Derek Cassidy was a mechanic at the auto repair shop where I got my car serviced. He had clear blue eyes, amazing biceps, a leather jacket, a motorcycle and a pickup truck. He was ex-military like my dad. His bad-boy aura should’ve been a warning, but we met not long after Grandma died, and I was feeling too alone in the world to listen to the voice of reason. All I saw were good looks, a steady paycheck, and the fact that he’d chosen me.
It was only after we were married that things got rocky. He was secretive. He had a temper. I’d threaten to leave, he’d promise to do better. And it would get better, for a while. Then, one night on a dark road, the cops pulled us over. And I learned that Derek had been dealing pills out of his truck. There was a hidden compartment underneath the floorboards. I knew nothing about it, but I was in the passenger seat, so they arrested me anyway. I could’ve had the charges dropped if I gave information. But Derek threatened me, and I knew him well enough by then to take him at his word. I pled guilty to a misdemeanor possession charge with a guarantee of no jail time because my lawyer said it was the best I could do. I got five years’ probation and fired from my good job at the hospital because they couldn’t have someone with drugs on her record.
That black mark is there to this day, holding me back from better things. Derek, on the other hand, I did manage to shake. He went away for five years, and I divorced him while he was in jail. He wasn’t too happy about that.
Once burned, twice shy. I dated here and there after Derek, but I was always leery of getting serious. Nobody got through my armor until Connor came back. And he’d left me dragging through my days, feeling like the hollowness inside would never go away. That’s why, after several weeks passed with no word from Connor, I let Hayley at the restaurant shame me into going on Tinder. She’d just gotten engaged to a guy she met on there. A nice guy, who owned a lawn-care company and went to church with her on Sundays. When I told her one time too many that I had no weekend plans, she grabbed my phone out of my hand and insisted on making me a profile. I don’t know if I was reckless, or stupid, or just desperate. But I let her do it, figuring it couldn’t do any harm. Wrong.
At home that night in the privacy of my apartment, out of curiosity I opened Tinder and started browsing eligible men in my geographical area. None of them could hold a candle to Connor, and I was about to give up when I found myself staring at a photo of my ex-husband. I couldn’t believe it. What the hell was Derek doing on there? I’d set Tinder to show me profiles within a twenty-mile radius. He’d gotten out of jail a year ago and moved to Florida. I’d heard that from enough people to accept it as fact. Whenever I woke from a bad dream about Derek, the thought that he was a thousand miles away always comforted me. But if Tinder was showing me his profile, that could only mean one thing.
He was back.
If I’d seen his profile, had he seen mine? If he had, would he come looking for me? I jumped up and drew the blinds. I double-locked the door, looked in both closets, and pulled my shower curtain aside. Then I sat back down on the sofa, my breath coming in fast spurts. After he went to jail, I’d moved from the small house we’d rented together into this ground-floor studio in an apartment complex. My address was not listed anywhere online that I was aware of. On the other hand, Derek and I knew people in common who knew where I lived. My apartment faced the parking lot and had two large windows with flimsy locks. I knew my neighbors well enough to smile and exchange pleasantries, but none were friends I could turn to in a moment of need. If I screamed loudly, I was pretty sure they’d call 911, but that was small comfort. I took a butcher knife to bed with me that night, and barely slept.
The next day at the restaurant, I was constantly looking over my shoulder. I told everyone to be on the lookout for him, and even pulled up an old photo on my phone and showed it around. Matt tried to reassure me that, since I hadn’t swiped right on Derek’s profile, we hadn’t matched, so it was unlikely that he’d seen mine. For all I knew, Derek had been back in this area for months without getting in touch, so maybe I had nothing to fear. Still, to be safe, I had Matt to walk me to my car that night, and for several nights after.
A week passed with no sign of Derek. I let my guard down.
It was a Tuesday night. My shift had just ended at the restaurant and I was walking to my car through the dark parking lot when Derek came up from behind. I saw him from the corner of my eye, and the look of him shocked me. He’d always been a big guy, a gym rat, built. I’d liked that at first, until it scared me. Now he looked heavier, and not in a good way—puffy, unhealthy, with pasty skin. His hair was different, too, shaved into a fade that screamed jailhouse. I backed away, my chest tight with fear.
“Not so fast. Where do you think you’re going?” he said.
“I don’t want any trouble. Leave me alone.”
“Why should I? You’re my wife.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because of some bullshit piece of paper? I know you’re mad over the drugs, but come on—divorce? I was just try’na make a buck for us, babe.”
“Don’t blame me for your arrest. I never asked you to break the law.”
“Oh, right. You just wanted shit. A house, a new car—”
“I never said that. You decided to deal, without telling me.”
“Whatever. I apologize, okay. Now, cut the bullshit, and come home to me. I see you on Tinder, giving yourself to strangers. I’m right here. I miss you.”
He stepped toward me, into the light, and I got a look at his eyes. The pupils were pinpricks in the light-blue irises. He was on something. I started walking. He grabbed my arm. I screamed, and he clamped his hand over my mouth.
“Shut up, you’ll get me in trouble.”
My whole body was shaking. Derek had never physically hurt me before, but he’d punched walls and broken things. When he got the divorce papers in the mail, he called from prison and said I’d regret it and I shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking we were done.
I bit his hand. He yelped and let go.
“What the fuck.”
A rowdy group of customers exited the restaurant, shouting and laughing. Using them for cover, I ran for the door. He didn’t follow. Inside, I told Matt in a trembling voice what had happened. He insisted on calling the police. By the time the officer showed up and searched the parking lot, Derek had gone. There was a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper of my car—a flyer from a pizza place with Derek’s handwriting on the back.
“Nice to see you too,” the note read, and I heard the words in Derek’s bitter voice. “You dump me when I’m down & then your on Tinder looking all happy. You owe it to me to meet up. Call me.” And he left his number.
The officer was an old guy with gray hair and a beer belly who refused to take the situation seriously.
“He’s not here. Call if you see him again,” he said.
“That might be too late. He’s hostile. He’s stalking me.”
“He says right here, nice to see you.”
“That’s him being sarcastic. He grabbed me, I’m telling you.”
“Any witnesses to that?”
“No.”
“Then it’s he said, she said, and you won’t get far in court. If he was still loitering, I could do something, but.”