Page 6 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)

JOSEFINE

I reread the phone number on the Post-it note that was left on my front door. Though I don’t need to keep looking at it because after four days, I’ve memorized it.

I should crumble it and throw it away like I had originally intended to do, but every time I go to do it, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.

Especially because underneath the number, there’s a few words that I’ve also memorized.

If you need anything, I’m just a text or call away.

I’m so happy you’re here, Jos!

I’ve never been called Jos before, but I don’t mull over the nickname.

Dragging my fingers behind the Post-it, I feel the indent of the letters on the light-yellow paper. The black ink almost seeps into the back of the paper from the pressure of writing with the ballpoint pen.

Daniel must’ve left the note after I’d gone to bed, or some time super early because I never heard him pull into my driveway.

While I get the sentiment, I wish he’d stop doing this. He doesn’t know me, and knowing my favorite color isn’t going to change anything.

We’re strangers who ended up stumbling upon each other by accident. Sure, he pulled me back and he did what he thought he needed to do. I’m not dead; that should be enough for him.

At the sound of a door being opened, I fold and shove the Post-it note in my hoodie pocket and stand from the bench across the office.

Monica Jameson, the new Director of Women’s Swimming, steps out, a friendly smile greeting me. “Josefine Resendiz, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

I was genuinely shocked when I received an email from her a few months ago asking if she could meet me.

When Mom first passed, I took bereavement, not because I wanted to but because everyone insisted. So, I did, and as the days meshed into weeks then months, I realized I didn’t want to continue swimming.

Everyone was shocked, including myself, because swimming was my life’s purpose. But once I stopped, the purpose along with my will to live, died.

I offer a small smile in return and hope to God, she can’t see how fake it really is.

“Come on in.” She jerks her head for me to step into her office as she retreats.

I follow and take a seat on the chair in front of her desk as she takes her own behind it.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” she solemnly says, her smile dimming into something sympathetic.

It feels sincere and leaves me feeling stunned.

“Claudia was…” She snuffs a laugh, eyes drifting off to the side as if she were remembering something.

“Claudia was one of the best swimmers I had the pleasure of competing against. She will greatly be missed.”

Aside from the massive achievements Monica has acquired over the years not only as an Olympic swimmer but now as a coach, I don’t know much about her. I do know she and Mom were rivals and despised each other, so that’s why it’s shocking to hear this.

But Mom’s been dead long enough for me to know that’s what people say out of respect.

My lips tighten in a flat line, and I stiffly nod, unsure of what to say. Not necessarily because of what she just said but I’ve heard those words, or something along those lines, repeatedly, constantly, endlessly. I wish it would stop.

The condolences, the unwarranted hugs, the letters I refuse to open, and the reminder of how she died. I know how she died. I was the one who had to identify her body at the morgue.

“You didn’t like her,” I bluntly say.

Her chuckle infuses the room with mirth, no malevolence behind it. “I was young and stupid, listening to whatever the media said. But I didn’t not like her. I was jealous.”

“Oh…”

“Once again, my apologies for not being able to attend the funeral service. I sent a card and flowers. I had…”

I zone out, thinking back to that day. It doesn’t bother me that she wasn’t there. Matter of fact, I didn’t care who was or wasn’t there, and I can’t remember who was actually present. That day and every day after is a muddled, distant, and blurry memory.

Except not every day , a voice in my head says.

Midnight, Christmas Day, ring a bell? it says after.

“That’s fine,” I reply, registering how quiet it is. “Why is it that you wanted to see me?”

“Thanks again for coming. I know it’s been difficult because of the holidays and everything in between, but I’m glad we’re finally able to meet.”

Truth is, I’d been avoiding her, and I didn’t expect to make it past Christmas.

“Yeah, it’s been busy.”

“Well, I’m glad you found the time to stop by.

” She leans forward, lacing her fingers on top of her desk.

“I’ll get straight to the point. A position in our support staff has opened up for the student assistant coach.

With your years of experience, I thought I’d ask you if you wanted to take the position.

You’d be a great asset to our team and?—”

“No.” As rude or abrasive as that single word may come off, I don’t need to be anywhere near the sport that almost led me to end it all. “I’m not suited for the position. It’d be best if?—”

She stares at me, bemused, but smiles nonetheless. “Maybe I came off too forward, but I saw your films and I’m in awe. You’re just as talented and impressive as your mom,” she says, her smile sincere.

My heart skeeters all over the place at that statement. I want to correct her, let her know I’m nothing but a disappointment, a fraud. Claudia Resendiz was a beast in the water, I’ve heard so many people say. I was never going to measure up.

“This is a very coveted position and it comes with a lot of great benefits. I’ve already sent you the email, and I highly suggest you read it over. You’ll be paid for your time, and I promise the pay is great.”

Money is the least of my issues. I have a shit ton of it sitting in my bank account.

“I promise I’m not worth the hire and I’m sure you heard a lot of great things about me from Christian Novak,” I start because there’s no point in holding back.

“He has been dealt with, and that is the reason why I’m here and he’s not,” Monica gravely states. “I’m sorry for cutting you off there, and please don’t be afraid to state your grievances, but I don’t want you to worry. Things are running differently now and will continue to.”

I want to ask what happened because I was sure they’d never get rid of him. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t shocked when I found out he’d been replaced. The article never said why, and when he was asked, he said it was time he moved on.

It felt like a load of bullshit, but who was I to question the motive?

“Okay.” The silence draws out after that because I’m not sure if there’s anything else I need to say. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, but I’m not interested in the position.”

“Just think about it. We’d love to have you join our team again.”

It’s not going to happen, but I nod because something tells me she won’t let up. She also reminds me of Mom, and I don’t want to be around a person who’ll remind me of her.

It’s crazy how something cataclysmic can make you physically feel like the world has stopped moving, but the reality is that it’s only you who stopped.

I wish my brain could pick up the pace, move the way my body has as though nothing changed.

I ran an hour straight, and for that one hour alone, I felt like my brain finally got the memo.

But once I climbed off the treadmill, I felt the immediate shift in the room.

And again, I felt like I had stopped moving while everyone around me hadn’t.

I’m back to square one, and the light barely filtering in my head is starting to dim.

“Josie?” My head spins in the direction of the voice as I shut the locker I used to store my stuff while I worked out at the university’s gym.

The moment our eyes meet, I instantly recognize the girl standing next to me. “Yeah?”

Her lips widen, a vibrant smile stretching across her deep bronze face, causing her cheekbones to stand out. “Just wanted to stop by and meet the person all the girls keep talking about. I’m Vienna, the mermaid at Carmel Aquarium.”

No wonder they hired her; she’s gorgeous.

She’s also a sophomore, a year younger than me, and a freestyle swimmer. I found that out in the aquarium’s brochure, when they announced she’d be working with them occasionally on the weekends.

“All good, I hope.” I attempt a playful tone, but the delivery falls flat.

I’m bad at small talk and just talking in general, so I won’t be surprised if she walks away. But a millisecond ticks before she replies, seeming casual and unperturbed.

“Oh, all good. Those girls love you.”

I shrug. “I’m just teaching them how to swim. I’m not doing anything special.”

She quietly chuckles. “I promise you’re doing a lot more than you think.”

Throwing my bookbag over my shoulder, I walk around her. “That’s great.”

“Are you going to grab something to eat?”

It’s a little weird that she asked because I am. “Uh, yeah.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

I falter in my steps, but she keeps walking, her black braids swishing against her bookbag as she does.

I want to say no because the moment she gets to know me, she’ll leave or my nonexistent personality will push her away. Still, I find myself letting her.

“Sure, I’m going to S.S.” It’s short for Sirenum Scopuli, which is one of the dining halls. Because the university’s mascot are the sirens, they decided to name that after an island in Greek mythology. Still, no one uses the full name unless it’s transfers or freshmen.

She looks over her shoulder at me, a smile still on her face. “Great, that’s where I was heading. What are you getting? I’m usually a parfait and bagel kind of girl, but I’ve heard they just installed an omelet bar, so I think I might try that out.”

I fall into step next to her, still not sure how to feel, but ignoring the voice in my head that’s telling me this isn’t going to last long.

“I think I might try that out too.”

I’m not sure what the hell I was thinking, listening to my advisor about signing up for a hiking class. It’s not because I don’t have the stamina because I certainly do, or a camera because it’s mandatory for the class, but it’s about how long it runs for.

The Hiking Seminar: Art Mediums and Nature. Four to six forty-five p.m., my schedule states.

I wanted and needed something easy, and while I didn’t explicitly say that to my advisor, it’s like she knew and recommended that.

Now I’m running late, hair dripping wet because I didn’t pay attention to the clock when I decided to go for a second run.

Stupid idiot, I berate myself, but the words dull when I step in the small classroom. There are only eight rectangular tables, each only fitting two people. I don’t have to look very hard, as I spot an empty one in the back.

Thankfully, the professor isn’t here yet, but everyone is mostly quiet, scrolling on their phones as I walk past them to take a seat. Minus a table of two girls who seem to know each other.

After hanging my bag on the back of my chair, I grimace as I sit back and feel how soaked my long-sleeve shirt is on the back. If I would’ve known the professor wasn’t going to be here on time, I would’ve dried my hair.

Ignoring the wet spot, I focus on my planner in front of me. The hardly there light in my head isn’t the only thing keeping my life intact. Without this planner, I’m not sure how I’ll manage.

Control freak! my mind screams.

I squeeze my eyes, attempting to shove the voice away, but it only gets louder until I hear a very familiar deep masculine voice.

“Jos?”

The harsh words fizzle into nothing as I shift my gaze upward, my eyes locking with a pair of amber ones.

“Daniel.”

“Still on a first-name basis, I see.” He grins, lifting his backwards cap, and dragging his fingers through his long, dark chestnut strands.

When he places it back on his head, I notice how outgrown his hair is.

The thick strands curl outward to his ears and rest just beneath the base of his neck.

“This is our third encounter. Shouldn’t we be past the formal interaction, Jos ? ”

Something weird happens in my stomach, but I ignore it. I must’ve had a bad omelet. “How is that formal? I was just saying your name.”

“Can I take a seat?”

It’s not like I can say no. It’s the only one available. “Unless you want to sit on the floor.”

Pulling the chair back, he settles down next to me, and sets his bag on the floor. He turns to look at me, eyes flashing with glee before they soften. Then he leans closer and whispers, “I’m so happy you’re here, Josefine.”

My brows knit. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I am.” He sounds so earnest, the words feel warm, like sitting in front of a fireplace, wrapped in a thick blanket.

My mind becomes blank, my stomach does that weird thing again, but I don’t get a chance to get a word in as Professor Carleson steps in. “So sorry. If I’m being honest, I kind of overslept.”