Page 11 of Dart to Me
“Can I come in? Just for a minute.”
Every instinct tells me to shut the door in his face, but something in his expression makes me hesitate. It’s not the usual Miles confidence. There’s worry there. Real worry.
“Don’t you always have ‘something else’ to tell me?” I sigh, but I don’t close the door completely. I’ve known him long enough to recognize when there’s actual concern behind his overprotective act.
Miles shifts his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s about Rick Denton.”
My stomach drops at the name. “What about him?”
“He’s out.”
“Out of what? Prison?” My voice rises despite my effort to stay calm.
Miles nods. “Got released yesterday. Good behavior or some bullshit. I just found out.”
I take an involuntary step back. “And you think he might...”
“I don’t know,” Miles says, his voice softening. “But he made those threats against you, and he blames you for being sent to prison.”
The night air suddenly feels colder. I wrap my arms around myself, hating that I feel vulnerable. Hating even more that Miles is witnessing it.
“You should have called instead of showing up like this.”
“Would you have answered?”
I don’t respond because we both know the answer.
“Look,” Miles continues, “I’m not trying to scare you or use this as an excuse to insert myself into your life. I just thought you should know.”
Part of me wants to tell him to leave, that I can handle this myself. But another part—the practical part—knows this isn’t about our failed marriage or his guilt or my lingering anger.
“I’ll be careful.”
He leans a little closer. “I let my guys know. So they might be patrolling your street more, just to be safe.”
“You think that’s necessary?”
“I think it’s better to be overly cautious than not cautious enough.” He finally removes his foot from my doorway. “And Ellie? This Julian guy...”
“Don’t,” I warn.
“Just... make sure he’s someone who would stand between you and trouble, not someone who brings it to your door.”
I almost laugh. “Funny advice coming from you.”
A flash of hurt crosses his face, but he accepts the jab with a slight nod. “Fair enough. Goodnight.”
I watch him walk back to his car, noticing how his shoulders slump slightly. For a moment, I almost call out to him, but I stop myself. We’ve been down this road too many times.
I close the door and double-check the lock. My phone buzzes on the coffee table—a text.
Julian: Everything okay?
How do I even explain any of this to him? He doesn’t need to be sucked into my drama.
Me: Yeah, he’s just checking on me.
Julian: Should I be worried? Concerned?
