Seconds before I shut down the laptop for the night, my brother’s name pops up on screen. Connor hasn’t emailed me in months.
Quinton,
I couldn’t sleep tonight. Something just felt…wrong. Went for a run around 10, and I’m pretty sure I saw Alec sitting in a car at the end of the block. He drove away before I could confirm it was him. If he’s watching me, he obviously doesn’t know where you are, and I’ll make sure it stays that way. But be careful.
-Connor
My heart races, and I lurch into the bathroom and grab a Xanax. Alec has nothing but time. After the accident, he quit his job to “take care” of me. Even though it was my money supporting the both of us. When he lost access to my bank accounts, he went back to work at some day trading firm, but Connor—who’s been keeping tabs on Alec ever since he rescued me—said he was fired after being served with the restraining order. The process server found him at his office, and his boss...well...apparently it didn’t go over well.
Alec stalked Connor for two months. Until my brother threatened to beat the shit out of him.
The Xanax starts to take effect, but my back is locked up tight from the strain. My fingers aren’t steady, but I send Connor a quick reply.
If you see him again, call the police. Get it on the record—even though they won’t be able to do anything. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. - Q
I only have another five minutes before the medsforceme to relax—by way of making me so loopy, the only thing I’ll be able to do is sleep, but I email the last detective assigned to my case to give him an update. I don’t even know if he’s still working in Dallas. It’s been a year, after all. But I have to try.
Alec won’t hurt Connor. My brother’s built like a tank, and thanks to his years in the army, he’s got that scary-as-fuck look down pat. But stalking Connor is a way to get to me. To still hurt me even though we’re half a country apart.
As I drift off to sleep, my thoughts fractured by the Xanax and exhaustion, I decide it’s a very good thing I drove Graham away. He doesn’t need to see what a complete mess I am. And if Alec does decide to try to find me again? Graham would just be one more target he could use to get to me.
Chapter Eight
Quinton
Despite how poorly I slept,I’m determined to have a good day. My next client project doesn’t start for a full week, so I can spend every minute putting the finishing touches on my anti-anxiety app, Zen Oasis.
Alec convinced me I’d never be able to write code again, and if I’d stayed with him? I’d have given up my dream completely. But six months ago, my therapist suggested I start working on it again, and as soon as I opened up the old files, I realized how important it was for me to finish the damn thing. Not only because I think it’ll help people, but because it’s one final “fuck you” to the man who almost killed me.
Checking in with the beta testing group for Zen Oasis boosts my mood even more. They all love it, and while I have a few new bugs to fix, they’re minor. If I can keep my own anxiety in check, I might be able to submit the final product to all the mobile app stores in just a few days.
The latest message waiting in my inbox would have me bouncing in my chair if my body were capable of it.
“This app is changing my life. Every time I’ve had an anxiety attack in the past week, I’ve played Zen Oasis, and it’s kept me from landing in full-on panic mode. Thanks, Quinton!”
It’s almost noon before I take a break, and when I open the front door to get yesterday’s mail, sunlight warms my cheeks. For a moment, I stand perfectly still, braced against the door jamb, one foot inside, one foot on the porch. My heart rate spikes as a car passes by, and my instincts scream at me to get back inside.
It’s only one more step to the mailbox. You can do this.
The street’s quiet now, and Clementine lets out a yowl from the kitchen, demanding to be fed.
I didn’t manage to get this far yesterday. Scanning the street one more time, seeing no one, I lift the lid of the antique mailbox, grab the pile of envelopes and junk mail inside, and rush—as best as I can—back to the safety behind my locked door.
Clementine ambles down the hall, stops halfway between me and the kitchen, sits, and watches me with that look only cats are capable of. TheWhy aren’t you feeding me? Don’t you love me anymore?look.
“I’m getting there, sweetie.” And I am. Until I glance down at the catalog clutched in my hands. My stomach lurches, and my back hits the door before I sink down to the ground.
Rodeo Vibe Apparel
The guy on the cover is posing in profile, hands on his hips, dark blue denim molding to his ass, a flannel shirt open and clearly blowing in the breeze. It’s the company’s signature look. A variation of it graces every catalog they’ve ever sent, and I know because this was theonlyplace Alec ever shopped. The only place he letmeshop the whole time we were together.
I don’t want to turn the catalog over. Don’t want to see the address. And when I do? A sob sticks in my throat and I can’t breathe.
It’s addressed to me. Not my company. Me. By name. Mynewname. Quinton Silver.
There’s no way Alec could have found me. I’ve been careful. So careful. But how else would the company get my name?
Clementine crawls into my lap and starts kneading my thigh, her purr so loud, I can hear it over my own wheezing. Scooping her up, I let her paws go to work on my shoulder, and shemrrpssoftly, rubbing her head against my cheek.
