“I’m not mad,” she huffs, opening her door. “I’m worried about you.” She gets out, grabbing my bouquet of flowers before slamming her door. I do the same, but instead of slamming the door, I let out a sigh as I shut mine then follow her to the front door, where I use my key to let us both inside. I listen to her continue to rant, hoping it won’t last forever as I drop my purse and kick off my shoes. “You didn’t even tell me you were in the hospital. I had to see that on the news this morning when I was getting ready for work.”
“I’m sorry. I was out of it, but you’re right. I should have called as soon as I was able to reach the phone.”
“You should have,” she agrees, going to the kitchen, where she deposits the flowers before opening the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, and handing it to me. “Drink that.” I don’t argue with her. I open the bottle and take a drink. “I really don’t like that you want to stay here alone.”
“Brie, the guy who chased me through the woods with a gun last night is dead. Very dead. He’s not a threat.” Bile slides up the back of my throat as an image of Hofstadter with a hole in his head and the life blinking out of his eyes fills my mind. “I’m safe.”
“I know, which is the only reason I’m being cool about you staying here alone,” she murmurs, studying me with tears filling her eyes.
“Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not going to cry,” she lies, and I roll my eyes then go to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “I’m okay.”
“I can’t lose you, Hadley. You’re the only family I have left.”
My stomach knots and pain shoots through my chest. Five years ago, Brie lost her mom, and two years ago, she lost her dad. She’s not close with anyone else in her family. For her, it’s only Kenyon and me, and for me, it’s only the two of them.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I whisper, and her arms tighten.
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.” I give her a squeeze then let her go when her arms drop away.
“You promise you’re okay?”
“I promise,” I say, and she studies me for a long moment before pulling in a breath and looking away. “You should go home and wait for Kenyon to get off work.”
Her eyes slice back to me. “You know I hate that you always act like everything is fricking hunky-dory when it’s not.”
“I need a shower,” I tell her, not wanting to start another conversation that will have her ranting again. “If you want to hang here while I do that, you know you’re more than welcome to. But I’m sure Kenyon would like you to be home when he gets there, and I wouldn’t mind at all if you brought me pizza when you come back with him.”
“So you’re telling me you want me gone.” I don’t answer. She knows me, knows I like my space and my time alone. Some people feed off others’ energy and need it to thrive. Me? I need time to myself and silence to reenergize. “All right,” she gives in. “I’ll be back with Kenyon and pizza.”
“Thank you.” I feel my body relax. “I love you.”
“I know.” She shakes her head then starts to the front door. “Please rest, and if anything—anything—happens, call me.”
“I will.”
“Love you.”
My throat burns along with my chest. “I love you too.” I give her another hug before she opens the door, and then watch her walk to her car, get in, and back out of my driveway. I scan the street then shut my door and head for my bathroom, where I take a hot shower that does nothing to help me relax.
Chapter 2
Hadley
WITH MY HEAD ON the arm of my couch and my eyes on the TV, I look over my shoulder at the door when someone knocks, and close my eyes, praying the reporters are not back again. A little over an hour after Brie and Kenyon left after bringing pizza and hanging with me for a while, I opened my door to a man I didn’t know, with a microphone attached to his hand, and I shut the door in his face. He was the first to knock, but not the last.
The constant ringing of my bell and knocking continued most of the evening, until my landlord and next-door neighbor Tom got home from wherever he spends his days. It stopped after I heard him through the door yelling at the news people. They were parked on the street and standing around on the sidewalk and the lawn, and he told them they were trespassing on private property and if they didn’t go away, he’d shoot them. Knowing what I know of Tom from our short acquaintance, I considered that an actual threat, and thankfully, the reporters did too and backed off. I understand why they did; Tom is scary. He’s short, maybe five-five, with a stocky build and an ever-present, I’m-not-happy scowl on his face. He’s from New Jersey and reminds me of one of the bad guys from the HBO show The Sopranos. Actually, I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s living here in Tennessee is because he’s in the Witness Protection Program for snitching on the mob.
When the knocking comes again and my name is rumbled in a deep voice through the door, I frown and carefully get off the couch. I head around the back of my couch, keeping to the wall and out of sight. Once I’m at the door, I peek out the etched glass at the side, and my heart pounds when I see Cobi standing on my front porch. He looks almost exactly like he did this morning when I woke to find him in my room. His hair is still a little messy, and there is stubble at his jaw, like he didn’t get a chance to shave yesterday or today. His eyes still look tired, but he’s changed and is now wearing a gray, black, and blue flannel button-down shirt, dark jeans with a cool black belt that his badge is clipped to, and heavy looking boots on his feet.
Crap. What the heck is he doing here?
I jump when he knocks not on the door but on the glass, and I bite my lip hard as he mutters, “Hadley, I can see you. Open the door.” I move away from the window to behind the door, hoping to hide myself. Squeezing my eyes closed, I think that maybe, just maybe, he’ll think he didn’t actually see me if I don’t make a noise. “Open the door.” He sounds impatient and slightly amused, and my heart lodges in my throat when I open my eyes and see him with his face to the glass and looking at me.
Not wanting to look like a bigger dork, I let out a heavy sigh, unlock the deadbolt, and then turn the handle. As soon as the door opens, he steps into the house and closes the door.
“Hey.” I want to roll my eyes at how breathy and desperate I sound, but seriously—he’s Cobi freaking Mayson. Every woman in the world would sound breathy and desperate if a man who looked like him stepped into their house.
“Hey.” He glances around before his eyes come back to me and travel down the length of my frame. “You going to sleep?”
I glance down at my barely there robe that is covering my nightgown and cringe. “Yes,” I lie. I will probably never go to sleep again, not with the vision of Hofstadter dying the way he did playing on a constant loop in my head every time I close my eyes. I think the only reason I was able to get to sleep last night was because the hospital gave me a dose of medication to help me rest. It did the job, and I don’t remember anything much after that until I woke up to find Cobi in my room asleep this morning.