When I close the door, I find myself pausing before twisting the lock into place, which has become routine, even when I’m alone—when Ithought I was alone.The unwanted, arrant notion threatens to pull me into darker thoughts, but I don’t allow myself to be swallowed up. Instead, I consciously leave the door unlocked. It’s weird to acknowledge, but I really don’t want anything preventing Boone from getting to me if need be.
After I use the toilet and wash up, I look down at my toothbrush. There’s no way I’m going to be able to use it, not when I know someone was in the house. They could have spit on it or rubbed it all over the toilet bowl.
I actually retch, thinking about how many other times I’ve touched, used, or eaten similar things. I swipe the toothbrush off the counter, not even hitting the wastebasket, and open the cabinet for my mouthwash. It only takes one look at the opened bottle for me to know I’ll never be able to use it again either.
Anger fills me to the point that my eyes brim with tears. I want to scream and throw things at the wall, but I’m pragmatic enough to know it wouldn’t do a damn thing.
After flipping on the cold water, I bend down and catch the stream of icy liquid in my mouth. It’s jarring at first, but I force myself to swish repeatedly, then I use my clean finger like a makeshift brush on my teeth and tongue before swishing all over again.
By the time I exit the bathroom, I realize staying here will never work. I can’t live like this, and I can’t make Boone do it either.
“Hey,” I call with a little too much frustration in my tone. Boone snaps his head around from the open fridge to look at me.
“I can’t do this,” I blurt from the staircase. “I appreciate everything, and I know I talked you into this, but I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asks calmly after quietly closing the fridge.
“Any of this. I can’t stay here. I need to go.”
“Where are you going to go?” He crosses his arms over his chest after leaning his butt against the counter. There’s something about how unruffled he’s being that sets me more on edge.
“I don’t know yet, someplace where this psycho can’t find me. I have access to cash. I won’t take anything with me that can be traced,” I explain, and my tone sounds defensive, even to me.
He dips his chin once and says, “That might work for now. Hell, you might be able to disappear forever. It’s damn near impossible in this day and age, but even if it was doable and you got away, what about the next Hayzel?”
My stomach clenches.
“What about the next girl who doesn’t have the means or opportunity to get away and her sister?”
My throat tightens, but I still manage to utter a denial, all while knowing it’s a lie. “That’s not my fault.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” he agrees with his arms still barred over his chest, “but something tells me it wouldn’t sit right with you either. If you’re worried I can’t protect you, I can and will.” Now he’s the one who sounds defensive.
“It’s not fair.” I roll my lips in after the petulant slip, then I messily wipe at my face when a tear falls off my cheek.
Boone’s arms slip down to his sides, and he takes measured steps toward me. His face is twisted in what looks to be remorse or guilt from his heavy frown. “I meant what I said, Harlyn. None of this is your fault, but we have a chance to stop him, hopefully before he can hurt anyone else.”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant it’s not fair to you.Fairis not a word I associate with my life,” I scoff while wiping under my nose.
“Don’t worry about me. Catching this guyismy job.”
“You always go this far above and beyond?” I plant my hand on my hip.
Boone meets my stare head-on. “I think we both know this situation is different. If this wasn’t what I do, I would still do everything it took to protect you.”
I melt on the inside, but still, there’s a niggling feeling of dread. What will this cost him? Us? Putting this kind of expectation on anyone is too much, but this early, it has to be a death sentence for a future relationship. Every emotion I feel is heightened. Everything feels critical, making it that much harder to slow things down. I wish I could have met him before—no, I wish Hayzel was still here, and I met him at a coffee shop or walking down the damn street.
“That’s incredibly sweet, but what about when it all becomes too much? When it feels too much like a job? I don’t want to be a burden, and I sure don’t want you to feel like you’re here out of obligation.”
Boone moves as if he’s going to come even closer to me, but I stop him with a lifted hand.
“I’m tired of my own life. How can I ask you to deal with that? And I’m going to be real here. I like you, really like you, and I haven’t even thought of anyone in that way in… Let’s just say it’s been a while. I don’t want to ruin what could be by letting this get messy.” By the time I’m done spewing my heart out, I don’t need a mirror to know my face is red. I can feel the heat of embarrassment flushing my cheeks and ears.
“What if I like messy?” he challenges in that same composed tone with one eyebrow arched.
“Nobody likes messy,” I scoff.
“We must not know the same kind of people.” He continues his approach, slow and methodical, until I have to tip my head back to look into his face. “I know plenty of people who live for drama, even if they don’t know it. My sister Tabby has the most toxic taste in men, but she can’t understand why her boyfriends are such assholes. In a room full of men, she would most certainly pick the biggest jerk.” There’s a small smile tugging at his lips, as if the trait is endearing.
