Part of me thinks I shouldn’t be happy about it. That it’s wrong to feel that way.
Then I remember all the horrible things he did. I think about the recordings Webb and his friends found hidden on a collection of USB drives in Ken’s apartment, chronicling years of watching other women he worked with. I think about thefolder he had in his office, overflowing with photos of me. And my mind goes to that camera he hid in my bathroom—the one tucked above the mirror with a clear view of my shower.
A shudder ripples through me. Goosebumps rise on my arms.
It’s still hard to wrap my mind around the extent of his obsession. And the chilling evidence of how far Ken was willing to go.
Because Webb didn’t just find photos and videos in Ken’s apartment. He found pages of notes outlining just how Ken would get back at me for my perceived betrayal. He was going to ramp up the harassment to include posting the more explicit videos online. There were meticulous notes about my work schedule, my daily routine, and details about my new apartment in Williston. And the worst of all—an unregistered gun tucked in the very back of his closet.
Maybe it was for protection. I hope it was. But I can’t help wondering if he meant to use it on me.
That’s why, though I was brought up to believe it’s intrinsically wrong to be glad someone’s dead, I can’t help being happy about it.
Am I a bad person for feeling that way? Webb says no. When I brought it up last night, he reassured me that it’s completely natural. “You’re not celebrating a tragic death,” he said. “You’re relieved that the man who hurt you is gone. It’s completely different. And you have nothing to feel bad about.”
It’s not that I don’t believe Webb. But I wish my dad was around to reassure me, too.
Exhaling heavily, I focus on squishing the unpleasant thoughts into a tiny box in the back of my head. Then I slam the metaphorical box shut, lock it, and wrap a few sturdy chains around it for good measure.
There’s no point in dwelling on it,I remind myself. The best thing is to move on. Think about all the great things in store, like going back to my normal life again and exploring this amazing connection between me and Webb. Without the threat of Ken hanging over me, we can go on regular dates again. I can help Webb with his quest of trying the best craft beers in the Pacific Northwest. And maybe we can even fly out to New York to visit Jaz.
Warmth expands inside me, chasing away my chill. I give my arms a quick rub to make the goosebumps go away. Then I turn my attention back to the peppers I’m chopping for omelettes as I guide my thoughts towards more pleasant things.
Like spending the day with Webb. After two days packed with meetings and interviews with the police—once Ken’s body was discovered and proof of his crimes came out, suddenly the investigators weremuchmore interested in what I had to say—today I’m finally getting a break.
Obviously, I was carefulnotto mention Blade and Arrow’s part in the investigation, beyond protecting me and setting up security at my apartment. I doubt the authorities would be thrilled to hear about Webb and his teammates breaking into Ken’s apartment, and I would never do anything to get them in trouble.
“It’s not that I want you to lie,” Webb explained before my first interview with the police. “I don’t want you doing anything you’re uncomfortable with. But?—”
I interrupted him. “I’m not uncomfortable. At all. What you guys did… I don’t care if some of it wasn’t technically legal. I tried doing it the official way. It didn’t work. You and your friends believed in me. And I believe in what you guys do.”
It’s the truth. I trust Webb, and by extension, his team. And if they need to break the law sometimes in order to protect innocent people, I’m in favor of it.
With a final chop, I finish dicing the peppers and push them to the side of the cutting board. Then I grab a handful of washed mushrooms drying on a paper towel and move them in front of me. Just as I’m about to start slicing, a softly cleared throat sounds from the entrance to the kitchen.
I set the knife down and turn around, smiling at Webb as soon as I see him. “You’re up.”
He grins at me as he crosses the kitchen. “I’m up.” Pulling me into his arms, he kisses me tenderly, his breath tasting of fresh mint. His scent wraps around me, easing some of my lingering tension.
Once the kiss ends, I lean into his body and nuzzle his neck. His lips press to the top of my head. We just stand like this for at least a minute, just enjoying the nearness of each other.
“Noelle,” Webb murmurs. “How are you more beautiful each time I see you?”
My heart squeezes as emotion surges through me, so intense it’s almost too much to take.
The words are right there, a breath away from escaping.
I love you.
I don’t care that it hasn’t been that long. I just love you.
But I can’t make the words come out. Not because I don’t mean them. But there’s an insecure part of me that’s scared of rejection. A part that’s terrified of doing anything to ruin this incredible thing we have going.
Didn’t you promise to be honest with him?that little voice of logic pipes up.When you told him about Ken, didn’t you say you’d tell him if something was bothering you? Scaring you? How is this different?
Because I’m not in danger this time,I silently argue.And I’ll tell him. Maybe just not now.
Tipping my head to look up at Webb, I scan his face before replying. His hair is still tousled from sleep, and he has atiny crease on his left cheek. His eyes are more sky blue than sapphire in the morning sun, and faint stubble shadows his cheeks and jaw.
