I kept walking, prompting him to step directly in front of me, halting my stride. He put his hands on either side of my face and forced my face to point at his.
“Please, Rose,” he begged.
This time, I didn’t cry.
“No. Let me go.” I had been so polite. To me, any show of strong emotion, whether anger, love, or frustration, was a sign that my boundaries were dropping. It was better to just beneutral, to control my emotions and not let them control me. But Ace was pushing me.
He didn’t let go.
“Mr. Edison, you are trampling on my boundaries. I asked you to leave, and you refused. Right now, I’m holding myself together, and you are tearing at that strength by staying here. This isn’t about you—your guilt, your regret, your need for comfort. This is about me. I need space. I need peace. And I will not let you drag me backwards just so you can feel better about yourself. Your remorse is not my responsibility. Your choices are not my burden. I am working every day to stay well, and you are pushing against that for your own selfish needs. I will not let you undo my progress. If you care at all, you will stop thinking about yourself and respect what I am saying now: leave me alone. This time, I mean it.”
He stepped aside and hung his head.
“Rose, what we had ... it’s okay to feel things with me. Be angry, hit me. Lash out. This is normal. Showing emotion doesn’t mean you're becoming unwell. I’m angry that I let you feel this way, that I let you believe that what we had was wrong or unhealthy. We both consented; we both engaged in our little game, and I loved it.Ifucked up. Me. It wasn’t you and it wasn’t unhealthy. If you like, we can just date normally. I’ll take you out and we can talk. No more games. Please, feel something, Rose. I can even work with hate.”
I didn’t answer. I continued to walk quickly until I reached my door. I threw myself on my bed and cried. Feeling was dangerous. I needed to take baby steps. Jumping into something with my Kalb (no, not my Kalb,Mr. Edison), even as mild as dating, was too much. I had to crawl before I could walk. And once I could walk, I could find another man. A man with whom I had no history and for whom I had no weakness. In fact, I’d be fine without a man. From now on, I was the new Rose.
Chapter 32: The Hound—Obsession
I sat in my car but couldn’t bring myself to drive away. I had to fix this. I had to get Rose back, not that I ever really had her. I could sense I was spiraling into obsession, but it was much worse than it had ever been with Evangeline. I remember watching Evangeline for the last time and being strangely okay with it. My last surveillance of Evangeline had been nostalgic and almost emotionless. With Rose, I couldn’t bring myself to even movewithinmy car.
I stared at the apartment building door for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t say goodbye to Rose, so what were my options? I could grovel. Throw myself at her mercy and do big and small things to make her life easier. That was a problem in itself. Rose had a very simple life. Work, running, treatment, and home life. Her routine was well established, provided she stayed in town. What if she moved? If she moved so far that I couldn’t watch her, I’d have to move too. That was something I was more than willing to do.
What if she moved on with another man? In no world could I handle that. I couldn’t talk to my mother or Brett about this. They were still strange about my “stalking” of Evangeline. Suddenly, I realized what Rose had gone through, what she had bravely fought to engage in our little game. She must have questioned herself constantly about her interactions with me, making it all the worse that I’d thrown her to the wolves. She wouldn’t have been able to talk about her relationship with me with anyone, especially not her doctor. I had engaged her in this little game without even thinking of the situation I was putting her in.
Maybe I could never get her back. I’d never know what it would feel like to kiss or hold her in a situation where she wasn’tas stiff as a board. Having my arms around Rose felt right, but it would feel even better if she returned the gesture.
I put my head in my hands. I should have trusted her. Rose had been honest with me about her mental health battles and instead of supporting her, I believed without even a single question that she had relapsed. I had no proof. She was well, actively attending treatment, and taking steps to reclaim her life and I instantly believed she relapsed without a moment’s hesitation.
At the time, I’d been so jealous that her attention had been on other men that I simply believed it and reacted out of anger. If she’d just been a client, I would have been more objective and sought some kind of evidence. I knew someone, other than me, was stalking her. Her being framed was the most likely explanation, yet I jumped on the “Rose is sick” bandwagon and hurt her deeply.
I had to do what was in Rose’s best interests, not mine. She didn’t want me in her life. I wanted to be in her life. I would stay back in the shadows, making sure she was okay, but I wouldn’t push myself on her. Before her re-arrest, she was healing and making exceptional progress. Loretta had ruined that, so Rose had been thrown back into raw pain again. I would let her heal. I would help her heal.
Rose and I were birds of a feather. In my mind, I could see our future. We’d be a loving couple, close in every way, but unlike most other couples, we would have a dark side. We were both stalkers, prone to obsession. I know that wasn’t healthy, but if the obsession was mutual and the stalking consensual, we would always have fireworks. Rose would keep herself accountable perhaps even more than I would. Rose had sought treatment and had a true sense of self-awareness.
This was like a bad dream. I felt at a complete loss. I wanted Rose in my life. IneededRose in my life. If after throwing myselfat her feet, she still didn’t want me, I’d have to accept that. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t lurk in the shadows for the rest of my life, watching the woman I loved and had hurt so deeply.
I put my hands on my keys, but my brain refused to send a signal to turn the key into the ignition. This was almost physical. I could not walk away.
Chapter 33: The Rose—New blooms
I sat nervously in the tattoo studio waiting area, my foot tapping at a fast clip. I’d had the tattoo of Bear lasered off some time ago, but nothing can ever be completely removed, from your mind or your skin. There was a faint, blurred image on my hip, subtle enough that you couldn’t make out the original tattoo but obvious enough that you could see there was once an image there.
Tattooing over my past was more than a new beginning. It was a declaration that I would begin to live my lifefor me. At my first consultation, the artist had roughly sketched a beautiful green rose. He was incredibly gifted and very kind when I explained that I wanted something to celebrate a new beginning. I wanted a rose, and he suggested green, which apparently symbolized renewal and growth. The Rose was starting fresh and focusing on her own growth; no man was getting real estate on my body again. I was more than someone’s accessory.
I hated my mother for what she’d done but her actions had triggered new feelings in me. I was always an accessory or an appliance for others. I was Loretta’s daughter, Blake and Dr. Conti’s obsessed admirer, a hardworking employee, the media’s villain, social media’s punchline, or a dutiful neighbor. What did I ever do for me? I had no hobbies. I had no reciprocal friendships. Even when I did socialize on those rare occasions, it was mostly to fight others’ perceptions of me as a “weirdo.” Even my obsession with finding my father was tied to being someone’s daughter.
If Paul was my father, great. If not, I’d survive that. I’d stop searching, not just because I’d hit a dead end in my quest, but because I didn’t need to belong to someone anymore. I just had to be me. Finding out who I really was would be challenging, but I was ridiculously excited about it. I’d started a new list onmy phone of things that interested me. The list would be useful for finding hobbies and potentially beginning a new career. I loved reading and I loved children. With a felony stalking and assault charge, it was doubtful I could ever work with children, but maybe I could work in a role that helped children somehow even if I didn’t get to work directly with them. I always enjoyed gardening when I cared for Colin, but I had no garden in my apartment. Maybe I’d get some plants or a long pot I could plant herbs in.
“Rose?” Teddy, the tattoo artist, poked his head out of his room and smiled at me. “Ready?”
“Ready—and more than excited, Teddy,” I said, letting my smile meet his. Calling him by his first name wasn’t just casual; it was deliberate. A small rebellion against the walls I used to build. I was learning that healthy boundaries weren’t about hiding behind formality or distance. They were about choosing connection without fear. And in that choice, I felt free.
I wandered into the room and was hit by the reassuring smell of antiseptic and cleaning products. In the brief chat I had in the hall with Gloria last week, she recommended Teddy to me with full confidence. I hadn’t been overly open with Gloria, simply telling her that I’d stupidly tattooed myself for a man and wanted the laser blur covered. She’d gushed about Teddy, pushing up her sleeve to show me the beautiful art that trailed up her left arm. It had been a pleasant, if brief, conversation, but I’d left feeling ten foot tall. We had engaged as equals, and I hadn’t second guessed everything I said. She was a friendly person and her suggestion to catch up for a coffee or a drink had given me a surge of warmth and hope. When I returned home after our chat, I didn’t even feel the need to check my lists. I had a friend, not a stalking target. Of that, I was 100% confident. I left the hallway first. I didn’t watch Gloria leave, nor did Iwonder what she was doing when she had left my sight. Gloria was warm and sweet, but nothing in her made me want to cling.
Teddy wiped sanitizer over my bared hip, giving me a chill. I was nervous, but mostly excited. “Let me know if you need a break,” he offered. I knew I wouldn’t. I coped with pain quite well and the initial tattoo hadn’t really hurt, although I’d been in a cloud of obsession and “love” at that time.
By the time he’d finished, I was feeling stronger than I ever had before.Iwas tattooed on my hip. Not Blake. The memory of tattooing the bear on my hip made me want to cry. I could remember my mindset at that time: obsessed and single-minded. I hadn’t really even loved Blake, although I only recognized that after intense therapy. Blake represented a family man, a steady partner who was protective and about to be a father. Those were the qualities I loved and desperately sought. I could barely remember his personality. He was nice, if a bit weak, but the attraction had been one-sided. Guilt ate at me as I remembered all the things I’d done. One day, I’d love to apologize to Harriet, but I suspect she’d rather slow dance with a beehive. I had discussed my feelings about Harriet with Dr. Warren, who reminded me that an apology would likely be to clear my conscience rather than to somehow ease Harriet’s pain.
