Page 22 of Live for Me

“How can I help you?” he asked, all business.

Licking my lips, I closed my eyes and braced. “I was needing…uh…a bounty hunter.”

The man was silent.

I cleared my throat, knowing this was the second stupidest thing I’d ever done in my life.Who in the hell calls a bounty hunter for a stalker?

“Miss?” the man—Ash—called out gently.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I’m still here.”

“Why are you in need of a bounty hunter?” he asked, his voice still gentle.

My heart jumped. I hadn’t expected gentle, and I sure as shit didn’t get gentle when I was crying to the cops. “Do—you—or are you the bounty hunter that would be taking my…case?” I asked, flipping the card around in my hands.

“We have a team of them, miss. Any one of us could be assigned to it.” The man chuckled, the sound reminding me of a certain cowboy’s rough, addicting chuckle. I felt heat bloom in my cheeks as memories of Beau rushed to the surface, throwing me off balance as I stood.

I reached out, grabbing the back of the couch, Beau’s blue eyes flashing in my mind.

“Sweet fucking Monet,” I pushed out, suddenly breathless.

Why was he invading my memories now? After six years of shoving him down? Was this some sick way for the universe to torture me?

“Excuse me?” Ash said.

I threw the card out before slapping my hand to my forehead as it fluttered to the floor of my living room. This was such a dumb idea, but there was no turning back now. I already had the poor man on the phone. “Right,” I breathed out, letting my hand fall. It slapped the side of my thigh as I word vomited everything to this kind stranger on the other end of the phone. “I have a stalker. It’s not a new one or anything. In fact, he’s the only one I’ve ever had, but apparently, lots of people have them. I just never thought I’d be important enough to have one, but anyway…yeah, I—uh--have a stalker, and my friend gave me your card and told me to call because the cops didn’t help me when I called them a year ago about him.” I sucked in a breath, waiting for a response, but it never came, which made me feel dumber than I already had, thus forcing me to ramble some more. “Which was fine, you know, cops are busy and all.However, the stalker found me again, and I thought I’d lost him, but two weeks ago, he came into my house while I was in the shower. I heard him and—”

“Miss, take a breath for me,” Ash ordered softly, cutting off my ramble.

Of course, he didn’t want to hear this sad story. What good could he do?

He couldn’t help me. No one could. Not the cops, not the bounty hunters. Pain sliced through my gut and I nodded, accepting that I was all alone in this. “You’re right,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time. Bounty hunters don’t go after stalkers. I’m so sorry again.”

I pulled the phone away from my face and ended the call, tears welling in my eyes. The dam had broken, and I didn’t even make it into my bedroom before I completely broke, falling to my knees in the hall, a wretched cry leaving my lungs.

My life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

As a little girl, before my innocence was taken from me and I was shown the truth of the world, I believed I was a princess. I believed in fairytales and happy endings. I believed I would grow up to be loved, that I would be happy.

Then, I turned five years old, and I had to grow up.

No one was coming to save me, and I had to accept that.

Three days later. Denver Tribune Office.

“Delivery for you, Miss Spears,” Jamie called out to me from the hall.

I looked up from my interview notes, chills dotting down my spine like Morse code as the floor secretary smiled at me from the doorway. After a few moments, when I hadn’t responded, she tilted her head to the side, concern masking her features. “Miss Spears?”

I blinked, snapping out of it and clearing my throat. I gave her an apologetic smile, pushing my chair back. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning,” I told her, rounding my desk. “Where is it?”

“The delivery man is at my desk. He needs a signature,” she explained as we walked down the hall together, passing the other small offices and the even smaller cubicles meshed in the middle of the floor, the comforting clicking of keyboards louder than the hushed whispers flowing throughout the space. I moved into the lobby, the marble floors pristine as my eyes landed on a young delivery man. He couldn’t be more than twenty-one. There wasan impressive display of white and yellow roses on the desk in front of him, a small box beside it.

My heart warmed, knowing who the flowers were from. Dave. Those were his signature: white and yellow roses. He sent them to me multiple times throughout the year, mainly for holidays and birthdays, but this was a nice surprise. He was doing this to be kind, an attempt to lift my spirits.

I approached the delivery man with a smile and a soft greeting before he confirmed my identity and held out the tablet for my signature.

“These are lovely,” the secretary, Anna, murmured as she took her seat.

---