Will. That’s the first time he’s ever used my nickname. Focus.
“I overheard you talking to Arlo after that guy came in here, and I know you’re an ex-Marshal and worked on the Tennison Strangler case, and I desperately need to pick your brain for this book, and I promise to not tell a single soul anything. I haven’t told anyone, and I’m on a tight-as-hell deadline and I’m stressed out, but I think you could help me.” I say it all in one breath, looking down at the table the entire time.
When he doesn’t respond, I peek up through my lashes and see his jaw clenched so tight I worry about his dental health.
I want to say more, but I think the best course of action is to let what I said sink in before I say anything else. I don’t want to make it worse than it already is. Lord knows, I have the tact of a toddler right now.
My mind is running through every possible scenario, and they start to look worse and worse for me.
I open my mouth to say something that could help my cause here but close it just as fast, because I don’t think there’s anything I could come up with to ease this situation.
I go back to staring at the table as I see Oakley in my periphery, tapping his index finger on the back of his other hand. The beat he taps gets faster, and I think I’m done for.
No more delicious coffee. No more perfectly grilled sandwiches. And no more book.
Fuck. I have no other option. This feels like the only way to get out of my writer’s block, and I just fucked up the entire thing.
“You didn’t tell anyone?” Oakley’s voice is so quiet I barely hear him.
“No! No, no one,” I say quickly.
His stare drills through mine, and I hold it. If there is a chance he’ll talk to me about his past, I need to be committed to doing anything.
“What did you hear exactly?”
Chapter 6
Oakley
The relief is evident in her body. Her huge exhale does nothing to settle my pounding heart. If I thought my anxiety was high before, hearing her say she knows anything about my past sends me nearly to the ground, curled up in a ball in a cold sweat.
“I was going to the bathroom when you and Arlo were talking. The door wasn’t shut all the way, and I stopped to listen. I know, it was so, so wrong, and I’m sorry. But it finally sparked some inspiration for this book I’ve been so blocked about. And I know it’s not a reason to betray you, but that’s my only excuse. I only know what you and Arlo talked about, just about what your past job was and the Tennison Strangler case. Then I booked it back to my table to start planning.” She says it all so fast, it’s hard to keep up with her.
But what I focus on is that she knows my past. She knows I’m a fuck-up who couldn’t catch one of the worst criminals in our history.
And I panic.
“Get out.”
“Oak—”
“Get out!”I yell.
The color drains from her face, and for a split second I feel like the biggest asshole, but I can’t do anything to stop the freight train that is my fear. I need her out of here before I do something I can’t take back.
“I’m so sorry, Oakley,” she whispers before unlocking the front door and quickly departing.
I slump against the chair, feeling the weight of my past hitting me like an anvil.
What does this mean now that Willow knows my deep secret? Do I need to move again? Can I still keep my life in Bluebell Falls without word getting out? She said she didn’t tell anyone, and I believe her because if she had, everyone would be at my door asking questions.
Fuck, I hate this so much.Every fear I’ve held on to for so long is rushing to the surface, and I feel like I’m about to break.
I stumble up the stairs to my apartment, feeling the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack in my lungs. Barely getting the door open, I slam it shut before dropping to my knees, clutching my chest. Everything feels tight, like I can’t breathe, can’t pull in enough air to function. My shirt sticks to my chest from the sweat, and I clumsily try to get it off, struggling with every movement.
I finally rip it off my body, using the momentum to get my jeans off too. Everything feels too constricting, and I need any relief I can get. Once I’m finally in just my boxer briefs, I lie flat on my back on the floor.
Using some of the tools my therapist gave me, I breathe in to the count of ten, and out to the same. I repeat this several times before my chest starts to loosen up enough for me to think clearly.
