Page 20 of Trapped and Tackled

Craig: Leni, are you ready to talk yet?

My heart rate accelerates at seeing his name. I read his message several times, as if there’s a hidden meaning. Is there?

Craig: You can’t avoid me forever, sweetheart. I know we argued but moving out was a mistake. Breaking up was a mistake.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as my stomach bottoms out and my heart rushes upward into my throat. My hands begin to shake and the words on the screen swim in front of my eyes.

I should block his number. Hell, I’ve tried to block him. But there’s something about cutting Craig off completely that terrifies me. If I end the channel of communication, will he come for me? If so, I won’t have any warning. I won’t suspect it at all. Somehow, receiving Craig’s messages, being able to assess his mental state, offers a glimmer of reassurance that he’s in New York and not here.

But will he ever move on? Or has my taking a stand become a new challenge for Craig?

Blinking rapidly, I manage to avoid crying.

Outside, a car door closes.

I blink faster, running one palm along the length of my dress.

Why is Craig doing this to me now? Why is he swooping back in right as I’m about to take a step forward?

Nerves skitter through my limbs and a shiver runs down my spine. My thumb hovers over the keyboard of my phone.

If I finally reply, and tell him again that it’s over, will that shut him down for good? Or encourage him to show up in person?

Craig: I need you, baby. Give me the chance to fight for us. Call me.

“Jesus,” I murmur, shocked by his admission.

I need you.

Does he? Can I help him seek help?

No! I shake my head at my thoughts.

The pad of my thumb runs over his name on screen, and I can hear his voice in my mind.

I love you, Leni. I’m gonna make you my wife one day.

I believed him.

I rub the inside of my left wrist, a phantom pain blossoming. Before I can fully recall that night, the doorbell rings and I jump up. My phone falls to the floor, and I swear, bending down to retrieve it.

I clench my hand into a fist to stop the trembling of my fingers.

Get it together, Strauss.

Mentally pep-talking myself, I stash my phone in my purse, straighten my shoulders, and stride to the door. Pulling it open, I’m rendered speechless as Talon turns to face me on the front porch.

He’s wearing light-washed jeans, Nike sneakers, and a paper thin, heather gray V-neck T-shirt. He looks relaxed and comfortable. Confident and gorgeous.

“Hey, Len.” He grins.

“H-hi, Talon,” I sputter, my voice shaking slightly. My grip tightens on my purse.

His eyebrows pull together. “You okay?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. Yes,” I amend, a forced laugh escaping my throat. I settle the strap of my purse over my shoulder. Against my hip, I feel my phone vibrate with an incoming message.

It takes everything in me not to check it. Is it Craig? Deep down, I know it is. And I know that even though he hasn’t snapped yet, he’s getting close to losing it since I haven’t replied to any of his messages. He’ll know that I’m keeping him on read status and it’ll be a blow to his ego.

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