“So, the SUV. Is this the first time? What makes you think it’s Will?”
“You remember my nosey neighbor, Pat? She told me she’s seen a black SUV outside of my house a few times now. I think at first she was just trying to get information to see how many male night time callers I have, but her mentioning that she never sees anyone get out or in of the vehicle had her realizing it couldbe something more serious. Along with the chance encounters with Will on multiple occasions it had me panicking. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t think I’m being delusional here. No matter if it’s him or not. Someone’s been watching my comings and goings. I asked Pat to record anything she finds. She was working on getting a license plate.”
“I think I captured it in the video. I wasn’t asking because I think you’re paranoid or don’t believe you. I just wanted facts, so we can talk to the police.”
“The police?” I question.
His face softens, all the hardness and frustration from earlier slipping away as he grabs my forearm, his thumb delicately rubbing my skin as he speaks.
“You shouldn’t be scared to be in your own house. Especially being a woman who lives alone. You need to get a restraining order. It’s difficult in Florida, but if we can prove that he’s stalking you, we have a case.”
I bite the nails of my free hand and Gavin reaches across the table and grabs it away, cradling it in his own hand.
“My sister-in-law, Jessa, she had a psycho ex who broke into her home when she was alone. It took a long time for her to feel safe again. Fucker even drew a gun on my brother. I’m not taking this lightly because I’ve seen first hand how bad things can go. He’s intimidating you about the part of the company you own, and I think we have a good case for stalking. If he’s under their radar, the more protected you are. We can go to the station right now.”
“Jessa’s ex really did that?” I say, avoiding everything else in his statement.
“He was obsessed. While I think this thing with your ex is more money motivated, they’re both dangerous.”
“I should just sell him the fucking company.”
“You don’t have to make that decision now, let alone let him threaten you into doing it. Let’s just talk to the police and see what they can do.”
“Can we go tomorrow? It’s late,” I say, not wanting to spend endless hours at the police station, and if it is Will, he knows Gavin is here. He won’t show up again.
“Fine, tomorrow,” he says, grabbing his water and walking toward the sunroom.
Shit.
I go to stop him and he opens the door and the first thing that draws the eye is my work in progress painting of him and his brother. I started it before I even knew they were twins, back when I thought it was one man making all my fantasies come true.
His footsteps falter and he stares for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s going to freak out and think I’m an absolute creep. Instead, he steps closer, tilting his head and observing the painting with a critic's eye.
“That’s Ben, and that’s me,” he says, easily picking out who is who.
“I actually started this painting before I knew you were two people.”
“After you were with Ben?”
“No, actually. It was the night we were together. It felt cathartic. You’re right about that night. I was desperate to hand over control and let go of everything that was going on. I tend to live in my head a lot. Sometimes I let things fester and rot to the point I’ve poisoned my mind. But you, you shut it off.”
“It’s incredible,” he whispers in awe.
“I hadn’t painted anything in nearly two years, but that night I came home and had the urge to create. I stayed up until the sun came up painting this beautiful man with two personalities that didn’t seem possible in one human body.”
“That’s why we look conjoined?” he says.
I laugh and stand next to him. “Yes. This side, your side, embodies confidence, strength, and dominance. This one is eager to please, softer, looking for permission.”
“Do you have more of your own art around here?”
“Oh, you don’t want to see that,” I say, waving him off.
“If I didn’t want to see it, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Okay, then.“Follow me,” I say, leading him to my studio. It’s a bit messy in the space, but what artist's area isn’t?
“Everything in here is mine,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. I’m used to critique, taking high-level art classes will make your skin thick. I get shivers thinking about presenting my piece to a class full of pretentious art students and the way they would shred the most beautiful, soul-crushing piece to shreds.
