Chapter 12
Sabrina
One week Later
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“It’s just heartburn.”
Repeating my daily mantra, I pop an antacid, finishing off my bottle of water. Right on cue, there’s a knock at the door and I close my eyes, counting to thirty. Crossing the room, I open the door, not a soul in sight. Picking up the tied off grocery bag with a styrofoam takeout container at my feet, I retreat back into my apartment, settling in on the couch with my breakfast.
Cranking up the volume on the TV until I can’t hear myself think, I stare at the show without actually following along. The silence shouldn’t bother me- lord knows, the two of us are well acquainted after all of these years- yet it does. It offers too much time to be alone with my thoughts, for my mind to wander. And right now, anytime I start to mentally wander down the Hawthorne path, I want to burst into tears.
“Which means I’m in no place to think rationally if I’m still this upset.” No one responds to my statement, the words swallowed by the void.
Finishing up my breakfast, I drag the coffee table closer, flipping open my laptop. Diving back into my work at full throttle, I comb over line after line of code, occasionally referring to the notebook beside me for reference. It’s easy to block everything out like this, meticulously searching for errors. If this is the only thing I’m capable of fixing in my life, I’m damn well going to pull it off.
A sharp knock at the door jolts me out of my head. Heart thundering, I set my laptop aside, stretching out my stiff muscles. It’s easy to develop tunnel vision when you’re immersed in this sort of work, and honestly, if the guys weren’t sending regular meals, I’d likely go hungry because I was so distracted. And with as little as I’ve been sleeping, my internal clock is thoroughly shot to hell.
If I work up until I eventually crash for a few hours, I’ll be too exhausted to dream.
Reaching for the door handle, a violent twisting in my chest makes me pause, fingertips barely brushing the metal. Rising on my tiptoes to peer out of the peephole, I catch a brief glimpse of a brunette woman with her hair pulled back in a braid, clad in a black polo and matching pants descending the stairs after dropping off dinner.
Delivery driver, not one of the guys. And while I know it’s entirely possible they were busy and called in an order, as far as I’ve noticed, it’s always been one of them doing the drop off. They wait fifteen seconds like clockwork before accepting that I’m not going to face them and leave to give me space, but one of them is always on ‘guard duty.’
Withdrawing my phone, I bite the inside of my cheek.It’s only five. The guys are constant; reliable. Dinner shows up at five-thirty on the dot every day without fail.
Ultimately... I’m not dumb. As much as I’m avoiding them until I get my head on straight, I’m well aware that they’ve been watching me since long before the revelations last week because they’re worried someone might use me to hurt them. If they were that obsessive when they thought I was nothing special, I can’t imagine they’d trust a basic deadbolt now.
Choosing the least offensive option, I fire off a quick text to Reid.Did one of you have dinner dropped off early?
His reply is almost immediate.Not that I’m aware of, why?
Only caught a glimpse, but some girl just left something at the door.
My phone rings once before he hangs up, typing instead.Keep the door locked. I’m going to call Bo and have him do a sweep, but don’t touch anything until I check in, okay?
Deal. I’m going to go back to work, so give me a call if it’s a bomb or something, k?
Setting my phone face up on the coffee table, I pull my computer onto my lap, stretching my legs across the couch. As I work, I keep my phone in my peripherals for when the screen inevitably lights up. It’s much slower going, refusing to let myself fall into a groove, but it’d be stupid to play oblivious when something is out of the ordinary.
That twisting in my chest starts up again and I hold my breath, fingers stilling on the keyboard. I’m not foolhardy enough to pretend that there aren’t any threats against me, but I’m not ready to accept that I have an internal alarm system to ward against them. Tears spring to my eyes as I reach for another antacid.
My phone lights up with Reid’s text a few minutes later.We’re running on the assumption that it was drugged. Slade will sit with Cin and Bo tonight to err on the side of caution. Anything else weird happens, crack a window and shout, or call so I don’t sleep through your text, deal?
Reality begins to batter against the steadfast mental wall that I’ve erected, and I’m tempted to throw my water bottle across the room simply to seesomethingexplode, since I'm trying so goddamn hard not to let that thing be me. But frustrated tantrums won’t solve anything, just give me another mess to clean up. Embracing my inner adult, I take a deep breath.
Deal.
Three dots appear and disappear several times before his message pops up, clearly changing direction from whatever he wanted to say.Need anything? I can do a store run later.
