in, squinting to see just what it is in the dim light.
Ur dead bitch.
The threat hits me like a freight train and I scream. Deep scratches mar the driver’s side door, each one etched with deliberate malice. My breath catches, heart pounding in my ears as I trace the jagged lines with trembling fingers. Jay. It has to be him. Who else would do something so vicious?
I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking as I dial Hunter’s number. Before I can hit dial, I stop. As much as I want to talk to him, or even just hear his comforting voice, I can’t.
He can’t find out about any of this.
It’s up to me to solve this problem.
But first, I need a drink.
* * * * *
“Em, what the fuck? You look like shit. What happened?”
“It was Jay,” I say. It’s a common refrain, and Harper springs into action.
“This first one’s on me. The second one, too,” Harper says as she mixes the world’s strongest cosmopolitan.
“Thanks, Harper,” I say, staring down at the napkin that sits on the bar in front of me. In my anxiety, I’ve crinkled the thing into a wrinkly ball. “I need this one. And the next one.”
