Page 52 of My Secret to Protect

‘You’re really worried what your family might think right now?’

Her eyes close, and she shakes her head, and I know all this is a lot for her to process.

‘Come on, you need to eat, and there’s a storm rolling in. You still like sitting out in a storm?’

She nods, holding my gaze like she’s surprised I remember, and I nod toward the back door, then head that way so I can light the grill.

Tell Me When I Get Home

Bree

Hewasinmyhouse, in my bathroom, while I was taking a shower.

The thought makes my skin crawl.

The rose petals bother me more than anything, though.

It’s stupid. He’s followed me, watched me, and tormented me. He’s been inside my house, taking photographs of me and who knows what else, but the rose petals, the candles, the music, that’s what turned my stomach because it’s as if he thinks this is romantic. Like, this isn’t just some sick game to him. He really thinks he’s wooing me, and that’s the scary part.

‘I don’t have my cell,’ I admit quietly, realizing I didn’t bring anything but myself to Arlo’s place, and he turns from the grill to look at me, sitting, my knees up to my chest on his patio sofa.

‘Do you need it?’

‘I just don’t want anyone to worry if they can’t get a hold of me.’ I hear the flat tone to my voice just as the first roll of thunder claps out overhead, and I look to the sky.

‘I’ll go.’ Arlo holds out the tongs he’s using on the grill. ‘Keep an eye on this for me. Beans, stay.’

The dog who hasn’t left my side since he found me curled up in a terrified ball on my back porch doesn’t even consider moving a muscle, and once again, I find myself impressed at how well-trained he seems to be. The rain starts to fall as Arlo disappears from his yard to mine, and I feel the tendrils of panic starting to unfurl at being alone. Standing, I try to take in the yard that’s disappearing into darkness as I approach the grill. He said it was no fuss, just grilling a couple of steaks, but as I turn the chicken legs, inhaling the scent of the sweet and smoky marinade, and stir the skillet of buttery fried potatoes, then rotate the corn, all cooking before the steaks have even been started, and I take in the freshly prepared salad and cornbread on the table, I see there isn’t anything simple about this, and I learn something new about Arlo Harper, hereallylikes to cook.

My stomach grumbles, and I note that it’s the hungriest I’ve felt in weeks, maybe even months. I’ve been so tired and scared recently that the thought of food just turned my stomach. I’ve pretty much been surviving on crackers and cookies to get me through.

It all looks and smells incredible, and I hope my stomach complies and allows me to actually eat some of it.

Movement in my peripheral has my grip tightening on the tongs in my hand, and I look up to see Arlo approaching, my duffle bag on his shoulder, which surprises me, and I step away from the grill as he steps up, glancing quickly to the food, making sure I didn’t fuck it all up.

‘You’re staying here, Bree.’ His eyes are hard, and his jaw is tight, and I know he saw the petals and it freaked him out too. ‘I got you some essentials.’ Handing me the duffle, Arlo takes the tongs and gets back to cooking, and I head back to the sofa, dropping my bag to the floor, then dipping my hand inside to find my cell. My hand lands on something unexpected, and I gasp. ‘I thought it might help you sleep.’ His attention is fixed on the food, but he knows my reaction means I just found the vibrator he packed. He packed me my toothbrush, underwear, PJs, clothes, extra sneakers, he even found some pre-moon cup pads and tampons and packed those, because, of course, he thought of that, and afucking vibrator. ‘It’s not a big deal, Bree. I saw it and thought it might help.’

Swallowing hard, I grab my cell and drop the toy, then pick up my bottle of beer and gulp because suddenly, my throat is dry as fuck.

The rain hitting the ground raises up the scent of the grass and the earth, and I close my eyes to inhale. The food, the storm, and the man are an attack on my weakened senses. I’m too tired to deal with the emotions it all awakens, and I clear my throat as I stand.

‘Um, can I use the bathroom?’ I ask, my voice hoarse, and Arlo turns to glance at me.

‘You know where it is?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Knock yourself out.’

Bringing my bag inside, I carry it upstairs before realizing I don’t know which room I’m staying in, so I drop it next to the bathroom door.

I cool my heated cheeks and frayed nerves with a splash of cold water, then I take in my reflection. God, I look a mess. I have a smudge of leftover mascara that I forgot to take off before my shower under my tired eyes. The circles there are dark enough without the support act. Grabbing a washcloth, I wet it and wipe, noticing now that I lost weight in my face. My cheeks are drawn, and my skin looks pale despite my tan. My two braids are messy, unruly strays sticking out and up all over.

Pulling out my hair ties, I shake out the strands and turn in search of a hairbrush, finding a wide-toothed comb. I pull it through my long hair, wavy from the braids. I have nobody to impress. Arlo isn’t interested in me and is stuck with me in his space for the foreseeable future, so I really want to make myself as unnoticeable as possible. This will do.

Heading back downstairs, I stall as I reach the dining room and take in the sight out of the open back door. He’s sitting on the porch steps, Beans next to him, his hand slowly stroking down the length of the dog’s back. He loves that dog. I see it in the effort he’s put into his training, in the bond so evident between them. It makes my heart skip. In another life, this could be our home, our dog, a couple of decades of love and happiness shared. Instead, he can’t wait to get away from me. Swallowing hard, I approach, Beans alerting Arlo to my presence.

‘You ready to eat?’ he asks as he turns to me, then quickly looks away and I nod, yes. I’m ready.

---