Page 17 of Done Waiting

Oh, sick burn.

The Ice Queen’s spine stiffens. Her knuckles are white around her coffee mug as she lifts it to her lips. Silence descends over the two as they eat breakfast, Maddie focusing on her phone while the Ice Queen silently stews in her anger across from her.

When the Ice Queen heads to the garage to leave for work, Maddie gathers up her dishes. Loading them into the dishwasher, she slams it closed, then heads up the stairs. Afterchecking to ensure the Ice Queen is gone, I move around to the backyard, heading for the spot by the tree to observe Maddie. Squinting, I watch her shadow as it moves around the room. Then she heads to her closet, her body in front of the window.

Fuck. She’s changing her clothes. Damn it, I wish I could get a better view.

Several minutes later, she hurries around the house to the backyard, wearing running attire. She puts earbuds in her ears, then messes with her phone. I shake my head, disappointed in her. She doesn’t glance around even though she saw me earlier.

And then she takes off running, heading for the trail in the woods. I wait until she’s a good distance ahead before following.

Temptation is right in front of me. The opportunity to grab her and whisk her away from all this bullshit. But it’s too much of a risk right now, in broad daylight.

Stick to the plan, I repeat to myself over and over again.

Soon, Maddie will belong to me,I reassure myself.

Then, I’ll begin the process of finally getting my long-awaited revenge.

7

MADISON

My leg muscles pump harder, pushing me faster, as I run through the woods. The smells of the forest, the brisk air hitting my face, the glint of the sunshine cutting through the trees, casting an ethereal glow over the area. All of it should relax me, easing my stress, but it doesn’t. Normally, running in nature gets me out of my head, but not today.

Today, I’m bothered by Ben and Chloe leaving me alone mere hours after my dad’s funeral without so much as a goodbye. Not bothering to wake me up to see if I wanted to stay in my childhood home. Although I’m well aware both of them know I haven’t been sleeping well, it seems a minor courtesy to expect that my best friend and/or my boyfriend would stay with me.

I’m bothered by my mom’s coldness, which is more obvious than ever, further emphasizing my loss. If the situation was reversed, there’s no way in hell that my dad would have left me to go to work. Nor would he have talked about giving me my mom’s car like that was supposed to make everything better. It’s not a consolation prize. As much as I love my dad’s Mustang,fond memories of us cruising in it filled my head the second my mom brought it up.

But the thing that bothers me the most is the stalker guy outside my window this morning. Not just because I feel confident, though I have no evidence and only my gut instinct, that he was the one with the piercing stare boring into me after my dad’s funeral, watching as I walked to Ben’s car. And again last night when I escaped to the restroom, although I didn’t see anyone, I swear I felthim. Which is so fucking weird, considering I have no clue who he is. Or why he’s stalking me.

I should be scared of him, the way that cocky stare was so full of possession as he stared up at me, arms folded across his muscular chest. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, he mimicked my movements, confirming he was watching me.

I’m the daughter of two police detectives and I have a boyfriend. I should not be titillated by this random stranger stalking me. I should be fearful and pissed, not aroused by his presence.

My hands clench into tight fists as my feet pound against the dirt trail through the woods.Jesus, Maddie, pull your shit together. Stop being fascinated by your stalker and worry about why he’s following you. A shiver runs through me as I think,or what he might do if he gets his hands on you.

Running faster, I try to avoid analyzing my reaction to why I’m so stimulated by the mere thought of his hands on me.Don’t think about it. It’s a response to stress and grief. That’s all.

Slowing my pace, I glance up as a bird frantically flies from a tree, startled by my sudden presence. Lowering the volume of the music playing through my earbuds, I slow my pace, before coming to a complete stop. My skin prickles from awareness, the hair standing on my arms and neck, a warm shiver traveling up my spine.

He’s here. I feel him.

Pulling my phone from my running tights, I pretend to mess with it, then whip around, eyes frantically darting around. My breath heaves from my lungs from exertion and anticipation, my tongue poking out and darting across my bottom lip.

But I don’t see him.

My gaze combs the woods, searching. I still feel him. I know he’s here, although I don’t see him.

Sliding my phone back inside the pocket of my tights, I take a cautious step forward, then another, heading in the direction I just came.

Come on. Show yourself.

But all is silent and still.

I know it’s not me, dammit. He’s here, lurking in these woods.

Fine, we’ll play it your way, stalker boy.

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