He coughed and I reared away from the phone and made a face. "I have a cold or the flu. It's probably from the guy that coughed on me in the restaurant last week. I feel like death warmed up."
"Do you need anything? I could bring you soup."
"No." His high-pitched voice nudged my suspicion up a notch. "No, I'm going to stay in bed all weekend and sleep it off. I'm sorry. I was really looking forward to spending time with you."
"It's okay. Health comes first." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "Text me if you need anything, okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks for understanding."
After we hung up, I stared at my phone. It made sense. The last month had been a whirlwind of the storm, me almost drowning, Dawson screaming at me, me staying at his place, him telling me he cared about me and us making love and cautiously going forward, uncertain what lay ahead. It wasn't surprising he got sick and needed to rest.
So why did something feel off?
I shook away the thought. I was being paranoid. Callan had made me suspicious of everything, seeing lies where there weren't any. Dawson was honest, and straightforward along with being too grumpy for his own good but he wasn't a liar.
I decided to make the most of my unexpected free time. I'd been back in my apartment for a while, though the building had sustained some damage. I had to stock up on groceries because my fridge was bare and I'd been eating takeout.
The supermarket parking lot was busy for a Saturday morning and even though grocery shopping was a mundane task, I wished Dawson was doing it with me. I'd just loaded bags into my car when I saw his truck.
And there was Dawson in the driver's seat, pulling up to the curb and looking perfectly healthy. A tall guy with dark hair came out of a store and climbed into the passenger seat. Through the windshield, I could see them both laughing about something and Dawson was smiling as he clapped the guy on the shoulder like they were old friends. Without glancing at me, he pulled out and headed toward the highway.
I stood frozen in the parking lot, my grocery bags forgotten. When Dawson drove past me, he was close enough that I couldsee his face clearly through the windshield. He looked happy and not remotely sick.
He'd lied to me.
That hit like a physical blow and I clutched my chest, terrified I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. My stomach heaved and I bent over, expecting to lose my breakfast. He'd made up an excuse to cancel our plans, and then picked up someone else. Just like all those times Callan had said he was working late or had a session with his personal trainer.
No. I wasn't going to do this again. There had to be an explanation. Maybe Dawson had felt better and this was a friend checking on him. But he'd said he was staying in bed all weekend and he'd coughed on the phone. It was a deliberate deception.
My first thought was to follow him but that would be stalkerish and exactly the kind of thing I'd hate if someone did it to me.
But my hand was already starting the ignition and I was already tracking Dawson's truck as I tore out of the parking lot. He was five cars in front but damnit, I wasn't letting him get away. I gripped the steering wheel so hard, my hands hurt.
I told myself I'd just see where they were going. Then I'd leave, go home, and wait for a reasonable explanation. But as what he's said churned in my brain, the lie he told me left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I followed at a distance, overtaking two cars so I was closer but not right behind him where he might recognize my car. He headed north out of the city and took the exit toward the state park. The traffic thinned out, making it harder to stay inconspicuous and I slowed. But I was worried I'd lose him if I was so far back. By the time he turned onto a small access road leading into the woods, there were only a handful of cars on the road.
I parked on the shoulder, far enough back that my car wouldn't be immediately visible, and sat there uncertain about what to do. This was bonkers. I was stalking my boyfriend—were we boyfriends?—into the woods like some kind of serial killer.
But I couldn't make myself leave. Not when everything in me was telling me that something was wrong. I was being lied to again and I needed to know the truth. In my mind, that justified me following him.
I got out of the car and crept into the woods, following the faint sound of voices. I wasn't dressed for stalking in the wild and I winced when I stood on a twig that snapped loudly. The morning air was cool and the ground was still damp from the storm. My sneakers were covered in mud as I trod carefully, trying to stay quiet and feeling ridiculous, hurt and angry all at once. They were completely wrong for stalking someone in the woods and I'd torn my jacket on a rough tree trunk.
Through the trees, I could see them. Dawson and the other guy, standing in a small clearing. I squatted behind a fallen log as they chatted, though their voices were too low for me to make out any words. Wanting to hear what they were saying, I crept closer, staying behind a thick oak tree.
"It's about time," the other guy was saying. "You've been wound tight for weeks. You need this."
"I know." Dawson nodded. "But I hate lying to him."
Gods damn it they were talking about me, unless he'd also been lying to someone else. My belly hurt and I swallowed, not wanting to throw up and reveal myself.
"You're going to have to tell him eventually," the other guy said. "Especially if this is serious."
"I know that too." Dawson sighed. "I just need to figure out how. 'Hey, Parker, I'm a shifter' isn't exactly a conversation starter."
Shifter? What was that? Was it a term for swinger or cheater that I'd never heard?
Dawson started taking off his shirt. What the heck? Was the guy he was with a special someone and was I a piece of ass on the side? Fury expanded in my belly.
