Once I’m done spilling the sordid details of my past to my stoic companion, I wipe my face free of tears and chance a glance at him. He’s studying me intently, a pinched expression sitting on his hard features. Eyebrows knitted together. Lips pressed into a thin line. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, body coiled tight, like it takes everything in him to remain seated and not go after my asshole of an ex. He looks furious, plain and simple, but I’m not afraid. Unlike Jason’s, I know his anger isn’t directed at me.
“You should’ve told me sooner,” he grits out, while his gun rests comfortably on the tabletop beside him. The fact that he was most likely armed every time we’ve been together should alarm me. Instead, it only makes me feel safer.
“I never lied to you. I told you I had a relationship go sour.”
“Having a relationship go sour and being the target of a dangerous stalker are two very different animals, and you should’ve provided me with that information right from the start.”
“Right. And when would you have liked me to bring up that delightful little tidbit?” I ask, feeling my temper flare in the face of his indignation. “The second you stepped into the front office? Hi there, I’m Charlie,” I say in my best customer service voice. “If you need anything at all while you’re residing with us, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Full disclosure, and I don’t think it’s something you need to be worried about, but I am currently on the run from my psychotic ex, who may or may not show up at some point to either drag me back to the city at gunpoint or kill me on the spot. Both options have equal possibility, so if you happen to notice anyone lurking about, I’d appreciate the heads up. Here are your keys. Enjoy your stay.” I roll my eyes, letting him know exactly what I think of his ridiculous request, and ignore the glower he pins me with.
He’s obviously not happy that it took next to no time for my snark to return, but that’s not my problem. So I get cranky when my life is being threatened. Sue me.
“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but years of physical abuse are not something you casually slip into a conversation with someone you barely know. Besides, it’s not like you’re exactly a well of information yourself. You keep your cards so close to your chest they may as well be glued to it, and honestly, my past is none of your business.”
“None of my business?” he barks, looking at me like I suddenly sprouted a second head. “And who do you think has to deal with your psycho ex now that he’s found you?”
“Look, I’m sorry you got sucked into my drama, but I didn’t ask you to be here. It just so happened that you were with me when I found his distasteful message. Doesn’t mean you need to stick around and play the knight to my damsel. This is my mess, and I’ll figure it out. I’ve gotten away from him once and can do it again.”
“Right,” Cole scoffs, shaking his head at my bluster. “So, what is your grand plan here? Grab your to-go bag and disappear into the night? Sell this place at a loss—because no one is crazy enough to buy this shithole unless they get it at a steal—keep moving from place to place for the rest of your life, always looking over yourshoulder and wondering when the next carcass might show up on your front step?”
“If that’s what it takes to stay alive, then yes,” I shout, really getting fired up now. He has no idea the hell I’ve been through. How dare he sit there all high and mighty and ridicule me for the choices I’m forced to make? “I’m not your responsibility. I don’t know if you realize this, but we’re not a couple, and you’re under no obligation to protect me.”
“Good, because I never volunteered to be your fucking boyfriend, and considering the intel you’ve failed to provide me with when we first met, I don’t think I’m even remotely interested anymore.”
“Aw shucks,” I drawl, pressing a hand to my chest in mock disappointment. “How will I ever get over your blatant rejection? I mean, you’re such a great catch, with your sparkling personality and that perma-frown that never fails to light up the room. I would be so lucky to tie myself to such an easy-going dude for the rest of my life. What an absolute blast our marriage would be.”
Cole glares at me through narrowed eyes before his lip curls into a cocky little smirk.
“Joke’s actually on you, because I’ve been told I’m an exceptional husband.”
“Says who?” I ask, barking out a laugh and feeling a million times better than I did just a few seconds ago. The truth is, having him here with me—even if we’re going at it like a couple of rabid raccoons—puts me at ease, and I have to physically fight the urge to launch myself at him and beg him to stick around.
“My wife,”he finally supplies as all the air gets sucked out of the room.His wife?That son of a bitch.No wonder the thought of having slept with me freaked him out so much. He’s freaking married.
“Weeeell,” I sing, once I recover from his revelation. “I won’t believe it until I hear it from her.”
“Weeeell,” he mocks, mimicking me and making me want to throat-punch him just to see him choke. “You’re gonna be waiting a long damn time.”
“And why’s that?” I sneer, lifting my chin in a silent challenge.
“Because she’s dead,” he supplies in a flat tone, before he swipes his firearm off the table and pushes to his feet. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll get rid of the cat, do another sweep, and grab a few things from my cabin. I’m staying with you tonight. I don’t think he’s still hanging around, and he probably won’t be back for a while. Motherfucker is toying with you, and he seems like the type of asshole who’d enjoy watching a woman squirm. He’ll mostlikely torment you for a bit before he makes his move. Either way, I don’t want you on your own.”
He doesn’t wait for me to argue, and I wouldn’t have. I’m relieved I won’t have to spend the night alone in my apartment, flinching at every sound. Cole gives me a nod and strides out of the kitchen, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he leaves me to stare after him with my mouth hanging open.
sixteen
Cole
Idon’t know why I find myself so irritated with Charlie. She’s right. You don’t tell a literal stranger about a difficult past right off the bat. I’ve come across plenty of domestic abuse survivors in my line of work, and most victims don’t like talking about the shit they’ve endured at the hands of their abuser. Some just don’t like being reminded. Others are ashamed of having stayed in a bad situation for so long. I know how these motherfuckers work. Guys like Jason are methodical. They slowly but surely trap their victims until escape is near impossible. Isolate and manipulate these women until they’re out of options.
Charlie wouldn’t be the first girl to fall for a charming stranger who later turns out to be a violent piece of shit. And she wouldn’tbe the first to find herself caught in a web of criminal activity by association. This shit doesn’t happen from one day to the next. It happens gradually, over months, and in some cases, years. Confiding in someone you barely know isn’t easy, especially when you’ve been mistreated for over a decade. And that’s essentially what we are. Strangers. Even if we’ve started to form some type of bond. I shouldn’t be angry at her for wanting to protect her secrets, but I am. Even now, having exerted myself by first digging a hole for that goddamn cat, and then walking for miles in an effort to comb the area surrounding the resort to make sure I haven’t missed anything, I’m still on edge.
Vibrating.
I even grabbed a bite to eat and took an extra-long shower to wash away the remainder of last night’s poor choices, hoping it would give me enough time to get my rage under control before facing her again. Having located my phone when I searched her place, I know she’ll call if anything feels off, but I can’t delay the inevitable any longer.
Slinging my overnight bag over my shoulder, I pull the door closed behind me and slowly make my way back to the main building. I know why I’m dragging my feet. I’m pissed at myself for somehow getting myself involved in yet another situation thatcould potentially cost me a person I’ve come to care about, and I’m dreading being around Charlie.
I’m aware I dropped a major bomb before I bolted out of there, and knowing her, she’ll have questions. If I expect her to be an open book in order to keep her safe, it’s only fair for me to give her something in return. I haven’t talked about my loss with anyone other than Mads and the therapist that was assigned to me by my employer, and the thought of having to rehash it all makes me sick to my stomach. But I can’t keep bottling it up. The whole point of coming here was to stop trying to outrun my grief and finally make a pointed effort to deal with my trauma. And maybe talking about it with someone who wasn’t involved in the case, or personally connected to it, wouldn’t hurt. I shoot her a text, letting her know I’m outside her place, and it only takes a few seconds for the door to swing wide.
