“You’ll be safe here, and I’m not far. I have this here with my Wi-Fi and password info so you can get the tablet online.” I place the sticky note on the screen of the tablet. My email and phone number is also jotted down for her to use. I don’t like leaving her here without a phone, but I can’t leave mine. That would get me into a shit load of trouble at work.
“Okay.” Her posture doesn’t change, but she does tilt her head up to look at me. “Thank you for all this. I really do appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“I know, but you don’t need to thank me. I want to help. I had some snacks sent over with the clothes. I don’t really trustsomeone else to pick out shit from the fridge or freezer section, so I’ll have lunch delivered. What do you want?”
“I’m not hungry,” she says before I can finish.
“You might be later,” I warn. “Email me when you get the tablet going, and we can sort food that way.”And I can check in on you.
“Okay,” she says again. I think I’m beginning to dislike that word. It feels like she’s leaving something unsaid.
I look around, stalling because I don’t want to leave, but know I need to. “You’ll be safe. No one knows you’re here, but don’t open the door!” The last part comes out harsher than intended, so I soften my tone. “No one should knock anyway. If someone buzzes the unit with a delivery, it goes to my phone, and I can let them in on the app.”
“I’m good,” Harlyn answers, but it doesn’t make it easier to leave, especially because she looks the opposite of good. She looks scared.
“Set up the tablet and email me as soon as you do so we can stay in contact.” I approach her slowly. She doesn’t drop her hands, but she doesn’t move away or refuse my touch when I wrap my arms around her either. The one-sided embrace isn’t very encouraging, but I understand her reservations.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay.” She may not hug me back, but she does lean into my embrace, resting her head on my chest. My phone vibrates a second later, and I curse. I’m sure it’s Chauncey, and I don’t blame him. I’m not sure how much longer I would have stalled if he didn’t force me into action.
I kiss Harlyn’s temple, then I leave to grab my bag before I decide to say fuck it and stay, ensuring nothing would get done.
Once I’m out of the apartment, I check to make sure the handle is locked behind me then head toward the lobby. Thesooner I talk to Mickey and officially get her on board with the Wade case, the sooner I can return home to Harlyn.
Harlyn
I look out the window, watching the day fade as the sun slips farther down on the horizon. It’s been hours since I heard from Boone. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried, but probably not for the right reasons.
The longer he’s gone, the more time I have alone to think about the text from Chloe and everything else. Let’s just say I’m not filled with the same giddy hope I was yesterday around this time when we were in his bed, and I can’t even just blame the text. The past week—hell, the past year and a half—has really messed with my mental state. Is it even fair of me to try to start something with Boone? What kind of partner would I be? One who always needs reassurance and coddling, that’s for sure.
I tilt my head back to look up at the ceiling. The television is droning on and has been for hours. I don’t think I’ve actually paid attention to anything other than myself and my damn feelings all day. The little boost of life I got after talking with my bank and ordering a new debit card to be sent to this address faded long ago. Thankfully I got a sympathetic female agent who bypassed the security measures that required it to be delivered to the address on file. It took tech support another twenty minutes to help me access my account and reset my password, but I have my money back. I don’t have a way to access it as of yet, but knowing I can pay my own way is a relief.
I lost all forward momentum after that, and that’s when the wallowing began. I’m getting pretty sick of myself at this point, especially since the one thing I can’t seem to forget is the text message. I’m not sitting here worried about the stalker findingme. Boone’s reassurance that I am safe here was enough. I can’t say I love being alone, but the dread I feel when I think about going back to Michigan or Texas isn’t plaguing me.
I roll my neck and look at the clock. I told myself I wouldn’t email Boone again, but as the hours tick by, I’m starting to rethink that at the threat of him believing I’m clingy.
I check my new email account to make sure I didn’t somehow miss the ding when I was in the bathroom or staring off into space and find nothing but generic ads and the already opened confirmation email from the bank.
The click of the door unlocking startles me, but I’m not sure it can account for the rise in my pulse or the sudden onslaught of nervous jitters filling my belly. Boone walks in and our gazes meet down the long hallway.
“Hey,” I call softly, suddenly I’m unsure. That’s a lie. I’ve been uncertain since last night, and I can’t seem to get a handle on my emotions. One second, I tell myself the text and his reply is no big deal, and the next, I’m spiraling.
“Hey,” he calls back rather solemnly before tossing his keys into the little bowl near the door. “Sorry that took so long.” He breaks eye contact to remove his bag from his shoulder then disappears into his office.
I stand up and wring my fingers. I hate this new awkwardness. I felt it a little this morning, but it was one-sided, and now it’s clearly coming from him too. Does he know I saw the message, or is it something else?
I think about walking down the hall, but my feet feel rooted to the floor, giving him time to emerge from the office only a few seconds later. “Give me five minutes to clean up, and we can head out.” He barely looks in my direction.
The pit in my stomach opens more. “Head out?”
“It’s too late to go to the bank, but we have a little while before the stores close.”
“I talked to the bank earlier. They are rushing me a new card, and it will be delivered here,” I tell his back as he heads into his bedroom. He pauses for a moment before resuming his path toward the bathroom.
Silence reigns for a minute or two until I hear the toilet flush and water turn on at the faucet. Boone eventually emerges from the doorway, but he stays across the room. The tension is completely foreign.
I’m just about to apologize for invading his privacy when he scrubs his hand over his face and lets out a soft string of curses before leveling me with a sad stare and adding, “Sorry, I had a shitty day.”
