“Party pooper,” Natalie grumbled, but Roxy merely rolled her eyes and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “Well, have a good night, you old maid.”
“You’re older than I am,” Roxy reminded her with a wink, making her friend gasp in feigned outrage.
“You take that back.”
Roxy laughed, blowing her friend a kiss. “Can’t do that. It’s the honest truth.”
“You’re only younger than me by a year!” Roxy heard Natalie hiss to her retreating back, making her laugh harder as she walked out into the early evening air, the sun setting on the horizon. It was a mild evening for January in Melody Hills, Texas, just chilly enough to warrant bundling up in an extra layer.
Roxy shivered, recalling the bitter cold and far too much snow she’d just returned from in the Colorado Rocky Mountains for her best friend Freeman Thorp’s wedding the weekend prior. Ugh. So much snow and cold that just seeped into her bones.
Making the short drive from the rec center to the small ranch style cabin she’d taken over the rental lease on when Freeman had moved back to northern Michigan, she pulled into the driveway and stared at the small house for a long time.
She still remembered the night she’d shown up on the doorstep, asking Freeman if it was okay if she stayed there for a few days after she left her boyfriend at the time, Neal Johnson, after he’d put his hands on her one time too many. Free had opened his home to her without a second of hesitation. He’d helped her get a restraining order on him when he began to show up at her work, harassing her for leaving him, accusing her of choosing Free over him, convinced she’d been sleeping with Freeman the entire time.
She couldn’t blame him for the assumption; her relationship with Freeman Thorp was unconventional at best. They’d met years ago and had become ‘best-friends-with-benefits’ or so Kasey had dubbed them ages ago, at least until she’d met Neal. Sex with the rugged and sexy Freeman was always just sex, something to scratch the itch. And when she’d met Neal, that aspect of their relationship had stopped immediately. They’dseamlessly transitioned to simply best friends, something not many people understood. Neal being one of them.
This home was also where Neal had followed her to late one night, knowing she was there alone with Free away in Michigan, and had beaten the hell out of her after she left him. Blind with rage and jealousy that she’d chosen to go to Free’s home to escape him, he’d unleashed all his fury on her. She still carried the scar on her lip and her vision was blurry in her left eye from the force he’d used that night.
Neal had fled the area, presumably leaving Texas altogether. The police had not located him, a fact that bothered Freeman and his new wife to no end. They had already started hounding her to consider moving to northern Michigan, to be closer to a bigger and better safety net.
But Roxy didn’t mind living alone because he’d never come back. She hadn’t seen or heard from Neal Johnson in almost a year and a half. Each day got a little easier, those gray clouds of doom shifting further and further into the distance.
Picking up her duffel bag from the passenger seat, Roxy climbed out of her Toyota 4Runner. She was almost to the front door when she stopped, ice sliding down her spine.
Because there, laying on the doorstep of her front door, was a bouquet of blood red roses.
Two
Roxy sank down into one of the barstools at her kitchen counter, hands trembling violently as she clutched the small white card in her hand. She couldn’t stop staring at the roses, which she’d picked up with shaking hands, and carried inside. They sat in front of her on the kitchen counter, the light above the island bar top casting a halo of light around them.
Fingers shaking, she was barely able to manage opening the tiny envelope. She tugged the card out and flipped it over, and her eyes scanned it rapidly and then a frown tugged her brows together.
It was completely blank.
Turning it over again, she shook her head at the blank card. Dropping the card onto the table, she covered her face, her hands still shaking uncontrollably.
The simplicity of it was more terrifying than anything else.
Because it may have been blank… but she knew who had sent the flowers.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
She stood, crossing to the blood red blooms with striding steps, where she picked them up and then threw them in the trash. Her heart was hammering in her chest, fear clogging herthroat. She walked through the house, turning on lights and closing blinds, checking every room, making sure every window and both doors were locked securely.
They always were.Always.
Panic seized her again and she clawed at the collar of her shirt, pulling it away from her throat and attempting to suck in steadying breaths.
He was back. He had been here. Had he been in the house? She didn’t think so, as Free had made sure the locks were changed before he moved to Michigan.
She’d been confident Neal wasn’t returning to Fort Worth, to the little community of Melody Hills.
To her.
Until now, at least.
She stripped off her gym clothes in the bathroom with the door cracked open. Every creak and groan of the old cabin made her jump, her heartbeat hammering in her throat, roaring in her ears. Pulling on a pair of jogger sweatpants in a dark, eggplant purple color, and then a matching sweatshirt with the words ‘Squat: Because No One Raps About Little Butts’ emblazoned on the front. Tying her red curls up in a messy bun on the top of her head, she walked out to the kitchen.
