Page 7

7

Calista

T his week has been trying. Whenever I consider asking about his time in prison, I bite my tongue and never get anything out other than a “how’s your day?”

Ronan has been keeping to himself, which leaves me both relieved and irritated. He’s not just quiet—he’s downright elusive.

One morning before the kitchen renovations began, I woke early, hoping to catch him just as he woke up. I waited for an hour but eventually gave up and headed off to work. Later, I found out he’d slipped out without a word, and when he finally returned after dinner, he acted like he hadn’t been gone all day. I’m not his mother, but I hadn’t even heard him leave. I’d been up before dawn, listening carefully, yet somehow he managed to slip out unnoticed.

Not that I want to keep an eye on him or anything, but I called Johnny to install a security system around the property. I half-expected Ronan to be uneasy about it, but when the installation team arrived, he surprised me. Not only did he speak with them, but he also even suggested spots for cameras I hadn’t thought of.

But soon enough, my mind starts to run, and I question why I’d let him be so involved in the security setup. Now he knows every camera angle and has access to the system. If he wanted to, he could erase footage or disable it entirely.

Why am I doing this again? It’s not like I have much of a choice now, but it doesn’t make the situation any less maddening.

Really, though, this frustration has roots that go deeper. If my mom hadn’t been the way she was, I wouldn’t even be in this position. Blaming her now is pointless, I know, but it still gnaws at me. Sometimes, I can’t help but think that if cancer had taken her instead of my dad, I’d be long gone by now, hundreds of miles from my dark past.

I’ve been muttering to myself, lost in these thoughts, while standing by my red Mustang. Not sure how long I’ve been lingering here when I hear the sound of boots crunching on gravel. Looking up, I see Ronan coming my way. He’s got his hands tucked into the pockets of dark blue jeans held snug by a black belt, and he’s wearing a fitted white shirt. Draped between his wrist and hip is a leather jacket. A bit much given the high eighties forecast, but I’m not going to question his style choices. Especially not when he looks this good.

He stops a foot before me and cocks his eyebrow, again, the one that says ‘SIT’.

“Ready?” I ask, realizing a second too late how obvious the question is. Of course he’s ready; he wouldn’t be standing here waiting with that expectant look if he weren’t.

He nods, walking around to the passenger side and pulling the door open. “You had to be a basic white girl and get the red one, huh?”

Goddamn, he’s an asshole—a tall one at that. He leans over my car with one arm resting casually on the roof, head tilted just enough to meet my eyes, clearly waiting for me to respond to his smug remark.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a retort. Instead, I ask, “How tall are you by the way?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Research.” I’m going to bury that smart ass of his behind the cabin, so I’ll need the dimensions. Obviously I can’t say that because that’s psychotic. “I want to make sure the frames of the doors are better suited for someone your height.” That’s a good excuse. “I see you having to duck when you walk into the master bedroom.”

He rolls his eyes as he slides into the car and I let out a heavy, nervous sigh before getting in myself. Once I’m settled, I steal a quick glance his way. He’s busy adjusting the seat all the way back and buckling his seatbelt—suddenly a law-abiding citizen, it seems.

“I’m serious, Ronan, height please?” I push the ignition button and listen as the car purrs to life.

“Six foot-seven, give or take on certain days.”

“Thanks,” I say as I square my shoulders forward. “I’m five-eight.”

“I know.” He crosses his arms and stares out the window. Stupid butterflies fight each other in my stomach at the remark. I should find it creepy, even weird, that he knows my exact height. Then again, there’s a good chance he’s just messing with me, fishing for a reaction.

I put the car into reverse and get us moving without giving him one.

The only words he says during the fifteen-minute drive are directions. I had to plug in the address myself, which led us to a small garage wedged between a sandwich shop and a bookstore. The metal door covered in graffiti, is closed, but Ronan doesn’t seem to care.

As he is opening the door, I clear my throat. “Do you… need me to pick you up?”

He turns, glancing over his shoulder, and his gaze drifts to my lap where I’m awkwardly fidgeting with my fingernails. Unfortunately, it’s also where my bare thighs are—my skirt, though knee-length, has ridden up to mid-thigh during the drive. I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice and didn’t want to draw attention by pulling it down.

When he meets my gaze, he shakes his head and gets out.

I finally exhale the breath I'd been holding as the door slams shut. He’s so intimidating that I know I should be running as far from him as possible. If I truly had a choice, I think I would.

“You are so fucking sick, Calista, seek help.”

Dropping my head back against the headrest, I shut my eyes.

I’ve been chasing true fear ever since the moment I was first introduced to it. Not because I enjoy it, but because I’m trying to regain control over it. Talking about what happened only helps so much, and everyone interprets my desire to confront it as a sign that I’m sick in the head.

Maybe I am, but what I want helps. I know it could get me killed one day, perhaps by Ronan, or maybe not. It’s possible that once I close this chapter of my life, things will improve and I won’t feel the need to seek out the disgusting, vile things that haunt me. But deep down, something tells me it will only make it worse.

A knock at my window jolts me and I turn my head to see Ronan, his finger swirling in a gesture that tells me to open the window.

Oh, fuck .

I press the button, the window rolling down automatically. “Sorry, I—”

“I didn’t know I needed to spell it out for you,” he says as he leans down into my window. His face a few inches from mine. “Go, and I don’t need to be picked up.” The spearmint on his breath wafts into my nose, but it’s the scent of his body wash that has me inhaling sharply, eager to take in more of it.

I’m reaching for the gearstick when he leans in and takes my wrist. “Also.” I meet his gaze, as he says, “Get new body wash. I tossed yours out this morning. Do not get the same smell.” My mouth opens but he continues. “It fucking stinks.”

He releases me and strides away from my car. I hit the gas without a second thought, not bothering to look back to see where he’s headed or if he even makes it inside.

Her hug is unexpectedly aggressive, which has me slightly concerned. It’s not like I haven’t seen Gene in months; it’s only been a few weeks.

Regardless, I hold onto her just as tightly, letting out the same “mmm” hum as we finally pull apart. She brushes a few stray blonde strands away from my face and smiles warmly.

“You’ve been so quiet lately. No texts, not even a silly meme.”

“I know, I’ve been busy cleaning up the cabin.”

And trying not to drool over my stepdad’s brother.

“When everything is done, I’ll have to come down and see how it turns out!” Honestly, I don’t mind that she knows Ronan is around. She’s aware of my complicated relationship with my mom and never speaks to her when I’m not there, same with my stepdad. For now, though, I’ll keep it to myself until she plans a visit. I’m certainly not going to ask the convict to hide in his room while my friend wanders about.

I know I shouldn’t call him a convict—that’s pretty rude. Though to be fair, he did call me a “basic blonde bitch” earlier, in a sense. It was the only Mustang on the lot and I’m an instant gratification kind of girl. If I’m going to spend my money, I want it now. That’s why I always opt for expedited shipping.

Genevieve leans over the tall, rounded table we have been sitting at. We came to the bar after we both got off work, just to decompress and bitch about how living with a man is not at all it’s cracked up to be.

“I’ve got tickets to a concert. I was going to invite Travis but I’m already sick of him.”

I giggle and take a sip of my only drink I’m having. The drive back to the cabin at night is already dangerous and I don’t need to be adding being impaired to that.

“Is it the Glitz Tour?!” I say with enthusiasm. I’ve always wanted to see Bee in concert.

“You know it,” she coos, and I swear I could kiss her.

“I’m in. When is it?”

“I’ll text you the details… VIP tickets, baby!”

I lean back and clap my hands together, only to feel someone brush against my back. Startled, I straighten up and turn to say, “Sorry.” I don’t get a good look at him, but he’s tall, with a hood pulled low over his head and a leather jacket over his sweater. He heads toward the door, but I barely register his presence as I shift my focus back to Gene.

“Are you doing alright by yourself?” she asks, finishing off her margarita.

I smile and nod. “Yeah, it’s not so bad. I get a lot of work done, and being on site for a major project will help me grow my knowledge. It’s sort of a unique opportunity.”

Bullshit .

“Good.” She reaches her hand out and grabs onto mine. “You’ve never lived on your own, and being thrust right into it can be scary. Honestly, I’d be terrified. I’m sure it’s dark as shit out there at night.”

I want to tell her that fear makes me feel alive. That on some nights, when I gaze out my window, all I see is darkness. Sometimes I find myself hoping that when I pull back the curtains in the dead of night, I’ll catch those piercing blue eyes of his staring back at me.

“It’s not so bad,” I say with a grin. “I got a security system, all it’s caught on the cameras are deer and a few rabbits.”

I’m grateful I found Gene when I did; she’s one of those friends who stands the test of time. No matter how far apart we are, I know she’ll always be with me. At least I hope so, given what I’ve done and what still lies ahead.

Squeezing her hand, she dives into the details of the concert and all the dirty details both in her love life and the silly books she’s been reading.

About two hours later we’re saying our goodbyes.

Gene rushes off to catch her bus—she and Travis live downtown—while I head to the parking garage where my car is.

The bright lights make me feel safe, but there’s an unsettling sense that someone is watching me. A strange tingling sensation creeps up my spine and tickles the nape of my neck. I jerk my head around, feeling it pop, but the concrete structure is empty except for parked cars.

I narrow my eyes at the toll booth where the security guard I waved to earlier has his head down. The glass is slightly tinted, but I can tell he isn’t paying me any attention now. I swallow hard and continue up the slight incline.

My car is parked in the middle of levels one and two, and I didn’t feel the need to take the elevator, even though my toes are starting to sting against the tapered point of my heels.

As my red Mustang comes into view, I glance over my shoulder one last time, but there’s still no one there.

I’m just being paranoid.

Digging my hand into my purse, I fetch my key fob and tap the lock twice to get the engine going. The moment my thumb is pressing the unlock button, I feel a presence at my side.

I don’t even have time to gasp before a body slams into mine, a gloved hand clamping over my mouth. My legs instinctively kick out, and since I’m walking right beside a parked vehicle, I press my foot against it, trying to push off and throw my attacker off balance.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Their arm tightens around my arms and chest, and I scream against the hand covering my mouth.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” a male voice reverberates in my ear, sending a wave of heat to the corners of my eyes.

No, please, not again!

“Stop! Someone, help me!”

My fingers claw at the man's jeans, desperately trying to find a grip, but I'm tossed roughly against a car. The hand over my mouth remains firm and he releases my arms only to force one of them behind my back. My free hand attempts to push myself off the cold metal, but he swiftly grabs the back of my head and slams my forehead against the vehicle.

Stars burst behind my eyelids, and I fall limp against the hood of the car.

“We aren’t here for your cunt this time, Calista.” My vision blurs as I watch a shadow approach.

“Please, I’m sorry… I-I’m trying!”