Page 98 of Stalkers Anonymous

“What do I do, buddy?” I whisper into his cinnamon-colored fur. “What the fuck do I do?”

He chirps at me, which I interpret as “This situation is incredibly complicated and there are no easy answers.”

Thanks, Chewy. Very helpful.

The thing is, I already know the answer is complicated. Because despite all of this weird, inexplicable shit, I can’t deny that I feel something for Cole. Something real and terrifying and completely inconvenient, given the circumstances.

He makes me feel safe—ironic, I know. He’s been nothing but kind and protective. He installed security in my apartment, helped me file three police reports about Lars Winters, held me through panic attacks and midnight fears.

How can someone who makes me feel so safe also be violating my trust so completely? How can the same man who protects me from one stalker overstep my boundaries so easily?

This feels like some kind of cosmic joke—the universe’s way of saying “You thought you had problems before? Hold my beer.”

I set Chewy down and pour myself a glass of wine, even though it’s eight a.m. and drinking alone this early is probably a red flag of its own. But I think I’ve earned it. My life has become a psychological thriller, and I didn’t even get a cool soundtrack.

Maybe I should call Rachel.

Maybe I should confront Cole directly.

Maybe I should move to a remote cabin in the mountains where no one can find me.

For now, I just drink my wine and stare at the ceiling, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to fall asleep when my brain won’t stop spinning.

One stalker was bad enough. But two?

Two might actually kill me.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Cole

The weight room at All Around Fitness is mostly empty during the early evening on a Thursday, just the way I prefer it. It means there are fewer people to avoid.

Two hours of sleep. That’s all I managed last night. I spent the long hours until dawn watching Lars Winters’s location, thinking about when and where he might make his next move.

I’m numb with sleep deprivation. My hands shake slightly as I load the barbell, and I have to concentrate harder than usual on basic motor movements. But I can’t rest. Not when he’s still out there. He’s a predator lying in wait, and he’ll strike when the moment is right.

The second I look away.

The second I let my guard down.

And it doesn’t fucking help that Hailey and I ran into each other at The Bean Counter—the way her face changed when she saw me, the sudden urgency in her voice when she said she was leaving. It was almost like she wanted to get away from me. She thinks I’m following her.

She’s suspicious. Which means I need to be more careful about how I protect her.

I’m midway through my third set of deadlifts when I catch movement in my peripheral vision—someone approaching with a purposeful, deliberate stride. I straighten, releasing the barbell, and turn to find Tyler standing three feet away with his arms crossed and an expression I’ve never seen before.

Angry Tyler is apparently a thing.

“We need to talk,” he says, keeping his voice firm.

“I’m working out,” I reply, reaching for my water bottle. “Whatever this is about can wait.”

“No, it can’t.” Tyler moves closer, lowering his voice but not his intensity. “You’ve missed two meetings in a row, Cole. Two. You haven’t returned my calls or texts. Tracey is asking questions and I don’t know what to tell her because you can’t be bothered to pick up your phone.”

“I don’t owe you or Tracey an explanation for how I spend my time.” I grab two more plates to add to the bar. My rage in this moment feels like it could propel me to a new PR. If the only good thing that comes from this day is me getting strong enough to crush Shitbag Lars’s head like a melon, so be it.

“Actually, you do. It’s called accountability, and it’s the entire fucking point of having a buddy system.” Tyler’s jaw is tight with frustration. “What’s going on, Matthews? And don’t tell me everything’s fine. You look like shit. Did you relapse?”

The word feels like a slap. I drop the plates with more force than necessary, the metallic clang echoing through the weight room. A few people glance our way, but they quickly go back to minding their own business when they see me staring back.