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If you asked me two weeks ago whether I’d be comforting a twenty-one-year-old girl because I’m too direct, while we stand naked and dripping wet in my bathroom, I’d have laughed in your fucking face.
“No matter how this started, I’m in this. I’m too damn old to play games or have misunderstandings, sweetheart. I don’t have the patience or time. I would not have you here if I didn’t want you. You’re…everything I’ve ever wanted,” I admit.
Fuck, I’m a sap. What has this girl done to me?
She collides into me, and I let out a sigh of relief as I put my arms around her.
The next day went how I planned. I dropped her off and picked her up from work, and we worked on removing her profile from the forum. She had to explain to her friends why it was coming down, but luckily this Gabi girl hadn’t said a word to the others yet, so we could work on the narrative before she had the chance to sway it.
She spent the night panicking because the girl is completely ignoring her. She had hoped that she could work it out with her on her own, though I knew she couldn’t. My Layla is sweet, too sweet, not the type of girl to handle blackmailers. I had to assure her that I have it all handled a million times, but she finally believed me.
I’m paying a little visit to this Gabi today. Of course, I had to agree not to hurt her, or Layla wouldn’t allow it. I texted the same number she was messaging me from to tell her I was coming to speak to her. She agreed, and said she’d be there. I have to be on high alert, because who knows what this girl has set up. Though, I’d knowingly walk into anything if it’s what Layla wanted. It’s on the border of Nevada, so I have to drive a couple of hours, but it’s worth putting this shit behind us.
I want to focus on my new life with Layla. I’ll go there, explain this to the girl, and come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement. Hopefully she’s compliant.
“Ben’s Diner,” I repeat, as I pull into the gravel parking lot. Pretty small place—seems to be the only thing around besides a two-pump gas station for miles. Well, I guess that’s for the better, in case this gets ugly.
The bell chimes as I open the door, and when I walk through, a young girl greets me. “Hi, welcome to Ben’s, do you want a booth?” She’s already grabbing the menu, and when I don’t answer, she awkwardly turns back to me. “Sir?”
“It’s me. I came to talk.”
She looks around, furrowing her brows. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“We’ve been texting. You said we could talk this situation out so we can avoid—”
She looks genuinely confused, and I stop. I pull out my phone and read a number off to her. “Is this not your number?”
“No? I mean, that’s not even the area code here.”
“Yeah, it’s a burner. Texting app, whatever the hell it is people use these days,” I explain, hoping this somehow changes her answer. Because if it doesn’t…
“Sir, I’m going to need you to leave—”
“I’m The Hangman,” I interrupt. Her eyes go wide, and she drops the menu in her hand. I put my hands up, motioning for her to relax. “I came here because of Layla. I’ve been getting texts from this number, and you’re the only person who knows Layla has met me.”
“Look, first of all—I’ve never fucking texted you. I don’t know you. If I did, I’d have called the police because you’re a fucking murderer. Second—I blocked Layla, I’m fucking done with her, because after a year of getting to know her and being her friend, I’m finding out that she’s secretly screwing the serial killer who killed my fucking brother. So if you know what’s good for you, get the hell out of here. My last service to her is letting this whole ‘Hangman’ thing fucking go for my own mental health.”
Shit. I don’t even have time to think about the bomb she’s dropped about her brother, because all that’s running through my mind is that she isn’t my unknown texter. There’s someone who knows that I’m in Nevada, hours away from Layla. They fucking planned on it.
She immediately sees the panic settle on my face, and she must be a smart girl, because she gets exactly what it is I’m realizing. “Shit. Where is Layla?” she asks.
“No,” I accidentally say out loud, and turn to run out of the diner.
“Wait—” she calls out, but I’m already gone.
I throw my truck in gear and spin out slightly as the tires hit the road sideways, before getting back between the lines of the highway and speed. My heart is thudding so fast in my chest, and my hands shake as they clench the steering wheel tightly. I try to call her over and over, but it won’t go through in the middle of nowhere.
Fuck, Layla, I’m so sorry.
I’ve done it again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
My Brave Girl
LAYLA
“Life is a highway, and I’m gonna ride it all night long,” I sing along as I pipe the cupcakes. It’s actually really fun to be totally alone in the bakery while decorating. No one interrupting me, no one making loud noises and ruining the vibe. Most importantly, I can listen to my music out loud and enjoy the alone time.
