Page 61 of Yes No Maybe

“Sara, the state gives me a stipend for you. Youarepaying for it.” With a few swipes, I announce, “They’ll arrive tomorrow.”

Her brow pinches like she doesn’t understand me. “Um, thanks.”

“Oh, I have another idea.” I scroll through my contacts until finding Lt. Ben Wright—the police officer Mira asked to help with the Trent situation years ago. His calm but authoritative demeanor diffused a few tense situations, and he helped me secure the restraining order. “I know a police officer. I wonder if he’s working tonight.”

I type out a quick text reminding him who I am and explaining the situation. He answers almost immediately.I remember. ETA one hour.

I smirk—he’s not one to use more words than necessary. “He’ll swing by soon. Let’s try to relax, huh?”

Still, the tension mounts with each passing second. We take turns pacing and staring out the window. When Shaina texts to say the cousins have left, our anxieties skyrocket.

“What are they driving?”

“A beat-up white van, like losers who learned crime from TV.” She shrugs, expressionless. “They’re not exactly masterminds.”

A growing sense of dread creates a knot in my stomach.What will I do if they show up? How can I protect us against three criminals?Am I so desperate to connect with her that I’ve lost all common sense?

I find my phone under the pizza box. Three missed texts from Jack light up the screen, asking for updates. A surprised smile breaks through my unease—why is he thinking about us when he should be enjoying his party? I type out a quickwe’re fine,wondering if I should tell him the truth.

Sara goes to her father’s room and returns with a wooden baseball bat.

“Give me that.” I muster up my most reassuring smile despite trembling in my four-inch heels. “Your job is to call9-1-1. That’s it. Okay?”

She nods weakly as I prop the bat by the door.

“Headlights,” she says suddenly.

I peek through the blinds to see faint white lights cutting through the darkness. “Everything’s okay. They’ll see the lights and the car and won’t stop. Do you have your barking dog ready?”

She prompts her phone and tests the sound effects, weirdly making us both jump even though we expect it.

The lights curve the block, slowing as they approach. As the vehicle nears, she grips my arm in anxious suspense, and I squeeze her fingers with mine.

The white van pulls to a squeaky stop at the curb. When a broad, bulky man exits the passenger seat, carrying a crowbar and looking at his surroundings as he lumbers up the lawn, I know I’ve made an enormous mistake. Adrenaline surges, bringing with it an onslaught of bad memories.

I drop Sara’s hand and grab the baseball bat.

“I’ll keep him distracted. Go out the back door to the neighbors. Call the police and wait there. Understand?”

She nods, gripping her phone like a lifeline. Her whole body shakes, and her fear keeps mine under control.Mostly.As the man’s footfalls land on the short stoop, I feel like I’m living in two nightmares simultaneously, this one and the one from long ago.

Sara prompts her barking dogs, bringing his clunky boots to a stop. He bangs on the door anyway, and through the peephole, I see him hiding the crowbar behind his back. I mouth a quick “Go” to Sara over my shoulder.

“Go away,” I yell toward the door. “I’ve called the police.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the armed resident of this house. Who the fuck areyou?” I shout back. I hold the bat on my shoulder, my hands strangling its handle. “Leave! Now!”

His boots shuffle on the concrete outside the door as if he doesn’t know what to do. I hear voices egging him on across the yard. My heels pull along the carpet as I step away. He tries the door handle. Finding it locked, he wedges the crowbar between the lock and the frame.

My heart thunders in my chest. I know I should run.Why aren’t I running?Wicked memories cement me in place.Always make sure the door is locked. The door is your best defense. Don’t turn away.

The wood splinters and cracks. His shoulder bangs against the door. The noises echo, merging with memories.Bang, bang, bang.My heart beats so hard and fast that there’s no separation between them—just one long, agonizing beat.

It’s the strangest time to think about Jack. Heart racing. Feet immobile. Perpetrator nearly through the door. Jack breaks through my brain fog like he’s suddenly my comfort animal. He’s texted all night. I should’ve asked for help.

The door cracks again. It’s only held by the chain now.

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