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I know it’s crazy. I all but bit her head off and ordered her to never say goodbye to me that day I ran into her at the store.
And then I fucking ghosted her. But I had to. My feelings are already so intense. I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to be in the same room as her with her brother without him being able to pick up on my feelings. It’s all I can do to keep my hands off her when I’m near her. I can’t stop my eyes from adoring her. All I need is for her brother—my best friend—to see the lustful way I leer at his little sister.
But damn, if I would have know staying away would prompt her to go on a date. My stomach roils again.
"Who the hell is this Leo?" The question punches out of me, jealousy coiling tight in my chest. I find a post with his name tagged, and there he is—Mr. Perfect with his sandy blonde hair and smirk that says he knows just how charming he is. I bet he doesn't even have to try not to come in his pants when he sees her.
"Damn it," I curse under my breath, hating the heat that flushes my cheeks and the way my heart races like I'm back in the thick of a mission with everything on the line. But this isn't about survival. This is about desire, raw and relentless, clawing its way out of the shadows.
I chuck the phone aside and force myself to stand, muscles screaming for release, mind warring with itself. I need to get out, run until my legs give out, or hit something until the fire in my veins turns to ice.
But as I lace up my boots, I know I'm only running from the inevitable. Molly has seeped into my bones, and no amount of space or silence will cleanse her from my system.
* * *
I'm posted up across the street from the coffee shop, a ball cap pulled low over my eyes. It's my third day tailing Molly, and with every passing hour, I feel like I'm walking a razor's edge between protective and pathetic. She steps out, that brunette hair of hers catching the morning sun in a way that makes my chest tighten. A laugh breaks free from her lips, and it's like a punch to the gut—I want her to laugh like that around me.
Only me.
"Focus, damn it," I mutter to myself, watching as she walks down the sidewalk, blissfully unaware of my presence. My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. I tell myself it's just to make sure she's safe, that some part of me is still the SEAL who watches over his own. But another part, the one that's all raw edges and dark corners, whispers that I'm full of shit.
She pauses at a bookstore window, peering at the display, and my phone buzzes. It's Jake. I let it ring twice before I pick up.
"Hey, man," Jake says, his voice all easy charm and brotherly warmth. "You’re still MIA. What's going on?"
"Nothing much, just keeping busy," I reply, my gaze never leaving Molly as she continues down the street. My voice has that flat tone I can't seem to shake these days.
"Busy with what?" He probes, but I deflect with a vague mention of errands and workouts—anything to steer him away from the truth.
"Sure," he says, but there's a hesitation that tells me he's not buying it. "We should hang out soon, though. You, me, a couple of beers? Like old times."
"Sounds good," I say, even though every cell in my body screams that being around him, around her, is the last thing I need. "Let's set it up."
The call ends, but that sense of disconnection lingers. I watch Molly disappear into a store, and I'm already calculating how long she'll be, where she'll head next. It's a routine now, this shadow dance of mine.
"Shit," I curse under my breath. This isn't me.
Or maybe it's exactly me, and that's the problem. The lines are blurring, and I'm losing sight of where Tanner the friend ends and Tanner the obsessed begins. And the worst part? I can't seem to find it in me to stop.
* * *
I'm nursing a beer at the corner of Jake's couch when he slumps down next to me, his brow furrowed in that brotherly concern I've seen a million times. The game blares on the TV, but neither of us is watching. There's a tension in the air, thick enough to slice through.
"Man, you're about as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs," Jake says, eyeing me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to solve. "Spill it, T. You've been dodging my calls, blowing off plans. That's not like you."
"Jake, I'm fine," I insist, forcing a laugh. It sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Honestly, just working through some things. You know, the whole 'adjusting to civilian life' dance."
He's quiet for a moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "Adjusting, huh? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're gearing up for another covert op."
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I quip, trying to deflect with humor. But my grin feels like a mask that's starting to crack.
"Damn right, I would." He punches my arm lightly, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness that wasn't there before. "You're my best friend, Tanner. If something's eating at you, I want to help."
"Appreciate it, man, but it's just personal stuff. Gotta figure it out on my own," I say, taking a long pull from the bottle. The bitterness of the hops mirrors the taste in my mouth when I lie to him.
"Personal stuff," he echoes, nodding slowly. But then he leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it a woman?"
"Jesus, Jake," I choke on the beer, coughing and sputtering as I try to regain my composure, praying he isn’t on to me.
