Page 45 of Stalkers Anonymous

I lean back against the door, Chewy still squirming in my arms, and bring my fingers to my lips. I can still feel his kiss, still taste him.

“What do you think?” I ask Chewy, who responds by trying to climb up my arm. “Too good to be true? Or exactly what we’ve been waiting for?”

Chewy chitters, which I choose to interpret as approval.

I slide down to sit on the floor, back against the door, and pull out my phone. The security app is already open, showing the feed from my new doorbell camera. The hallway is empty, Cole already gone.

But I can still feel him here. He did all of this for me.

I close my eyes and let myself replay the kiss a few more times. The way his strong hands held my face so delicately. The desperate edge to his kiss, like he’d been starving for it.

Chewy nips gently at my finger, bringing me back to the present. I scratch behind his ears, earning a happy chirp.

“Come on, Sister Chewy,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get you some treats for being an excellent chaperone.”

Chapter Eleven: Cole

The community center basement seems smaller this time, more confining. I arrive five minutes early, but I’m not the first one here. Tyler is sitting in the same metal folding chair as last week, chatting with Tracey. They both look up when I enter, Tyler with an approving nod, and Tracey with that carefully neutral expression I associate with all therapists.

“Cole,” Tyler greets me. “It’s good to see you.”

I nod back, choosing a seat opposite them. “Tyler. Tracey.”

“How was your week?” Tracey asks, her clipboard already in hand, her pen poised. Always ready to document, to analyze.

“Fine,” I say automatically. “Work’s been busy.”

It’s the kind of non-answer I’d flag immediately in a security interview. Vague, deflective, designed to sound normal while revealing nothing at all. By the slight tilt of Tracey’s head, I can tell she notices it, too, but she doesn’t press.

“Did you have a chance to work on the awareness exercise?” she asks instead.

My hand goes to my jacket pocket where the notebook sits, now containing a few days’ worth of entries. Not a stellar record of compliance, but better than nothing.

“Some,” I admit. “It’s been…educational.”

Tyler raises an eyebrow at me, looking almost amused. “Educational is one way to put it. Eye-opening is another.”

Tracey’s gaze shifts between us. “You two had your first check-in?”

“We did,” Tyler confirms. “We met at the diner on Mountain Avenue.”

“And how did that go, Cole?” Tracey directs her attention back to me.

I consider her question before answering. The truth is complicated. The meeting was uncomfortable but not entirely unproductive. Tyler’s insight about redirecting what I’m feeling rather than suppressing it has stuck with me, even if I haven’t found a way to apply the concept to my own life yet.

“It was fine,” I say. Then, making a small effort toward honesty, I add, “Tyler had some useful advice for finding alternative outlets for my…instincts.”

Tracey nods, scribbling down a brief note. “That’s good. Finding positive ways to channel maladaptive behaviors is a key part of your recovery.”

The door opens again, and Grant enters, followed closely by Austen. They nod in greeting, taking seats in the circle. Within minutes, the remaining members arrive—Zach still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Jessica carrying what looks like a stack of new books, probably from the store where she works.

At exactly seven p.m., Tracey clears her throat, officially starting the meeting. “Welcome, everyone. Before we begin our check-ins, I’d like to introduce a concept we’ll be exploring this week: the distinction between simple observation and crossing the line. I believe some of you refer to it as ‘surveillance.’”

My shoulders tense slightly. Her words hit uncomfortably close to what I’ve spent the last several days doing.

“Observation,” Tracey continues, “is passive, momentary, and generally reciprocal. It involves noticing your surroundings, being aware of others in shared spaces, and processing information that’s publicly available. It’s something everyone does.”

She pauses, letting that definition settle before continuing.