Page 8 of Chasing After You (Twisted Desires #3)

Josh

A letter lay folded up on the counter when I opened the cafe. I stared at it for a long time. Longer than I’d like to admit. I went about my morning tasks without reading it. It felt like everything would fall apart once I read it.

I knew who it was from, of course. I wasn’t that dumb.

But I was scared out of my mind.

I’d spent years avoiding Dorian, and while, at first, I stayed away because of Victoria, for the majority of our time apart, I was avoiding him because I didn’t think I could handle it if he looked at me with disgust.

I couldn’t handle his rejection.

So, instead, I dealt with the pain of his absence. Or I guess, my absence.

By the time Kellie arrived, about an hour after I had, I was on the verge of passing out from the anxiety.

“Good morning, boss man,” she sang as she came in through the employee entrance.

“Morning, Kels,” I said, my voice betraying me by cracking.

She frowned, walking closer to me while tying her apron around her waist. Her brows were furrowed as she took me in. “Are you feeling okay?”

I forced an awkward smile. “Yeah, I’m good. How are you?”

“Well, I was doing just swell until you lied to me,” Kellie grumbled, crossing her arms across her ample chest. “And don’t say that you weren’t lying. I know you, and I know when something’s wrong. You’re as pale as a ghost, and your face looks like you just ate something bad. Are you sick?”

She reached up to place the back of her hand on my forehead. “Hmm, no fever.” She glanced at the folded paper on the counter, then back at me. Her eyes narrowed as she asked, “That letter got you looking like this?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My throat felt like it had closed up. My hands trembled where they clutched the edge of the counter, nails digging into the laminate. My chest was too tight, like someone had cinched a belt around it.

I couldn’t even look at the letter anymore. Just knowing it was there— from him —was enough to make me dizzy.

Kellie stepped around the counter and gently pried my hand off. “Josh. Breathe.”

I shook my head, chest rising in shallow, fast bursts. “I-I can’t,” I rasped, tears coming to my eyes.

Her hands landed on my shoulders, steady and grounding. “Okay. Okay, hey, it’s okay. Sit down. Come on.”

She guided me to one of the cafe stools on the other side of the counter and crouched in front of me. “I think you’re having an anxiety attack. It’s all right. Just do what I say, okay?” She reached for my hand and gently tapped my fingers. “Five things you can see, Josh.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, but her voice was firm, making me want to do as she said.

“The… espresso machine. The clock. Your earrings. The syrup bottles. The…” My gaze drifted toward the folded-up paper again. “The letter.”

She nodded and patted my hand. “Good. Now, four things you can feel.”

I forced out a ragged breath. “The stool under me. Your hand. My…my shirt sticking to my back. My heart pounding in my throat.”

“Three things you can hear,” she instructed.

“The fridge humming. The music. Your voice.”

She smiled. “Two things you can smell.”

“Coffee,” I said instantly. “Vanilla from the muffins.”

“One thing you can taste.”

I swallowed. “Anxiety,” I said, managing a pathetic laugh.

Kellie gave me a look. “Smartass. But you’re breathing better now. You did good.” She stood and smoothed her apron. “You’re not working today.”

“Kellie—”

“I’m serious. Go home, Josh. Or go walk it off. Or sit somewhere and cry, I don’t care. But you’re not staying here and having another breakdown. You made me the manager for a reason, remember. I can handle all this.”

I nodded slowly, feeling numb and exhausted. My hand hovered over the cause of my anxiety before I finally picked it up with trembling fingers. It felt heavier than paper should.

“I’ve got things covered here, I promise,” she said as I stood on unsteady legs. “And Josh?”

I looked back at her.

“Don’t feel weird about this later, okay?

Like I said earlier, I know you. But you don’t need to pretend to be fine and happy all the time.

You’re human, you’re allowed to feel things.

Anxiety is just anxiety; it’s not something to be ashamed of.

I will never see you differently or treat you differently because of it, so don’t get all in your head about it, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“And—” she hesitated, “I don’t know what’s in that letter that’s worrying you, but it might be better to rip the band-aid off instead of ignoring it.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Call me if you need anything,” she urged.

“Okay. Thank you, Kels.”

I walked to the back, where we had a small table for employee breaks, and grabbed my keys.

I stepped out into the early morning haze, the sky still pale, caught somewhere between blue-grey and gold. My hands shook as I unlocked the car. I got in, shut the door, and let the silence press in around me.

The letter sat on the center console as I worked up the courage to open it. It might as well have been Dorian himself, watching me with those unreadable eyes, waiting for my reaction.

I didn’t want to know what he’d written. But I needed to.

It was the need that made me feel sick.

I leaned back in the seat and stared at the ceiling. My heart had finally started to calm down, but my chest still felt tight.

I reached over slowly, deliberately, as if I moved too quickly, the paper would strike my hand like a snake. My fingertips brushed it. I flinched.

I picked it up.

I unfolded the paper how I imagine you’d diffuse a bomb.

Not that I knew how to do that. But the shows and movies always showed it as a slow, careful, make-one-wrong-move-and-everyone-dies kind of thing.

My hands creased the edges just enough to make it lie flat across my lap.

Dorian’s handwriting hit me in the gut. I hadn’t seen it in years, and I still would’ve recognized it in a pile of a thousand.

I took one last breath and began to read.

Josh,

Don’t worry. All I want is for us to be a family again.

Soon.

-Dorian

I blinked at the paper, then blinked some more. My head was filled with question marks.

He… wanted me?

He wanted to be a family?

With me?

The guy who’d killed his dad and fled?

Was he serious?

Was this a trap? Some fucked up joke?