Page 196 of Faking the Goal

TAYLOR

Yeah, can't sleep.

My smile disappears almost immediately.

ME

Why? Another nightmare?

Taylor told me about her recurring nightmare a few days ago. How it's been getting worse lately, coming more frequently and leaving her so shaken afterward that she can't fall back asleep. It's gotten to the point where some nights, she barely sleeps at all.

I hate even more that she's been dealing with it alone for so long.

The typing bubble appears again.

Disappears.

Comes back.

Then finally, her reply comes.

TAYLOR

I'm scared.

The second I read her message, I jolt upright, every trace of sleepiness gone. Before I've even had time to think it through, I'm already shoving my feet into my shoes and heading for the door, driven by one instinct and one instinct only: she's scared, and I need to get to her.

I move quickly through the hallway and down the stairs, my phone still clutched in my hand, and by the time I reach her door, my pulse is pounding hard against my ribs. I'm already lifting my hand to knock when I stop myself. If she's lying awake terrified because of everything happening with her stalker, the last thing I want is to scare the shit out of her by suddenly knocking on her door in the middle of the night.

So instead, I pull up our chat and send her a message.

ME

I'm right outside.

A few seconds later, I hear movement from inside. The lock turns, and the door opens just enough for Taylor to look out. Her eyes widen the moment she sees me standing there.

"Ken-chan?"

She looks completely surprised, like she genuinely hadn't expected me to come. "What are you doing here?"

I slip my phone into my pocket. "You said you were scared."

And to me, that was reason enough.

Something in her expression shifts, and whatever surprise was there a second ago gives way to the fear I could already hear in those three words she sent me.

She steps aside to let me in.

I follow her into the apartment and wait while she locks the door behind us. When she walks toward the couch, I go with her, taking the cushion beside her as she curls one leg beneath herself. There's barely a foot of space between us, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off her without actually touching her.

"What happened?" I ask.

Instead of answering, Taylor reaches for her phone. She unlocks it, pulls something up, then extends it toward me.

"He texted me again."

I don't need to ask who.