It’s still early, and I’m not quite ready to sleep, so I grab my laptop and pull up the site I’ve been working on. I immerse myself in my work, adding the stock market widget to the main page, and grain and livestock on another. I scroll through the landing pages and make sure the images are right, based on specifics the company provided me. When I’m certain those are good, I click through a few other pages, working on the text and adding buttons for social media. I spend a good hour reading every line, looking for spelling errors and missing punctuation. Before the site goes live, I always send it to my client for a final set of eyes.
The only sound is the occasional clicking of my laptop keys, which is why, when I hear a loud wail, followed by that deep sexy timbre echoed through the wall, my entire body takes notice. They sound close, which means they’re in Milo’s bedroom again. I can picture them, Milo snuggled in one of those fuzzy animal towels with the hood attached, as Colton tries to wrestle a fresh diaper on him. Of course, Colton’s shirt is probably soaking wet too. Milo seems like the kind of kid who’d appreciate bath time.
Shaking my head, I try to push all thoughts of my landlord and the way his T-shirt would mold to his chest if it were wet—I bet it would be a magnificent sight—and finish up my work for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll comb the site one last time and send it to the customer for review. I know there will be changes, but I’d like to know if I’m on the right track.
Before I shut down my laptop for the night, I pull up my Facebook account. I have a few notifications, but most of them pertain to pages I follow, like authors and cute boutiques. My cursor hovers over the search bar, and before I stop myself, I type a name and click enter. Seven matches pop up with the name Colton Callahan, but it’s the first one that I find myself clicking.
The profile picture is of a slightly younger version of my landlord, with his arms around two others. Their hair is buzzed super short, and the trio sport wide grins and army green. Even though the picture is a few years old, I can see the resemblance in Milo and even Chase. The Callahans must have strong genes.
I scroll down, scanning his page. He hasn’t posted recently, but there are a few tags. More army pictures, usually featuring the same small group of guys, and more recently, All Fit Gym. They took to social media to promote his hiring, as well as push a few of the classes he’s starting. I end up checking out the descriptions of each one, noting one particular I wouldn’t mind checking into. It’s a self-defense class for women, as well as one-on-one personal defense lessons, which includes kickboxing and karate introductions.
Redirecting my browser to the All Fit website, I can see why Gabby thinks an overhaul is necessary. Their current site is plain and lacks any recent news. All of those classes they’re starting with Colton should be promoted on their website, with a direct link to sign up. A blog might also be a great addition to their site, where trainers and coaches can make weekly posts to engage their audience. Eating healthy, time management at the gym, personalized workouts, and classes. All things they could promote to their targeted audience.
My wheels are still spinning as I close out of their site and exit social media. A quick scan of my online bank account reveals a dangerously low amount of money, and even though I anticipated that number, it’s still alarmingly shocking. After paying first and last month’s rent, as well as my moving expenses and covering the purchases I made today at the store, I’m in desperate need of a little incoming cash. Hopefully, I can finish up this site and get paid sooner, rather than later, and then move on to the next one waiting in the wings. My business is successful, but the recent move took a hit to my finances.
After logging out, I notice the email icon lit up, so I hop over to check it out. I always get excited when I see a contact via my website because I know it’s someone looking for my services. If I’m lucky, they’ll sign on for a design soon, so I can get my checking account back up to where I prefer to keep it.
The message fills my screen, and my blood runs cold. My eyes fill with tears as I look at the seven words written, each one of them a reminder of the truth I’m running from. A truth that has followed me halfway across the United States. One that will continue to haunt my dreams, leaving me looking over my shoulder.
Contact: [email protected]
Message: You can run, but you can’t hide.
With a shaky hand, I log out of my email and shut down the laptop. I turn off my new lamp, a sliver of light from the streetlight outside filters through the blinds and dances across the floor. I snuggle under the blanket for warmth. A chill sweeps through my body, though it has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
He doesn’t know where I am.
I know it.
If he did, he’d already be here.
I’m safe.
I just wish I believed it.
A voice filters through the wall, steady and sure. Even though tears soak my pillow, I smile. Colton is singing again to his son. My heartbeat starts to slow, and my body starts to relax, as I reach out and grasp that little sliver of comfort he doesn’t even realize he’s providing.
******
By Tuesday evening, I feel a proud sense of accomplishment sweep through me. Glancing around my apartment, I smile. My cabinets are stocked with new-to-me kitchenware, and my oversized chair and ottoman are positioned in the tiny nook by the window. There’s a floor lamp behind it and an empty bookshelf just under the window, and the small refrigerator has a little more food than it did the past few days.
The company I was working on the website for approved the model design yesterday, suggesting just a few minor tweaks. I should have the final product ready to go live by the end of the week, and the best part is they already paid their entire bill, including a ten percent tip. When that hit my account this morning, I went and purchased a few of the items I’ve had on my list, and still have cash in my account, a big thanks to the secondhand stores I’ve found in town.
The only thing I’m still needing is my bed, which should be delivered tomorrow. The furniture store called and said their shipment was arriving early, and while I hate to spend the fifty extra dollars for delivery, I don’t exactly have a way to get a full-sized mattress and box spring to my new place.
You could borrow Colton’s truck.
But that’s not going to happen. I’ve done well at avoiding him since Sunday evening. I’ve heard him come and go, and yes, heard him singing to Milo every night at bedtime, but that’s the extent of it. I’ve kept to myself, utilizing the laundry room during the day and working on my sites during the evening. So far, so good, especially when I have my earplugs in to block the sound of father and son bonding that makes my ovaries want to explode from my body.
I look over at the mountain view paintings I found at the secondhand store and smile at the serene story they tell. I’ve always lived in the city, but there’s something about that picturesque mountain landscape that calls to me. The trees, the streams, and the snow-capped peaks. I think that’s part of what beckoned me to Fair Lakes. I’d heard the stories, and while there are no mountains, it still gives that same charming and small-town feel.
Heading into the kitchen, I pull a Lean Cuisine from the small freezer and stick it in the microwave—another find at the resale shop. One thing I’m going to have to learn is what can and cannot fit in my small fridge. For as small as that part is, the freezer portion is even worse. I was able to stuff four Lean Cuisines, a pint of chocolate cherry ice cream, and a package of microwavable soft pretzels. Anything else isn’t going to make the cut.