Page 81 of Head Under Water

“Can you see who’s driving? How do you know they’re following you? Where did they come from?”

I shake my head, though he can’t see me. “No. No. It’s… I can’t tell from here. I don’t know how long they’ve been following me, but they took my last two turns.”

“Okay. It’s fine. You’re going to be okay,” he says, but I can hear the worry coating his voice.

“Maybe I should go to the police station.”

“Where are you, exactly?” he asks.

“I just passed the high school.”

Through the phone, I can hear him pacing. “You’re closer to me. Come home, Opal. I’ll be outside, okay? Don’t get out of the car until you see me.”

A breath escapes my lips. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Just stay calm. It’s probably someone on their way home who has no idea they’re freaking you out.”

“Do you really believe that?” I ask, looking for reassurance.

“Does it help if I say yes?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then, yes. I really believe it. How far away are you now?”

“Two minutes,” I guess.

I can hear him moving. His voice echoes in the stairwell. “I’m on my way to you. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

Some part of his words settles in my chest. Not just the words, but the promise, warming the iciest depths of my fear.

As I pull into the parking lot for his apartment a few minutes later, I see him standing there. Waiting.

A wooden baseball bat swings low in his right hand. The sleeves of his waffle-knit shirt are shoved up above his elbows, the top button at his collar undone. He looks ready to break something for me.

My chest constricts. The fear washes away.

When I check the rearview mirror, it’s with just enough time to watch the truck zip past. For the briefest second, I consider turning around and following them, but the thought is terrifying.

This feels real now, in a way it didn’t before.

I can’t.

I park, and Will is at my door in seconds, opening it before I get the chance. He squats down next to the car, dropping the bat with a sharp clatter against the gravel. He wraps his arms around me, hands touching my back, my head. Like he’s checking to be sure I’m real.

His heart beats so hard in his chest I can feel it against my skin. His scent is pure coastal waters, and somehow still earth.

His words come fast. “You’re okay.” Some part of me thinks he needs to hear it as badly as I do.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, feeling silly and small. “You were right. I overreacted.”

He pulls back, zeroing in on my face. “Did I say you overreacted?”

“You said it was probably nothing. And you were right.”

“I hope I was right,” he says, his gaze following the path where the truck disappeared. “But we don’t know, and I don’t want to have to find out.” He cups my cheeks when he turns back to me, and my vision goes sharp under his scrutiny. I’m very aware of how close he is, of the way my heart is beating. “I’m glad you called me. Please call me. Anytime, every time.”

I give a small nod, and he stands and grabs the bat.