Page 38 of Keep You Close

Right before we curled up on the couch.

The phone call.

My stomach twisted hard enough to make me regret all those sweets I’d shoveled in my face while we watched the movies.

I jerked away from Atlas, carelessly climbing off of him, not even paying any mind to the potential to hurt him in the process.

“Hey,” he called, voice soft.

I saw his hand reach out toward me before I turned and ran down the hall, slamming my bedroom door, then the bathroom one behind me as I dropped to the floor by the toilet just in time.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” I whimpered to myself as I reached blindly for the box of tissues, blowing my nose hard before peeling myself off the floor to swish some mouthwash, then brush my teeth.

Tears, expected—given the situation—sprang up then poured down my cheeks as I rinsed, then stared at my reflection.

Too many thoughts were racing at once, none of them able to really take root.

The horrible distant past mingled with the lovely recent one, then got tangled up with the possible terrible future, making my stomach roil again.

Sucking in a deep breath, I reached for a washcloth, running it under the cold water, then pressing it to the back of my neck, despite the chills that were racking my body from the vomiting.

The shock of it seemed to slow the racing thoughts, allowing me to focus on one at a time.

One, the phone call.

I could block the number.

But I needed to make sure there was no way that my number would allow someone to trace me. I wasn’t on a plan. I added minutes because it was the most affordable option when I’d… left my old life.

I hoped it was untraceable, because people might ask questions if I changed my number.

Next, how had the number been uncovered?

My mind retraced my steps since I’d left Iowa.

There were any number of places I’d given my number out to. Applications for jobs, for apartments, for short-term rentals.

But how could any of that be traced?

I didn’t know.

But, undeniably, it could be done.

It didn’t mean, I told myself, that I personally could be traced, that I’d been found.

That was just my paranoia at work.

Yes, my paranoia may have kept me safe thus far, but that didn’t mean I needed to keep running.

No one knew I was here.

Save for my coworkers, the owners of the pets that came through, and, now, the Rivers and Mallick families.

Okay.

Then for the next problem.

Namely, the man I’d left in the other room.

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