“You and like three other people may be the only ones who think that,” I say. “But anyways, Daniel and I have been together for six months and one day now!” Another squeal of excitement escapes. “I think he’s the one.”
“Just…be careful, Hadley,” he drawls, then yawns. I bite my tongue to keep from making a snappy comment back. He’s always there, trying to warn me. To save me.
“I’m sorry I’ve kept you up. I’ll let you go,” I say, forcing my facial features to not twist in frustration.
“Nah, I’m good.” The words come out jumbled as he yawns again.
“Bye, Rawls. See you in a couple of days.” I fake a smile, then click to end the call.
I toss my phone to the side like I’m tossing off Braxton’s warning. He’s like this with all my relationships, cautious and questioning. He never fully butts in, but he also never gives the guys I date the benefit of the doubt.
And every time he “warns” me to be careful, I start to second guess myself.
That son of a gun. Why’d he have to go and rain on my parade with those little, impactful words?Be careful, I mock him internally.
Instead of giving in to the negative feelings creeping into my heart, I cut my lamp light off and pull my comforter to my ears.
But sleep doesn’t come.
Instead, I toss and turn, my stomach growing tight and nauseous with every moment that passes. What did I eat for dinner? Daniel and I went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant in Tupelo. I had a well-done steak, mashed potatoes, and a side salad with a glass of lemon water. Nothing out of the ordinary for my diet.
My stomach churns again, and I release a groan. I drag myself out of bed on the hunt for Pepto—or anything—that can quell my stomach. Nothing. I really need to get over the whole I-won’t-take-medicine-because-my-mama’s-a-druggie-thing. Crawling back into bed, I open my boutique’s social media page to try and distract myself.
I answer a few messages from women interested in selling their products and then switch over to my personal account. I open Daniel’s message thread simply to relive some of our conversations.
My breath hitches when those four little words rest below his name:Active two minutes ago.Why hasn’t he responded to me? I flip over to my texts, just to make sure, and there’s still nothing from him. He doesn’t have his messages set toread, so I have no idea if he actually saw it. I send him another text, a simple heart emoji, and wait.
Minutes tick by, my stomach grows angrier, and still no text. Bad thoughts deluge my brain, thoughts of car crashes and murderers. Why is he not answering me? Healwaysanswers me.
My gut swells and swells, and a sinking feeling ofsomething’s wrongsettles deep into my soul. I ring Daniel, thinking if I can just hear his voice, everything will be okay.
Voicemail.
That’s it. I’m going to check on him. Make sure everything’s okay. Just a little drive-by to ease my fears.
And when I find everything is fine, I’m going to murder Braxton and his stupid savior complex.
I throw on a house robe over my sleep shorts and tank, slip on my knock-off Birkenstocks, grab my keys from the entryway, and head to my car.
When I pull into his driveway ten minutes later, I notice a truck that doesn’t belong to him. Maybe he has a buddy over? He was talking about how a friend of his was going through a rough breakup the other day.
A light flicks on in the house. His living room light.
I cut my car off and take gentle steps until I’m by the window. My heart decides it’s a racehorse trying to win the Kentucky Derby.
I stand on my tiptoes to peer into the lighted room like the creeper I’m not afraid to admit I am.
Then I lose my freaking mind.
Chapter One
Braxton
Iwantnothingmorethan to strip my clothes off and fall into bed.
It’s always like this coming off a month hitch on the rig. Sleeping is the only activity I think I’m capable of doing right now, but I have to make it home before I can disappear into the sheets of my glorious bed. Two RedBulls and a cup of coffee didn’t do much for me this go-round.Almost home,I think to myself.
I finally pull into my driveway and stumble out of my truck. Anyone looking may think I’m drunk. My log cabin home is tucked in the woods, but I do have a couple of elderly neighbors that can be seen from my front porch. I make it to the front door and fumble with the keys, trying to figure out which of the two locks I see is the right one.
