Page 11 of Straight to You

RYDER

M orning comes way too fast, but after a whole weekend with Logan, I feel ready to tackle Monday. Logan’s already out of bed by the time I wake up, so I pull on a pair of black sweatpants and head to the kitchen to find him sipping his coffee.

“Morning,” he says with a small smile.

“Morning,” I reply, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“What mug do you want today?” he asks, opening the cabinet. “ ‘Shh, my coffee and I are having a moment,’ or ‘I like big mugs and I cannot lie’ ?”

“The first one,” I laugh because it’s such a ridiculous question. “I don’t need that much coffee today,” I say, pointing at the slightly smaller option. “I feel refreshed after last night. Gonna head home in a few minutes to start work.”

“Give the people what they want,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows as he hands me the full mug, already made up the way I like.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, smirking over the rim before taking a sip .

He grins and grabs his keys. “I’m heading to work. Text me when you’re done. And don’t forget to lock the door when you leave!”

“Will do,” I call after him as he heads to his office.

Logan’s always looked out for me, but ever since I started narrating years ago, he’s become extra particular about certain things, like locking the doors.

“You’ve got those noise-canceling headphones on,” he’s reminded me more than once. “You wouldn’t even hear someone come in. I want you to be safe, that’s all.”

I used to roll my eyes at that, but after last weekend, I completely get where he’s coming from.

I never mentioned the noise I heard while recording to Logan.

Honestly, I’ve been trying not to dwell on it, especially since I haven’t heard anything else.

It was probably a neighbor working on a project or another perfectly reasonable explanation, rather than someone inside my house.

When I get home, I drop my bag by the door, flip the deadbolt, make a fresh cup of coffee, and head to my recording room. I’m excited for today’s chapters—it’s a low-angst hockey romance, which is exactly what I need: good banter and a fun low-angst plot.

I prep like I always do, and once everything is set, I hit record and immerse myself in the story. It’s just me, the characters, and a world way less complicated than my own.

I’m making good progress, but I pause at the chapter break to grab some water. When I return to my office, I notice a new email notification. I consider ignoring it—I should ignore it—but I’ve never been good at letting things sit unread. I know I won’t be able to focus until I check it.

The second I open it, my stomach drops.

The subject line says: You’re doing so well .

I hesitate, dread already curling low in my chest as I click, half-hoping it’s some poorly-worded marketing email from a wellness center I never signed up for.

Or a spam email that comes off as creepy.

Anything other than what my gut reaction tells me it is.

The sender's name looks too similar to the one I blocked, and I’m surprised these are even getting through my spam filter.

I let my finger hover over the email and force myself to open it.

“You really are something, Ryder. You know that? I love listening to you read to me. Every line that falls from your lips is perfect, even if you did block me the first time. I know Ryder, I see everything.”

I stare at the screen, my heart is in my throat. What the fuck is happening?

This isn’t the kind of flattery that feels good. Logan was right; it’s creepy. This one feels too close to home. They see everything? What the fuck does that mean?

I force myself to recheck the sender’s address, hoping for any clue that could tell me who this is.

But once again, there’s nothing identifiable, just a string of nonsense letters and numbers, like they smashed their finger down on their keyboard and said, ‘This works.’ It’s no more helpful than the first email.

I immediately hit ‘block sender’ on this address, too, even though I’m sure they’ll create another email account.

There’s a pressing fear creeping up my spine that whoever sent me this message knows I’m recording right now. With the language they used and the timing, it almost feels like they were waiting for me to take a break from recording so they could hit send.

It makes me feel uneasy, but that’s probably ridiculous, right?

There’s no way anyone but Logan knows what I’m doing right now.

This room doesn’t even have a window in it, so I know for a fact no one can see me.

Whoever sent this probably took a lucky guess that I’d be working right now because it’s Monday.

They’ve probably done this before to other people and know they get blocked.

Or they have some type of software that allows them to see if they’ve been blocked. That has to be it.

I look around the room to see if I notice anything different, but it all looks the same to me. Nothing seems out of place, so I’m sure the timing was a strange coincidence.

I swallow hard and scan the email again. It’s not an outright threat, but the tone doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not a usual fan email, and I hate not knowing who’s sending these or what they’re trying to get at. Are they really watching me?

Grabbing my phone off my desk, there’s only one person I want to talk to right now. I know he won’t like what I have to tell him, but I go to my favorites and hit his name before I can talk myself out of it.

The phone rings once. Then twice. Then a third time.

My stomach twists tighter with each second he doesn’t answer because all I want is to talk to him and have him reassure me it’s probably nothing.

Usually, I’d try not to let it bother me like I did with the last email, but this one feels more personal and makes me feel jittery.

It’s like my body is telling me something my mind is trying to deny.

Finally, I hear his voice .

“Hey Ryder,” he says in a somewhat distracted tone.

I don’t even care that he’s distracted; I already feel like I can breathe slightly easier just from hearing his voice.

I swallow, trying to keep my voice casual, but it still comes out tighter than I want. “Hey, you busy?”

“Working on design edits. What’s up?” He pauses for a second. “You okay?”

I don’t answer right away because honestly, I don’t know. Am I? I can’t help but feel like I’m being paranoid. Do I have anything to worry about, or am I about to dump unnecessary stress on him during his work day?

But I promised him I’d tell him, so I do.

“I got another email,” I ignore his question and say instead.

The shift in Logan’s voice is immediate. “What do you mean, another? Like from the same person? I thought you blocked them.”

“I did. It’s a different email address, but it’s all letters and numbers like last time. It’s gotta be the same person from Saturday, though. It had a similar feel, but…” I hesitate, trying to find the right words. “It feels a little more personal, though. Invasive, maybe. Creepy.”

“Invasive, how? What’s it say?” Logan’s voice drops lower. I wonder if he’s surrounded by his coworkers, and I realize maybe I should’ve texted him first.

I don’t want to paraphrase, so I read it to him. There’s no way to dress it up to make it feel less creepy, and when I finish, the silence on the other end of the line is deafening.

“Send it to me. Right now, Ryder,” his tone is firm. He doesn’t usually get demanding like this, and it throws me for a second, but I can tell he’s concerned about what I just told him .

I do as he asks and silently wait for him to reply, until I hear a muttered curse.

“Alright, I’m coming over now. Don’t do anything, just wait for me to get there.”

“Logan—”

“Nope, don’t argue. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and make sure the doors are locked.”

My heart rate picks up at that thought, but I’m positive I locked the door. To make sure, though, I get up to double-check anyway while he’s still on the phone with me.

“Doors locked,” I confirm. I’m positive the back door is locked because it always is. I haven’t gone out that door in a while, but I check anyway. And yep, it’s locked.

“I’m going to go talk to my boss, then I’ll leave,” he says.

I let out a little laugh because the last thing I need is him telling his boss that his best friend received a semi-strange email, so he needs the rest of the day off.

“Logan, it’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Nope,” he snaps. Then I hear him let out a deep breath, “Just let me do this, alright? It’s not like I’ll be able to focus on work the rest of the day anyway. And you know I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you just so I could work a full eight-hour day.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll see you when you get here,” I concede, rubbing a hand over my beard.

I think that’ll be the end of our conversation, but Logan’s next words make my chest ache for a different reason.

“You’re my best friend, Ry. I love you, you know I’d do anything for you, right?”

I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that at this moment.

Selfishly, I’m glad he’s coming over because I don’t want to be in my house all alone, but I do feel a smidge of guilt that he’s going to take the afternoon off.

I probably should’ve waited to call him about this at the end of the day.

“Same, Lo. I love you, too. Thanks for this, I’ll see you soon.”

“No problem.”

We hang up, and I decide that instead of spiraling, I should probably be productive. I go around the house to make sure the windows are locked, just in case. I make it through almost all of them when I hear knocking at my front door.

I walk over to it and look through the peephole to see Logan standing there. When I pull the door open, he has a disheveled look on his face, and his dirty blonde hair is a mess. He looks like he’s run his fingers through it at least a dozen times on the drive over.