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TREY

T he music streaming from my speakers does nothing to drown out my thoughts while I follow Maggie home from the bar. I’m still processing her situation as my truck’s headlights cast a shadow over her SUV when she pulls into her driveway. I park on the street, close enough to keep an eye on her but far enough to not arouse suspicion from her neighbors.

She sits in her vehicle, tossing items into her purse. I’m annoyed at her lack of basic safety skills as a single woman alone at night. Exiting my truck, I stride toward her driver’s side door, my boots thudding on the pavement beneath me.

“Mouse.” I pound a fist on her window, startling her into awareness. She jumps, eyes wide behind her glasses, as she looks up at me. Even afraid, she’s so damn beautiful it makes my heart stutter.

Maggie yelps, bringing a hand to her chest. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“You need to be more careful,” I chastise, my gaze scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. “Fuck knows who might be lurking around here.”

Her eyes narrow as she studies my face and my icy-blue stare, but she doesn’t argue and unlocks the door. “Thank you... I guess?” She rolls her eyes and maneuvers out of the car.

I step closer, the air thick between us—electrifying and tense. “Let’s get you inside.”

She nods, and we start toward her front door. I keep my pace steady, purposeful, but I feel her energy shifting as we approach. She stops dead in her tracks and gasps.. I follow her line of sight to a long white box resting ominously on her porch.

“Are you expecting a package?” I ask, scanning the area for anything that doesn’t belong.

Her head shakes slowly, and I feel the tension coil tighter in my gut. I reach for her hand. It’s small and warm against my rough palm, grounding me as adrenaline spikes through my veins. Together, we stride toward the door, my instincts screaming at me to protect her from any potential threat. Once we reach the porch, I crouch down to pick up the box, peering through the cellophane window to find a bouquet of flowers.

“Roses,” I announce, keeping my voice low as I glance back at Maggie. Her face drains of color, her eyes wide with panic. “Guessing you didn’t order these.”

She doesn’t respond and keeps her focus glued to the package in my arms.

I open the note attached and read it aloud, my throat tightening around each word:

I’ll be seeing you soon

The weight of one sentence hangs heavy in the air, suffocating any semblance of calm. I glance at Maggie, fear etched deep into her features, and the sight ignites rage inside me. This fucker is getting bold, and I’m going to make him regret it soon.

“I’m staying here tonight. This guy knows where you live, and he’s escalating from notes and emails to leaving gifts. The cops may not be able to help you, but fuck if I’m taking any chances. Gimme your keys.”

Her lips part as if she’s about to protest, but the resolve in my voice cuts her off before she can even form a reply. She relaxes her posture and surrenders with a reluctant nod, placing the cold, dangling metal into my palm. I unlock the door and usher Maggie inside, closing us in and flipping the deadbolt behind us.

My gaze sweeps over the darkened interior before settling back on her. “Stay put while I check the house.”

Maggie watches me with a tilt of her head as I move methodically through each room, ensuring there’s no one lying in wait. While I search, I wrestle with the decision to tell her the truth about what I do, then decide that’s a conversation for another time. Instead, I settle on revealing just enough to quell her curiosity.

“I work in security. I do this kind of thing all the time,” I confess when I’ve rejoined her in the foyer.

“Security?” she repeats, her voice laced with skepticism.

I nod, knowing that my revelation won’t satisfy her entirely, but hoping that it’s enough for now.

“I could’ve sworn your parents told me you were an independent contractor.”

My parents. George and Regina Smith. Pillars of the community here in Cedar Point. Good, upstanding people who couldn’t have their heads buried any deeper in the sand if I dug a six-foot hole and threw them inside. They mean well, but they’d be horrified if they had any idea what I did for a living. If only they knew it was Gene, one of Dad’s old college buddies, who got me into this business.

Dad thought Gene was in computer sales, which is comical because the guy hates technology and barely uses burner phones. He’d drop by the house, all smiles and hearty handshakes, making boring conversation as if he was your average, middle-aged guy. At that time, I was just figuring out that my thoughts and urges weren’t typical of a thirteen-year-old, but my parents brushed it off as influence from TV and video games. I knew better. And so did Gene. He saw something in me, a cold, calculated ability to compartmentalize and disassociate, paired with a deeply-ingrained sense of justice.

We talked a lot, while the other men huddled around the barbecue making lame jokes and shooting the shit about sports. When I’d earned his trust, he finally explained his real job and how the life he lives now is just a cover. Gene introduced me to the world of contract killing. It sounded alluring and powerful, like something I could excel at. I still have my morals, but I have no problem killing a man who does bad things. And I have no problem killing one who fucks with Maggie.

I hate lying to her, but I need to keep her in the dark a while longer, so I continue the ruse and confirm what my parents told her. “I am an independent contractor. I do private security for various clients.”

I’m relieved when she accepts my answer, but the guilt still gnaws at me.

Moving farther into her home, I take in all the details. Her house is a warm, inviting space that feels like an extension of her personality. The living room, bathed in golden light from the table lamps, boasts plush, overstuffed furniture draped with fluffy throws and pillows. Bookshelves line the walls, filled to capacity with well-loved novels and whimsical trinkets she’s collected over the years. And there’s a faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon that lingers in the air from the candle on her mantel.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m just gonna tidy up a bit.”

It’s obvious she wasn’t expecting a guest as she scurries around, taking her empty mug to the kitchen, shoving a discarded bra under a pillow, and straightening a short stack of books and mail on her coffee table. She’s cute when she’s flustered, and I watch her with amusement.

I drop my tone an octave, stepping closer to her. “Relax, baby. You don’t have to clean up for me. I’ve seen you naked.” When I wink at her, a soft peach blush blooms on her cheeks.

“We were ten and we were camping. You weren’t supposed to be looking,” she scolds, but her eyes twinkle while she suppresses a smile. “There are fresh sheets on the guest bed and extra toiletries in the bathroom across the hall.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“I keep the room ready in case my parents decide to visit. Now that they’re retired, they do a lot of travelling and you never know when they’ll stop by.”

“I haven’t run into them in years. How are they?” I remember them fondly. They were good neighbors and our parents got along well.

“They’re great. I just miss them and wish we could visit more often.” Maggie’s expression is wistful when she strides down the halls and returns with a stack of towels, our fingers brushing as she hands them to me. “There’s some in the bathroom, but just in case.”

Always thoughtful and prepared. I wouldn’t expect anything less from this woman, which only heightens my guilt at how I pushed her away years ago.

“Thanks,” I reply, tucking the towels under my arm. The faint scent of her perfume lingers on them, setting off a swirl of emotions inside me.

“Okay, I think you’ve got everything you need, right?”

“I still need answers, Mouse. I need to know everything so I can keep you safe.”

“Can we talk in the morning? It’s late and it’s been… an eventful night. I mean, Trey Smith is standing in my living room. I never thought I’d see the day,” she jokes, but I can tell she’s still rattled by the surprise gift on her doorstep.

“Tomorrow,” I confirm with an uncompromising tone.

“Goodnight, Trey.” Her eyes search mine. Looking for answers to questions she hasn’t voiced yet. She’s halfway to her room when she pivots around and gazes at me with hurt and resignation in her eyes. “Just one more thing. Why?”

“Why what ?” I know what she’s asking, but I’m stalling.

“I missed you—missed my best friend—while you were gone. And when you came back, you weren’t just cold and distant. You were cruel. You’ve never been cruel, at least not to me.”

There’s an apology on the tip of my tongue that’s been a long time coming, but I don’t give it. “I’ll explain everything soon. I promise, Mouse.”

She doesn’t respond, just nods her head solemnly before heading off to bed.

I will tell her the truth, and I hope to God she can handle it.