Page 12 of Griffin

Instead, I went for something totally out of character—khaki pants, a red sweatshirt, and a baseball cap instead of my usual blues and grays. Hopefully, it’d be enough to throw anyone off the scent.

Keeping this trip quiet was a whole other problem. Casey had warned me not to tell a soul, but if I just disappeared, Todd would flip.

He was my manager, after all. I had to say something to him, especially since I’d ignored his calls and texts all night.

Finally, when he showed up at my room while I was packing, I lied and told him I just needed a break, a few days to recharge.

“I’ll keep up with my streams and the sponsored ones,” I promised, knowing he could tell something was off.

The look on his face nearly broke me—concern mixed with a kind of disappointment.

It stung to lie to him, and there was a second where I almost caved, wanting to just tell him everything.

But Casey’s voice echoed in my head: Don’t tell anyone. It’s safer that way.

So here I was, hunched into this sticky bus seat, my back pressed against the window with my giant backpack wedged between my legs.

I glanced to my right, where a guy was sprawled out, snoring loud enough to drown out the bus engine.

He was hogging the armrest, his elbow jutting into my space. Far from ideal, but strangely, I felt a little relief.

Here, I was anonymous. No one cared who I was or why I was hiding behind a baseball cap.

I wasn’t “Michael, the gamer,” or anyone else who mattered—I was just some guy headed to a small town.

Maybe Casey was right; maybe this could be my chance to disappear.

Maybe, in its own messed-up way, this was the break I’d been looking for. The “holiday” I never expected.

This “holiday” was off to a rough start. To put it mildly, the bus ride had already been a headache.

It began with a breakdown on the freeway that kept us stranded for almost an hour.

Then, the guy next to me nearly puked from all the jolting, barely making it to the restroom in time.

And now? Casey had told me to meet him at some bar instead of his pet grooming shop.

I’d actually been looking forward to finally seeing his shop—a quiet spot where we could catch up and maybe sneak in some playtime with a few dogs.

But apparently, Casey got tied up, so here I was, dragging my tired self into this bar.

The lighting was dim, the music a little too upbeat for my mood, but at least it was warm inside.

I slumped into a corner booth, trying to wedge my backpack onto the floor, and opened my notebook.

“What can I get you?” The waiter’s voice broke through my thoughts. I glanced up, finally registering his presence.

“Beer, thanks,” I muttered, not bothering to make eye contact.

As I sat there, tapping my pen against the notebook, I tried to push away the tight knot in my shoulders.

This was a holiday, I reminded myself. A holiday.

Because that sounded better than hiding out from a stalker who’d been haunting me for months.

No matter what Casey said about laying low and staying off the grid, I planned to treat this like a genuine break.

This time was about getting back on my feet, pretending nothing happened that night—even if deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time until he showed up again.

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