My palms sweat against the steering wheel, and I keep telling myself to calm down. Not a single text from her since the night at her apartment.Was I too rough on her? Did I hurt her?My heart seizes at the thought of me hurting Opal.
I think it’s safe to say this is no longer about her safety. It was at first, at least that’s what I tell myself. Now it’s something darker—inescapable and devouring.
The twisted part of me that can’t stay away. I don’t even have the choice; the compulsion is beyond gripping and relentless.
What I have for her is a condition. It’s a sickness that spreads until it consumes you. An obsession that blurs the lines of where devotion ends, and possession begins.
My lungs falter at the thought of finally coming clean—of telling her who I truly am. I picture her face, full of horror as I tell her my freakish tendencies. And my heart nearly stops as I pull my work truck into the small lot in front of The Toasted Bean.
I step out, running a hand through my hair and stride to the door, my boots echoing on the wooden floor as I walk up to the counter, desperately trying to slow the thoughts whirling in my head.
I order two pumpkin spice lattes and a couple of muffins.
Carrying the tray, I scan the café. A round table by the window looks perfect. I set the drinks and muffins down, arranging them just so, my eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds.
And then I see her.
God, she is so stunning. Perfect from her hair down to her little toes.
Black leggings hugging her generous curves, a cozy knit sweater, her black hair falling down her shoulders.
I rise as she steps into the café. She smiles immediately, and we hug. Warm and familiar.
Sitting back down, I nod toward the tray. “I got you coffee, and a pumpkin cream cheese muffin.”
Her grin is soft as she looks down at her cup. She whispers barely audible, “pumpkin spice…”
And just like that, the light in her eyes dim. Sadness flickers across her face, tugging at my still thundering heart.
She twists the side of the cup between her fingers. Her demeanor doing a complete three-sixty. She blinks back the wetness in her eyes, the gesture tearing at me.
I lower my voice, “hey, are you alright?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “No…I—Kellan, I am so sorry, but I have to go.”
Before I can respond, she’s on her feet gathering her things. She turns back to me, “Kellan, you did nothing wrong. I just—have something I have to take care of.”
I rise but she’s already, out of the door.
I slump back into my chair, the air suddenly heavy. My chest aches, heart hammering in worry. I pull out my phone,opening her picture, tracing my thumb over her features.
Moments later, it buzzes. A text. My stomach knots.It’s her.
Need to talk. ASAP.
Omw.I quickly text back.
I sprint into the house, ripping off my work clothes and pulling on the black Kade Cross gear. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline surging through me.
Just as I’m stepping out of the door, my phone buzzes again. Another text from her. Suddenly my heart is in my gut.
Help.
I squeeze my phone with shaking hands and type back quickly, my thumbs failing.
Opal… has someone hurt you?
I fling myself into my truck, slam the door, and start the engine. Tires screech as I speed out of the doorway, every red light and turn ablur. My mind races, imagining every scenario, every danger.
