Page 32 of The Rose and the Hound (Ashes and Roses #2)

I sat in my car but couldn’t bring myself to drive away.

I had to fix this. I had to get Rose back, not that I ever really had her.

I could sense I was spiraling into obsession, but it was much worse than it had ever been with Evangeline.

I remember watching Evangeline for the last time and being strangely okay with it.

My last surveillance of Evangeline had been nostalgic and almost emotionless.

With Rose, I couldn’t bring myself to even move within my car.

I stared at the apartment building door for what seemed like hours.

I couldn’t say goodbye to Rose, so what were my options?

I could grovel. Throw myself at her mercy and do big and small things to make her life easier.

That was a problem in itself. Rose had a very simple life.

Work, running, treatment, and home life.

Her routine was well established, provided she stayed in town.

What if she moved? If she moved so far that I couldn’t watch her, I’d have to move too.

That was something I was more than willing to do.

What if she moved on with another man? In no world could I handle that.

I couldn’t talk to my mother or Brett about this.

They were still strange about my “stalking” of Evangeline.

Suddenly, I realized what Rose had gone through, what she had bravely fought to engage in our little game.

She must have questioned herself constantly about her interactions with me, making it all the worse that I’d thrown her to the wolves.

She wouldn’t have been able to talk about her relationship with me with anyone, especially not her doctor.

I had engaged her in this little game without even thinking of the situation I was putting her in.

Maybe I could never get her back. I’d never know what it would feel like to kiss or hold her in a situation where she wasn’t as stiff as a board. Having my arms around Rose felt right, but it would feel even better if she returned the gesture.

I put my head in my hands. I should have trusted her.

Rose had been honest with me about her mental health battles and instead of supporting her, I believed without even a single question that she had relapsed.

I had no proof. She was well, actively attending treatment, and taking steps to reclaim her life and I instantly believed she relapsed without a moment’s hesitation.

At the time, I’d been so jealous that her attention had been on other men that I simply believed it and reacted out of anger.

If she’d just been a client, I would have been more objective and sought some kind of evidence.

I knew someone, other than me, was stalking her.

Her being framed was the most likely explanation, yet I jumped on the “Rose is sick” bandwagon and hurt her deeply.

I had to do what was in Rose’s best interests, not mine.

She didn’t want me in her life. I wanted to be in her life.

I would stay back in the shadows, making sure she was okay, but I wouldn’t push myself on her.

Before her re-arrest, she was healing and making exceptional progress.

Loretta had ruined that, so Rose had been thrown back into raw pain again.

I would let her heal. I would help her heal.

Rose and I were birds of a feather. In my mind, I could see our future.

We’d be a loving couple, close in every way, but unlike most other couples, we would have a dark side.

We were both stalkers, prone to obsession.

I know that wasn’t healthy, but if the obsession was mutual and the stalking consensual, we would always have fireworks.

Rose would keep herself accountable perhaps even more than I would.

Rose had sought treatment and had a true sense of self-awareness.

This was like a bad dream. I felt at a complete loss.

I wanted Rose in my life. I needed Rose in my life.

If after throwing myself at her feet, she still didn’t want me, I’d have to accept that.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t lurk in the shadows for the rest of my life, watching the woman I loved and had hurt so deeply.

I put my hands on my keys, but my brain refused to send a signal to turn the key into the ignition. This was almost physical. I could not walk away.