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LIA

I let out a small groan from where I was hiding in the back, wondering what I regretted more—not taking him up on his offer and sitting down at the table with him or staying there and talking to him so much, showing him just how badly he affected me without even trying.

And he was nothing more than a mere stranger at that.

Mael.

I finally got a name I could put to his face.

Mael, Mael, Mael.

I repeated the name in my head, wondering why it felt so… significant to me. It was as if my entire life was about to change from that one word alone, and I was helpless to stop it.

I knew I couldn’t hide in the back all day. I didn’t even know why I was letting him affect me like this.

I took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall I was leaning against, and slowly walked out to the front.

My heart dropped when I found the table he had been at empty. I tried to convince myself it wasn't disappointment but relief I was feeling.

Even I knew that thought was a lie. I shook my head and moved over to the table to clear it. He left the sleeve of the coffee cup behind.

He threw away his coffee cup, but left this here?

Why?

I frowned as I picked it up. That didn’t make any sense. I was about to throw it away when a flash of black caught my eye. I stopped and looked at the sleeve.

My eyes honed in on the row of numbers written in neat, masculine writing. My heart pounded in my chest in a quick, unrhythmic procession. His number.

He left his number behind.

For me?

Why?

It seemed I was filled with questions and no answers.

I told myself to throw it away. My life was too complicated right now for anything as sweet as the blossoming of a new romance—at least, I thought that was what he wanted.

I walked over to the trash can, my hand gripping the sleeve and crumbling it up as I tried to throw it away. Just throw it away.

It was easy. I knew it. I just had to let go of the sleeve first. I could do it.

I—

I let out a small sigh, wondering why I was even having this argument with myself. I tucked the sleeve into the pocket of my apron and got back to work, its weight heavy and noticeable throughout the entirety of my shift.

* * *

It was quite possibly the longest shift of my entire life. And my day wasn’t even done yet.

There was still one more thing left to do.

I pulled my car up to the huge house standing in the corner of a gated community. It wasn’t so in-your-face that I would have felt uncomfortable bringing my friends over on the weekend, but it wasn’t small by any means. It was certainly much more spacious than two people required, and now that I had moved out, only my dad was left.

I wondered many times if he ever felt lonely living in this house by himself, but I was sure he spent more time at the company than he did here to actually notice all the space around him and no one to share it with.

I’d entertained the idea of moving back home, but I liked my apartment… or at least, I had liked it. Now that a strange man had access to it…

I didn’t want to think about it.

I knew it was stupid to not want to think about it, but he hadn’t shown up in weeks, and I just wanted to bury my head in the sand for a little while longer. I might just have to move back home soon.

But for now, I was back at my childhood home, just for the night. I had dinner plans with Dad and Leo.

I’m sure they would help me if I spoke up, but there was a part of me that didn’t want to say anything yet. I didn’t know what I was waiting for.

For the situation to escalate?

I shook my head and let myself into the house. I could hear Dad and Leo talking and laughing in the kitchen, the sound a familiar one I had heard many times growing up.

I slowly walked through the living room, lingering over the hundreds of pictures Dad had up, mostly of Caden and me, some of Dad with Leo, a few of my mom, and even fewer ones of our family together.

I stopped at the picture of my mom with her arm wrapped around me on one side and holding onto baby Caden on her other side. The three of us were smiling at our dad, who had taken this photo. I didn’t remember the moment so much as I remembered looking at this picture so many times growing up that I recognized every little detail of it—the brown teddy bear I was hugging, the red floral design on Mom’s shirt, and even the fact that Caden only had two front teeth at the time.

I let my eyes focus on my mom’s smiling face. I had her eyes. Sad eyes, I always thought. Even when she was smiling brightly like this, there was just something about her eyes that broke my heart.

My mom passed away from a car accident when I was little.

Caden and I were in the car with her when it happened. Caden was nine, and I was eleven. I didn’t remember much of where we had been headed. Only that it had been nighttime, and it was raining. And there had been something… frantic about my mom’s movements as she took Caden and me on that drive. Everything else about that night had felt like a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from.

She was hit from the driver’s side by a black truck.

I remembered a flash of bright headlights coming toward us, then my mom screaming, Caden crying, and then, nothing.

When I woke up, my brother was fighting for his life, and my mom was dead.

I was the one who had made it out of the accident with the least amount of injuries.

Caden had been sitting on the driver’s side, and one of his legs was crushed between the door and the seat.

A lot of surgeries, physical rehabilitation and therapy, and years’ worth of pain, and he was able to walk on his own, but not like before. He could run, but I knew the pain never went away. Painkillers became his closest friends and his savior.

It was also his cause of death.

An overdose none of us were surprised by.

And perhaps that was why I always felt so guilty about his death. I should have known, and I should have been there for him more than I had.

Dad’s booming laughter brought me out of the horrid memory, and I tried not to let the dark thought affect me so much when I walked into the kitchen and found Dad and Leo talking to each other, their heads close.

I didn’t make any noise as I observed them.

Dad never got remarried. A part of me thought it was because he never got over my mom’s death. But another part, one I had never said out loud, always wondered if Leo was also a part of the reason.

Leo noticed me first, his eyes brightening. “There’s our girl,” he said.

I smiled at him and Dad and walked further into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dad said. “How was work?”

I shrugged, trying hard to push all thoughts of Mael out of my head. “Work is work. I’m glad it’s over.”

“Long shift?” Leo asked, his eyes soft.

“Not too bad,” I answered quickly before Dad could go into one of his long speeches about me working for him. I had heard all sorts of versions of his speech. The last thing I wanted was to hear it again.

“What are we having for dinner?”

Leo moved out of the way so I could take in the tray of lasagna sitting by the kitchen stove to cool a bit. My stomach grumbled at the sight, and Dad laughed, pulling me in close with his arms.

“My girl,” he said. I smiled at him. No matter how old I got, it still brought me warmth to be close to my dad. “Go set the plates. We’ll eat soon.”

I nodded and pulled away, doing as he asked of me.

* * *

Like every time I approached my door for the past weeks, I hesitated, wondering if this would be the night I opened it to see the man standing there.

And, like every time I realized I was blessedly alone in my apartment, I let out a small sigh of relief.

I looked around the familiar space, taking in all the furniture that I had carefully picked for the place, and felt a wash of anger and hopelessness flow through me.

I was angry that there was a fucking psycho… a creep who watched me while I was showering, stalking me and making me feel unsafe in my own home, and knowing there wasn’t much I could do about it.

I imagined the man dying a painful death before he could get to me. Praying to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in to just do me a favor and drag the fucker to hell and spare me all of this.

But even I knew that wouldn’t happen.

The world didn’t work that way, and all of my problems didn’t just magically disappear simply because I prayed for it.

I closed the door behind me and locked it, hearing the latch click into place, and still not feeling safe in my own home.

I leaned back against the door and took in my surroundings.

What was I supposed to do now?