Page 43 of My Secret to Protect

‘I had more than that, and it’s delicious. Thank you. But I had enough.’

Arlo places his cutlery down again and glares at me, flaring his nostrils with impatience.

‘You’re still pissed.’

‘It’s a lot, Arlo. I hardly slept, and I’m processing a fucking lot right now.’

‘Well, get your head in the game, Bree, because he’s fucking out there, and I want to keep you safe, but I need you alert.’

I take a breath. Arlo’s right. I need to get my head on straight.

‘He messaged me today. He doesn’t like me leaving town, and he really doesn’t like seeing me with you.’

He watches me for a moment, then nods, picking up his fork once more and starting to eat again.

‘Good. Now eat some more. You need the carbs.’

SittingonArlo’scouch,I feel sleepy. Tiredness has caught up with me after a night of no sleep and a day of pretending.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ Arlo says, grabbing my attention as I realize I’m yawning again.

‘Wait,’ I push myself up to standing. ‘What about my phone? What do I do with it?’

He hands me my still-turned-off cell.

‘Everything you normally would. Just don’t message me or Mrs. C about the plan. Use the burner for that.’

‘This is too much.’ I shake my head and squeeze my eyes closed, then I hear him drop to sit on the sofa, and I turn to look at him before slumping back down.

‘We just need to hang out a few times, hold hands, look at each other the way we used to so that he gets sloppy. The second he does, we’ll end this, and you and me can go back to our lives the way they were.’ I huff out a laugh. I can hardly remember life the way it was. At least, I can hardly remember a life I want to go back to. ‘Come on, let me walk you home.’

Standing, Arlo holds out his hand for mine, and I take it, letting him lead me out of his cottage and around to mine. When we reach my porch, he stands in front of me. I tip my head back to meet his gaze as he reaches up to push my hair behind my ears, and I can’t help the tears that wet my eyes as he looks down at me like he wants me, like he cares, and I remember it’s all an act.

‘Get some sleep, pix.’

He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I inhale the scent of him, squeezing my eyes closed and pushing out a couple of those tears, turning away to my door as they roll down my cheeks, and I let myself inside.

‘Night, Arlo,’ I say, remembering to play along as I meet his blue eyes once more before closing my door and leaning back against it.

I don’t fight the tears now. There’s no point. Once more, I’m alone, and I don’t know how much more of any of this I can take.

Thecoolbreezeacrossmy skin wakes me, and I sit up in bed, not knowing where the breeze is coming from. As my eyes adjust to the darkness and my focus sharpens, my attention lands on the open window, and my heart stops for a moment before racing uncontrollably.

I checked the doors and windows before I went to bed. Everything was locked. I know it was. I know I checked.

The breath in my lungs freezes, and I can’t move as fear grips me. I want to check. I want to see if he’s in my house, but I’m terrified to put my feet on the ground out of fear that the monster is hiding under my bed.

Sucking in a deep breath, I blow it out and slowly reach for my cell phone, checking for messages, but there are none, so I scroll to Arlo’s number, then pause. It’s the middle of the night, and I don’t know that there’s anything to worry about. I don’t want to wake him if, somehow, I was just careless with the window.

‘You are not afraid.’ I tell myself, my voice small. ‘You’re a cop, for fuck’s sake.’

Turning on the flashlight on my phone, I shine it around the room and see nothing out of place. The door is still closed. My closet doors still hang open, my robe hung on the corner of one of them. Like a terrified child expecting the boogie man, I launch myself off and away from the bed, immediately shining the light into the void underneath to see nothing but shoe boxes and an empty water bottle that I keep forgetting to pick up.

I suddenly realize I’m holding my breath and blow it out in a rush, letting my head hang for a moment as I pause, my hands on my knees.

‘He’s not here. He’s not here,’ I repeat, trying to reassure myself.

As I reach the door and reach out my hand for the door handle, I try to calm my nerves, then before I open it, I head back to the nightstand for my gun. The only shooting I have ever done has been at a range, but I’m a good shot, and as long as I can calm my fear enough to hold steady, I won’t miss. Leaning against the door for a moment, I take another breath, then grip the handle and turn.

---