Page 63 of Implode

This is not how you build a foundation…

This is how you wreck one.

“You seem nice enough,” Kevin assesses, “so just be careful. Nic Hoffman seems to not accept rejection well.”

It feels like the floor got blown up underneath my feet. Just when I think I am finally having a breakthrough with him, he proves to me yet again that we are horrible for one another.

I grab my purse and tuck the photo sheets back into the envelope. If I am going to confront Nic, I need to have my evidence. “I have to go.”

I head toward the front of the coffee shop. My heart is racing and my stomach feels like I could be sick at any moment. I need to eat or drink something. I feel lightheaded from hunger and the sobering fact that Nic Hoffman is exactly the man he warned me about. He is the bad guy.

I reach for my phone and quickly shut it off. Whatever tracking he has on me, he already knows my whereabouts. He knows when I get home and everywhere I go in between. The amount he has invaded into my privacy is unspeakable. He crossed a line I never even knew existed. We have been playing on uneven fields since the beginning, with him always having the upper hand.

I think about all of the times our paths have crossed on what I assumed was fate or a crazy coincidence, when it was probably just Nic following me. I feel violated, and now that a new level of paranoia has been unleashed, I’m not sure I can be in my apartment without wondering if he planted a listening device or a camera. He has been inside before, and he is an expert on these types of things, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

When I get to the front of the line, I order a strawberry smoothie drink to go and walk back to my apartment—the one I haven’t visited in days—to drop off my phone and look where a tracker might be hiding. Where do trackers hide? I scan over anything that I wear on a daily basis and place it on my end table. I am done being followed. I am done being Nic Hoffman’s little entertainment.

I take the stairs down and push open the back door to the building. The sugar from my smoothie is helping my nausea, making me feel energized. It is time to tell Nic-fucking-Hoffman where to put his obnoxious trackers.

I step out onto the street, take another sip of my drink, and start huffing my way in anger toward HH. By the time I arrive, I will be extra fired up from the workout. I rehearse my speech in my head at how I will tell Nic exactly where I stand. I will leave nothing up to his imagination. We are beyond the sugarcoating stage.

When I am about halfway there, I can feel my pulse pumping in my neck. There is sweat forming on my forehead, and my feet hurt from some exercise-induced swelling. I turn at the corner and my foot hits the—

CRASH.

17

CLAIRE

My hands fly out to catch my fall, but it is too late. My stomach collides with the cement, and I cry out in agony as my drink splashes all around me. I roll to my side and hold my belly.

“Are you okay?” a passerby asks, reaching for my arms to pull me upright.

“I think so,” I lie. I can feel the cramps forming as tears rush out of my eyes.

Another onlooker hands me my purse and mutters a few words about how hard I fell.

“Claire? What happened?”

I turn to see Dan rushing down the street, a take-out bag from lunch in his hand.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking me over for any noticeable damage. He runs his hands down my arms and my side, turning me to evaluate my appearance.

“I must have tripped,” I sniffle, looking down at all the pink drink splatters on the sidewalk. “I look like a hot mess, don’t I?”

“How you managed to get nothing on you or break a bone is a sheer miracle,” Dan answers in awe.

The cramps increase in intensity, and I reach for my phone that I no longer have. It is in the apartment.

“My apartment is nearby if you want to come back and get cleaned up,” he offers with a genuine smile.

“I’m just going to go to the restroom,” I say, pointing to the diner that he must have just walked out of prior to finding me. “Don’t worry about me. I think it is my ego that got bruised. I’ll see you back at HH.”

Dan hesitantly waves and allows me to walk into the cafe without any more discussion. I find the ladies’ room in the back corner. I walk in and sit down at the toilet. In the crotch of my white lace panties, I see the damp spot of fresh blood. My heart races and my breathing increases. My baby. I pee and wipe my crotch. When I get up and look inside the toilet bowl, I see the crimson color. It is so bright and a sign that something is wrong.

I grab a pad out of the little basket of feminine items at the sink and wash my hands.

I stumble out of the restroom and ask one of the workers to call for a taxi.

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