Page 12 of Dart to Me
I stare at my phone, unsure how to respond. Telling him about my potentially dangerous ex-con situation feels like too much too soon.
Me: Nope. Just ex-husband drama. All good.
I set my phone down, walking to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. My hand trembles slightly as I fill the glass.Rick Denton.I haven’t thought about him in over two years. The memory of his red face, spittle flying as he screamed threats at me outside the courthouse, makes my skin crawl.
My phone buzzes again.
Julian: If you say so. But I’m here if you need anything. Even just to talk.
He’s sweet. Too sweet maybe. The kind of sweet that makes me suspicious after Miles. I take a long sip of wine and try to focus on the present, not the past or the what-ifs of the future.
Me: Thanks. I’m good. Just tired. Talk tomorrow?
Julian: Of course. Sleep well, beautiful.
I stare at the beautiful part. Did Julian think tonight was a date? Had I read his intentions wrong? Don’t get me wrong, he is good-looking, but getting close to someone like that right now, especially now, seems like a mistake. I need to be on my A game.
I set my phone down and lean against the counter, scanning my kitchen as if seeing it through new eyes—potential entry points, hiding places. I hate that Miles has made me paranoid. But what if he’s right? What if Rick really does hold a grudge?
I move through my house, checking locks on windows and doors, drawing curtains closed. When I reach the guest bedroom, I pause at the closet. Inside, on the top shelf behind some old photo albums, is the small lockbox Miles insisted I keep after we separated. I haven’t opened it since.
With a sigh, I drag a chair over and reach for the box. The key is taped to the underside of my jewelry box, where it’s been gathering dust. Inside the lockbox is a 9mm handgun—another one of Miles’ paranoid precautions from his days as a detective.
“Just in case,” he’d said when he gave it to me. “You know how to use it.”
I do know how to use it. Miles insisted on taking me to the range regularly during our marriage. I was a decent shot. But I’ve never liked guns.
I close the box without taking it out and return it to its hiding place. Having it there is one thing. Actually preparing to use it is another level of fear I’m not ready to embrace.
My phone rings from the kitchen, startling me. When I see the caller ID, I almost don’t answer.
“Megan,” I say flatly when I pick up.
“Did Miles come over?” My sister-in-law—correction, ex-sister-in-law—sounds worried.
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“Don’t be mad. I was concerned.”
I walk back to the living room, wine in hand. “About what? That I might actually enjoy someone’s company?”
“That’s not fair,” Megan says. I can practically see her pouting through the phone. “You have to admit…you don’t know him that well.”
“That’s generally how getting to know someone works, Megan.” I take another sip of wine, sinking onto my couch.
“Miles was just?—”
“Miles was just being Miles,” I interrupt. “Overprotective and controlling, even though we’re not together anymore.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Did he tell you about Rick?”
My heart skips. “You knew too?”
“Miles told me this afternoon. He was worried.”
I lean my head back against the cushions, closing my eyes. “Great. So everyone knows about my potential stalker situation except me.”
“He wasn’t sure how to tell you,” Megan says, her voice softening. “He thought you might not take it seriously if it came from him.”
