Page 12 of Straight to You

“Hey, you didn’t need to come, Loge,” I say, stepping back to let him inside. He doesn’t respond; he just walks into the house and heads straight toward my bedroom.

I’m unsure what’s happening right now, so I shut and lock the door behind him before following him.

“Uh, what’s going on?” I question when I see him in my closet.

“Pack a bag,” he barks without looking back at me as he pulls one out of my closet.

“What? Why?”

He levels me with a look that says, this should be obvious. “Because you’re coming to my place. For at least a few days, so pack what you need.”

I let out a short laugh, but it feels hollow. I don’t want to be alone right now, but I also don’t want to impose on Logan’s life over two odd emails.

“Logan, I’m fine. I don’t need to?— ”

“Well, I don’t like it, Ry.” He crosses his arms and tosses the bag on the bed. “Can you do this for me? It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re not here all alone. Come to my apartment while we figure this out. Please?”

Part of me wants to push back, but the way he’s looking at me and the way he said ‘please’ makes me cave. If he gets sick of me, he’ll tell me, although that’s never happened before. I’ll just need to continue to tamp down my newfound feelings for him while I’m sleeping in his bed indefinitely.

Easy, right?

I give him a nod and try to keep my thoughts PG. Now is not the time to think about him rubbing his ass against my dick while we spoon, or the little kiss he placed on my hand while he was wrapped in my arms.

Think about the email .

“Alright, grab whatever you need then. I’ll tell my boss I need to work from home the rest of the week, too. Whoever this creep is, they’re already feeling too comfortable with the words they’re using, and I’m not gonna leave you alone to deal with it.”

He disappears into the bathroom and comes back out with my toothbrush and some toiletries, and I can’t help but smile at that.

“You do know I already have a toothbrush at your place, right?”

“Whatever, it’s already packed now,” he shrugs and keeps moving through the room.

It didn't take long for us to pack everything I needed, including all my recording equipment, my laptop, and a few extras Logan insisted on bringing.

We both drive separately back to Logan’s apartment, and the second we get there, he grabs some of my stuff and leads us inside.

As soon as we’re in, he locks the deadbolt and starts checking all the windows and balcony door, methodically moving through each one to make sure we’re locked in.

Even though we have no idea who this person is or if they even know where we live.

I’m not going to argue, though. I also want to feel safe.

As I start unpacking some of my stuff, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. I hesitate before picking it up, bracing myself for the worst because there’s another email notification staring back at me.

I already know I’m not going to like whatever I see, it’s a too-strong gut feeling.

When I click on the icon, it’s exactly what I was dreading. The email address is slightly different again, but it’s the subject line that makes my skin crawl.

Subject: Why’d you leave?

I feel light-headed and dizzy, like I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight as I try to suck air in through short, shallow bursts. I press a hand to my sternum to alleviate some of the pressure, but it does nothing to help.

“Ryder?” Logan’s voice cuts through the haze. “What is it?”

He comes over, grabbing my hands and pulling me down onto the couch next to him. He keeps his hand in mine, but it’s not helping. My throat feels too tight, the panic is hitting me so hard I feel like I might choke on it because someone is watching me.

They knew I left.

They were there .

At my house.

While I was recording .

The booth doesn’t have windows, but what if they were already inside my house?

I was away all weekend, and I don’t have cameras at my house.

God, what type of home owner doesn’t have fucking cameras!?

Then my mind snags on a question that makes me physically sick…

Did they follow us here?

My mind is racing in a million different directions, and I don’t know what to do right now, or what to think. If I brought this person right to Logan’s door, I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself.

My breathing grows erratic as I try to calm down, but it feels too hard to control until Logan pulls me into him and strokes my back. He’s whispering calming words of reassurance to me, but I’m freaking the fuck out.

Fuck, what about the noise?

The one on Friday night sounded like it came from right outside my window.

Were they lurking around trying to find a way in?

The sound I heard the next day while working was so loud it broke through my noise-cancelling headphones, and that’s never happened before. Was it so loud because they were inside my house?

I can’t stop shaking. What if I missed something by not checking every room, every window, every inch of my house? Clearly, I’ve been downplaying the severity of this, but I had no reason to think they were truly watching me—stalking me, by the other emails they’d sent.

I feel so stupid. Someone’s been watching me and I’ve had no idea .

Logan’s hand comes up to cup my face now, and I force myself to focus on him.

He has no idea why I’m panicking yet, so I unlock my phone and hand it to him.

I haven’t even opened it yet, but the subject line was all I needed to see to know this has escalated.

This isn’t just someone from an online fandom; this is someone who wants me to know they’re close.

“What the fuck,” he mutters and lowers my phone in front of us so we can read the email together.

“I never wanted you to leave, I just wanted you to know how perfect you are. Then he showed up, always trying to be a hero, but he’s not, Ryder.

He doesn’t admire you or care about you to the depths I do.

He doesn’t listen to you like I do. You’re all I hear; all I see.

You deserve to be worshiped. I can give that to you. ”

His grip on the phone tightens, and I can hear his breathing pick up. “This creep has some type of sick fixation on you.”

That email did nothing to loosen the panic in my chest. I wish I’d never read it. Every word rings through my head, and I wish I could unsee them.

Worshiped? You deserve to be worshiped?

Who says shit like that?

I try to focus on my anger over this situation instead of fear because I don’t want to break down.

“That’s it,” he snaps, standing abruptly. “I’m calling the cops. This fucker is stalking you.”

“Logan, they’re not going to do anything,” I voice my biggest concern.

“It’s just an email. We don’t even have the name of who’s sending them.

We don’t have anything helpful they could use.

” I don’t know why I’m still trying to be reasonable in this situation when some anonymous person admitted to watching me, but I hate the idea of going through a line of questioning and not being taken seriously.

“We need to at least make them aware of this situation. They can document it,” he counters firmly.

“And that’s better than nothing. Maybe they can dig into it.

We have to do something, Ryder. I can’t sit here and do nothing when I know someone is watching you.

Watching you closely enough to know you left your fucking house. It makes things far more dangerous.”

I know he’s right, even if I’m not convinced it’ll help. I’m also scared for Logan because this person doesn’t like him being around me, and I could have just led them straight to his door.

If anything happens to Logan because of me, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

He doesn’t waste any time pulling out his phone and making the call. He’s pacing the room as he relays the details to the dispatcher. I stay rooted to the couch, staring at the email. The words are burned into my brain, and I can’t unsee them.

When Logan finally hangs up, he drops back down beside me, his hand resting on my knee, giving it a light squeeze. “They’re sending someone out to take a report.”

I nod, my throat still tight. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Ryder. I don’t know who the fuck this person thinks they are, but I’m not letting you out of my sight. And we’re not leaving this apartment. Okay? Get ready to be real sick of me.”

The sincerity in his eyes is almost too much. I look away, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says, giving my knee another squeeze.

I try to give him a small smile, but inside, I feel like I’m cracking wide open.