Page 9 of Stalked By the X-Ray Tech

The hallway outside his apartment swallows me whole, and I lean back against the cold wall, closing my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. This isn't me. I don't run away. But tonight, I'm breaking all my own rules.

"Fuck you, Jacob," I say aloud this time, because there's no one here but me and my broken trust. It feels good to let those words slice through the silence, even if they don't reach the ears that need to hear them most.

I slide down to the floor for a moment, sneakers still clutched in my grasp, and allow myself that single second of weakness. Then I'm back on my feet, because Bella doesn't stay down. She can't afford to.

The elevator dings its arrival, and I step inside, hitting the button for the ground floor with more force than necessary. As the doors close, sealing off Jacob's floor, sealing off the part of my life that includes him, I let out the breath I've been holding.

And then I slide down to the floor and finally release my tears.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Jacob

I jolt awake, the remnants of some half-remembered dream slipping from my grasp. The first thing that hits me is the silence—too damn quiet, like the calm before a storm.

My heart kicks against my chest, a steady thud-thud-thud that feels way too loud in the empty room.

Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I turn my head to glance at the nightstand, and that's when I see it.

My phone.

The cameras.

Wide open, the lenses staring back at me like an accusing eye.

Shit.

Bella. She must've seen it.

Panic coils tight in my gut. I push the sheets off and scramble for my phone, fingers fumbling as I punch in her number. She has to understand—it's not what it seems.

I'm not some creep. I just...God, I just can't get enough of her.

"Come on, Bella, pick up," I mutter under my breath, the phone pressed so hard against my ear it might leave a mark.

Ring after ring, she doesn’t answer, and my stomach sinks lower with each passing second. Voicemail. Her bright, cheery voice grates on my raw nerves. "Hey, this is Bella! Sorry I missed your call?—"

"Damn it," I hiss and end the call before the beep. I try again, because I'm nothing if not persistent, and she has to hear me out. She has to let me explain that watching her was never meant to be creepy—it was admiration, pure and simple. Okay, maybe not so simple. But hell, when she's out there on the tennis court, moving like some kind of fierce, athletic goddess, how could I not want to capture that?

"Answer, answer, answer..." It's a mantra now, a desperate plea into the void.

Still nothing. Just that voicemail greeting, mocking me with its casual indifference.

"Please, Bella," I whisper to the silent room, my voice breaking with the strain of words left unsaid. "Just let me explain."

But there's no response, and the silence swallows me whole.

I park myself outside her apartment, the cold concrete of the steps biting through my jeans. It's late, and the streetlights cast long shadows, setting the stage for the desperation clawing at my insides.

I've texted, called—hell, I'm two seconds away from shouting up to her window like some lovestruck Romeo. But this ain't Shakespeare, and I'm no hero.

"Please, Bella," I mutter, knowing she can't hear me, but hoping somehow the words will reach her through the brick and mortar that separates us. "I need you to hear me out."

My eyes fixate on her window, looking for a sign of life, a flicker of movement—anything.

I imagine her in there, her toned body coiled with tension, those bright brown eyes clouded with confusion and hurt. Shit, what I wouldn't give to explain, to make her see it was never about anything sordid.

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