“I know.”
Except frustration keeps tangling with concern every time I think about calling him. Part of me understands why Alexei refuses to explain everything. Men like Alexei don’t walk through life waiting for bad things to happen. They walk around expecting them. I know that, at least in my head. But emotionally, I’m getting tired of everyone making decisions for me while pretending it’s for my own protection.
The afternoon drags on. Volunteers prepare for the adoption event while dogs bark nonstop from the kennels. Somebody accidentally drops an entire container of tennis balls across the hallway floor and three puppies immediately lose their minds chasing them while Jules yells empty threats about workers’ compensation and emotional trauma.
Most days, I’d laugh. Not today. Today, every unfamiliar face makes me tense.
Around three o’clock, I step into the office and notice Jules’s iced coffee abandoned beside the computer. My stomach drops immediately. Jules doesn’t abandon caffeine voluntarily.
I grab my phone and call him, but the call goes straight to voicemail. Terror pounds hard enough in my chest to make it ache. I start freaking out. I call him again. No answer, straight to voicemail.
I’m on the verge of a breakdown when he walks through the shelter doors looking overheated and irritated. I nearly launch myself across the lobby toward him.
“Where were you?”
His eyebrows lift. “Well hello to you too.”
“Jules.”
He exhales heavily before motioning toward the office. Once the door closes behind us, he drags a hand through his hair and finally says, “I followed somebody.”
Pure horror moves through me. “You what?!” I whisper scream.
“The same guy who’s been outside the shelter three separate times this week.” He lowers his voice. “I wanted to know where he went.”
“You followed a suspicious man through downtown Savannah by yourself?”
He waves one hand like I’m being ridiculous. “I wasn’t tryin’ to tackle him in an alley, Maggie.”
“That’s not the point.” I fold my arms tightly across my chest while panic pounds harder beneath my ribs. “You could’ve gotten hurt.”
Jules’s expression becomes gentle. “Oh honey.”
“I mean it.” Emotion clogs my throat unexpectedly. “You have no idea who these people are.”
“I know exactly who they probably are,” he says quietly. “That’s why I followed him.”
I stare at him helplessly because beneath all the frustration and panic sits another realization neither of us says out loud. This danger is no longer circling only Ivy and me anymore. It’s reaching everybody close to me now. Jules included.
He steps closer and squeezes my shoulders gently. “I only followed him a few blocks. He headed toward River Street and disappeared in traffic before I could see where he went.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Believe me, my survival instincts kicked in eventually.”
Outside, late-afternoon sunlight bathes the sidewalk as tourists wander through Savannah, unaware. Meanwhile, my whole life feels like it’s tipping sideways, one unsettling detail at a time.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
“You hate not knowin’,” Jules points out.
“Yes.”
“And you hate that Alexei refuses to let you fully inside whatever’s happenin’.”
That one stings, because under all the anxiety is another feeling I don’t entirely know what to do with.
Hurt.
