Page 24 of My Secret to Protect

Iwanttoheadinside and take a shower. The hot weather has me feeling sticky, and I just want to climb into my clean bed with fresh, clean, cooled-down skin, but I can’t settle. He is right there, and apparently, he is here to stay, so I need to talk to him—clear the air or something.

Picking up my cell, I stand and stomp my way to Arlo’s front door, knocking with more force than necessary.

He opens the door and leans against the door frame in black sweatpants and a white t-shirt that shows a ghost of the tattoos underneath, and I take a defensive step back as though being too close to his hotness might make me forget how he hurt me.

‘Short stuff.’ He grins, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Can’t get enough of me, huh?’

I scoff and shake my head, then take a breath. ‘Look, if you’re going to be living here, I figured we should talk, clear the air.’

‘Clear it of what?’

‘Arlo, we have a lot of history.’

He shrugs, uninterested. ‘Not really. It was a hot couple of months a very long time ago.’ I wish I could stop the hurt at hearing him diminish what we had to basically nothing. I wish I hadn’t audibly gasped when he said it. ‘I’m a different person now, Bree, and I’m sure you are too.’

My lips part. I want to say something. I want to defend those people we once were and the love they shared. I just can’t seem to find any words.

‘Listen, we don’t need to hash out the past. We both moved on. Now we’re neighbors, so if you ever need a cup of sugar or you need me to keep a spare key when you go on vacation, I’m your guy, but I don’t really think we need to clear the air of anything.’

‘Okay, I just…’ the cell vibrating in my hand stops my train of thought and halts my speech as I raise it up to see the message.

Unknown:Princess, I don’t want you talking to other men. Turn around and leave. Now.

Exhaling sharply, I lock my phone and step back.

‘Bree, you okay?’ I hear Arlo ask but don’t answer. ‘Bree?’ His hand reaches out to touch my arm, and I pull back, out of reach. He’s watching, and he doesn’t like me talking to Arlo, so him touching me would be even worse, I know it.

‘Yes. I’m fine.’ I step off Arlo’s porch as I feel his eyes boring into me. ‘I have to go.’

As I reach my porch, the phone in my hand vibrates again, and I release a weak sob as I raise it up, the tears rolling down my cheeks as I read the message.

Unknown: Good girl.

It’s Called A Scrunchie?

Bree

Fourdays.

I heeded my warning and stayed away from Arlo, so I haven’t had any other messages, but that just has me pissed off and on edge. I went back to work—if you could call it that. I mostly just sat at my desk staring at the doors, knowing they were ones I couldn’t lock to hide behind so anyone could come wandering in.

Jenna keeps checking in, asking if I’m okay because she can see that I’m not, but she also knows better than to push.

Now, as I head home, waving to Merv through the diner window as he chats to customers and to Missy as she laughs with a client, I feel sad. I have always loved this town. I love my life here. Granted, I am lonely, but I had my family, my dream job, sort of, my cottage that I worked my ass off for, but now, if I could run to the ends of the earth, it wouldn’t be far enough away.

Nolan has stripped my life of the joy it once held, and now, it’s an empty shell. All the bones are still here: my home, my family and friends, my job, but there’s no meat on them now. I’m trapped. A prisoner inside my own life.

This thing with him has me questioning everything, and not because of his actions, but because of mine. I'm supposed to be a cop, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next, and he knows that. He’s mocking me, my inexperience, the small town department I busted my ass to set up.

Is that what he wants out of this—to laugh at the woman calling herself a chief in a crimeless town? All I know right now is that I’ve fallen into the trap of obeying my stalker just to keep him at bay, and that shit is pissing me off.

Hiding from this, obeying his demands—it’s not me, it’s not who I am, and honestly, in my more lucid moments, I wish he would just hurry up and make his move because I want to look him in the eye when he gets what’s coming to him.

As I approach the cottage, I’m met with the sight of Arlo in his front yard, and I slow my steps, watching.

‘Yes, good boy.’ He reaches out to hand Beans a treat before making him sit and issuing some other command that I can’t hear. Beans runs off around the yard and brings something back to be given the same praise and another treat, and I realize I’m standing still at the bottom of my path, watching.

‘Afternoon, chief,’ Arlo calls out, making me glance down at my uniform. He’s seen me in it already but with nothing more than a ‘morning,’ or ‘afternoon,’ as a passing greeting. His addressing me as a cop makes me feel strange. I don’t know why.

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