Page 32 of My Secret to Protect

I lift up onto my elbows and take in the work.

‘This is Leo, right?’ I reach out and run my fingertips over the sexy woman’s black waves, so realistic I feel like I can wrap her hair around my fingers, then I feel his labored breath, so I pull back. I made him uncomfortable.

‘Yeah, he did a bunch back there,’ Arlo grumbles, and I know I shouldn’t have touched him that way.

‘I recognize his style.’ My voice is quiet, and he turns just slightly so I get his side profile now, but his eyes flick to the side to meet mine.

‘You got any more than the one on your shoulder?’

‘A couple,’ I admit, and he turns a little more. ‘None that I can show you with my clothes on.’

Immediately, Arlo’s attention returns to the river, and I drop back to the blanket again, stretching out my legs to lay flat once more.

‘When’s the last time you slept properly?’

‘You saying I look tired?’

‘Bree, you look exhausted.’ He turns fully now, and I close my eyes.

‘It’s just the heat or something. Although Zoe thinks I’m lonely.’ I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud, and I stiffen with regret.

‘Are you?’ I feel him shift, and I know he’s turned fully now, but I keep my eyes closed and throw my forearm over my eyes for added protection. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me. That’s how it works, right?

‘I’m thirty-seven and single, Arlo. I live alone, and all my closest friends are married or engaged with babies. Of course, I am.’

‘You ain’t thirty-seven yet, short stuff.’

I feel him turn away, and I bite my lip—he remembers my birthday.

Wear Something Nice

Arlo

‘Laughitup,bud,’I grumble as I scrape the overcooked chicken into the bowl of a happily waiting Beans. He loves it when I’m off my game because he gets the spoils, and today, I am off my game.

Since I was locked up, cooking has been my thing. I managed to get a job in the kitchen in prison and was able to learn and gain qualifications, and when I got out, I kept on learning and developing my passion. I wanted to cook for a living, but when it came to setting up my life and my business on the outside, I took the easy route and leaned into what I had always known. I was taking apart and putting together engines before I hit double figures, so it felt safe.

So, professionally, I work on cars, trucks, and bikes day in, day out, but in my personal life, I cook. Even when it’s just for me, I take my time and make the effort to produce something special. Today though, I can’t even focus enough to take my damn chicken out of the skillet before it becomes tough and dry because all I can think about is Bree. The memories of her hands on me, her eyes on me, the way she held onto me as though she never wanted to let go, and then the look in her eyes as she watched me cuffed and carted away.

The time around her has been more confusing than I anticipated. When she’s right there in front of me, it’s hard to remember why I spent the last twenty years trying to hate her. The second she’s out of sight, that old resentment creeps back in.

Sighing, I quickly season more chicken and start over. All this for a goddam sandwich. I could just buy some precooked slices but,no, I’m feeling particular.

Without wanting to sound like a whining kid, it’s the fact that she never said sorry. Granted, I didn’t give her the opportunity to back then. I was too angry, but now, if the tables were turned, if I’d been responsible for stealing away years of her life, I’d have been on my knees begging her forgiveness the moment I laid eyes on her.

‘Jesus.’ I shake my head at my pettiness. ‘I’m thirty-nine years old, Beans. You’d think I’d be over this by now.’

I was over it, for the most part. I hadn’t had more than a passing thought about Bree in years, but then Mrs. C asked me to do this thing, and now—I sigh as I flip my chicken—nowI am in close proximity to her, and the urge to scream at her for screwing me over is stronger than I need it to be. The urge to get her naked and find out what tattoos she’s hiding is un-fucking-bearable.

Sitting at my dining table with my perfectly cooked chicken, pesto, and salad sandwich, I open my laptop and pull up the feed from the cameras I installed facing Bree’s place. I haven’t gotten close enough to put them on her porch yet, but I will if we don’t draw this prick out fast.

I run it back to last night and see Bree watering the lawn in her front yard once the sun started to set. She had on those cute as fuck little shorts she was wearing this morning. Watching her, I notice the nervous way she keeps looking around as if she knows she’s being watched, and then she turns to head back inside but stops, looks over toward my place for a long moment, then disappears, and I speed up the video.

Midnight, one, two in the morning, and nothing, but then, 3:07 am, and there’s something that piques my interest. Slowing the video down to normal speed, I put down my sandwich and lean in. It’s not clear, too far away to make out any features, but there’s someone. They don’t get too close to the house, but behind the tree at the end of her front yard, a shadow, too tall to be an animal but hardly moving.

‘What the fuck is he doin’?’

I speed up the footage, and for thirty-five minutes, he stands there, just watching her house before backing away, and my skin crawls. He was right there, the son of a bitch was right there, and now that I know that, I know this plan is going to work.

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