Page 218 of Faking the Goal

I nod as if I'm listening.

I'm trying.

I really am.

But the words barely register. They wash over me in pieces—evidence, photographs, reports, leads—and none of it sticks.

Because all I can think about is the static on that memory card.

He was here.

Inside my apartment.

And somehow, once again, he managed to disappear without leaving me anything I could use to find him.

The officers are careful not to promise they'll find him quickly, and somehow their honesty frightens me more than false reassurance would have. What they do make clear is that his behavior has escalated. He has gone from watching me and leaving messages to breaking into my apartment, destroying everything he could get his hands on, and now threatening both me and Kentaro.

Judging by the amount of rage they found inside the apartment and the message he sent afterward, they can't predict what he'll do next.

Before they leave, they strongly advise me not to stay here. Even after the apartment has been searched and secured, they don't believe I should spend another night here until more is known. They also tell me not to go anywhere alone for the time being. If I have to leave for class, work, or anywhere else, someone needs to be with me.

Wonderful. Apparently having my apartment destroyed wasn't enough. Now I need a babysitter every time I leave the house too.

How exciting.

We're back inside Kentaro's truck and I'm sitting with my back against the passenger door, knees pulled up to my chest, my body facing his. The vinyl seat is cold through my jeans. My hands are on my lap, and they won't stop trembling—little seismic aftershocks running through my fingers every few seconds or so, like my body's still trying to process what the hell just happened, even though my brain has already checked out for the night.

He hasn't started the engine yet. He's just sitting there, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the console between us. His profile is sharp in the dim light from the security lamp twenty yards away. I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders haven't quite come down from around his ears. He's been like this since the officers finished taking our statements.

I press my palms flat against my thighs and try to will the shaking to stop. It doesn't work. My body has apparently decided that tonight is the night to stage a full-scale mutiny against my central nervous system.

"What am I supposed to do now?" The words come out so quiet they're barely audible, even to me. I wasn't really asking him. I was asking the universe, or God, or whatever cosmic entity decided it would be hilarious to turn my Tuesday night into a fucking episode of Dateline.

But Kentaro hears me.

His expression tightens as he glances toward the apartment building before looking back at me. "The officers were right. You shouldn't be alone until they find him." He pauses, but there's nothing uncertain in his face when he continues. "I want you to stay with me for the time being."

I blink at him, wondering whether exhaustion has finally started making me hear things. "At your apartment? With your mom?"

He nods without hesitation, like the answer should be obvious, but mine comes just as quickly. "No. Absolutely not."

His eyebrows pull together. "Taylor—"

"What if he follows me there? What if he finds out that's where I'm staying and comes after me again? Your mom would be there, Ken-chan" I shake my head. The thought of it makes my stomach clench. "I'm not putting her at risk. I can't do that. I won't."

Something flickers across his face—frustration, maybe, or the dawning realization that I'm right.

He leans back against the seat and goes quiet, his gaze shifting toward the windshield while he thinks. After a moment, something changes in his expression. "Then stay with me at the hockey house."

"At the Pond?"

"It has a high-end security system, and Campus Police patrols the area around the clock. There are cameras covering every entrance, and you'd have twenty-six hockey players in the building with you." His mouth pulls slightly to one side. "Even your stalker would have to be completely out of his mind to walk into that house and try anything."

Considering what I just found inside my apartment, I'm not convinced being completely out of his mind is much of a deterrent, but the hockey house is still probably safer than anywhere else I could go. "But what about your mom? Weren't you staying with her because you wanted to take care of her?"

"I can still go there every day and check on her. Her nurse is with her all the time, and if she needs me, I'm only a phone call away." He says it so simply, as though splitting his time between taking care of his mother, hockey, school, and whatever disaster my life has become won't inconvenience him at all. "You'll be safer there with me."

I lower my eyes to my hands again because I already know I don't have a better option. Refusing him would accomplish nothing except leave me sitting in this truck with nowhere safe to sleep, but accepting his help feels like placing one more weight on shoulders already carrying too much. Kentaro has installed cameras for me, walked me home, checked on me constantly, and willingly put himself between me and a man dangerous enough to break into my apartment and threaten him.