He only saw the version of her he wanted to believe in—the one he thought owed him something just because he recognized himself in a sentence she’d written.
And that’s the most dangerous kind of fantasy—the one where someone decides you belong to them without ever asking if you wanted to.
Then Rachel had passed out and I caught her. She felt small in my arms, and yet, it felt natural. Like being there to catch her was the easiest thing in the world, but I’m not ready to process exactly what that means, or if I even want it to mean anything.
I carried her off the stage, leaving her with Melanie, before I joined security to search for the man. But unfortunately, he’d disappeared into thin air.
The fans had been understanding and were more helpful than hindering, showing us photos and videos they’d taken of the man.
He looked to be in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline, and average height. His bright-blue shirt should have been a dead giveaway for his location, but no one could spot him.
I’m feeling the disappointment of the empty chase when I go backstage to check on Rachel, where I find her curled up on a pink couch with my sister, who is rubbing her back while saying, “I’ll teach you Muay Thai.”
Rachel’s face scrunches up as she looks at Lily. “What’s that?”
I shake my head as Lily starts to explain the Thai martial art that is a full-contact combat sport. It’s difficult. Very effective, but not exactly beginner friendly.
“How about you just start with a simple groin kick?” I suggest. “And Rachel, do you have pepper spray?”
Rachel nods her head. “I’ve never used it, but I have it.”
“Did you catch the guy?” Lily asks with wide, eager eyes, as if she’s ready to whip out her skills at this very moment to interrogate him.
I shake my head. “No.”
Lily groans. “Are you serious? I would have caught the guy.”
“We have several photos and videos of him from fans. They emailed them to Melanie,” I add.
I look at Rachel. She looks exhausted, as if that one interaction had sucked her dry of her sunshine and smiles. I want to tell her that it’s going to be okay, that I’ll make sure it’s okay. But she’s conscious now, and I’m not sure I’m the one she wants those promises from.
“Rachel,” Lily says with an imploring tone. “I think you need to tell Evan what you know.”
I feel confusion crease my forehead. “What do you know?”
Rachel bites at her bottom lip before she says quietly, “I got a message last night on my fanfiction account from the guy.”
“Is that what he was referring to? And you didn’t think to alert someone?” The questions come out hard and fast, and I watch as her body tenses at their force.
“I get…” she pauses, “…strange messages all the time. This one caught me off guard because it was about my identity reveal. But I’ve received marriage proposals, requests for a lock of my hair, and I don’t know, I just didn’t think much of it.”
“What did it say?” I ask, trying to soften my words.
She hands me her phone. Her phone is wrapped in a cherry-printed case, worn and peeling, and it reminds me that she needs the money from this tour. This book tour where I thought the only restraining order was going to come from Rachel toward me when it was over, and I would have happily received it. But now…
The screen is lit, and I quickly scan the poem from someone named KillerPlotTwist.
“When did you get this?” I ask.
“Last night when we were having dinner,” she replies quietly.
I feel something like rage shuddering through my body.
“Why didn’t you tell me when you got it?” I ask. “He said he’d be here in a blue shirt. I would have made sure security was paying better attention.”
“I…” she stutters. “I really didn’t think it meant anything.”
“You didn’t think a threat mattered?” My words are growing claws; I can feel the sharpness as they climb up my throat. “What did you think,then? Did you think at all?”
