Page 48 of Catching Flynn

Instead, the mailman leaned his forearms on the counter like they were two guys catching up and not a predator closing in on its prey.

“I always knew when you were home,” he said softly. “I knew what days you stayed late. I knew when you changed brands of coffee. You cut your hair once and nobody even mentioned it. I did.”

A sick twist moved through Flynn. He remembered that. He remembered some offhand comment weeks ago that had felt almost flattering at the time.

Jesus Christ.

“You’re the one leaving the notes.” Hearing it out loud made Flynn’s skin crawl.

“Yes.”

The smugness in that single word ignited a fire in Flynn’s stomach. He wanted to punch it off the bastard’s face.

At the rear of the shop, something creaked. Flynn flicked a glance toward the cookbook aisle, hoping Adele would stay exactly where she was and never come out again.

When he looked back, the man’s expression had changed. Hurt and anger warred in his eyes.

A little burst of hysteria nearly escaped Flynn. “Oh my god. This is fucking unreal. How is my life this extreme when I don’t even have one? Work. Home. Work. Home.” Flynn made a chopping motion with his hands. “That’s the extent of it. If I could combine the two, I’d never have to leave my house. I would finally become the shut-in I feared I would become,” Flynn said, voice his filled with hopelessness. “The ultimate rejection. Turning my back on humanity, because what the fuck have they done for me?

“Now you know how I feel,” His tone softened, like they’d found common ground. “At least I know you’re goddamn name.”

Or not.

Out of everything happening, that was what he latched onto? The homicidal mailman standing in his bookstore looked genuinely furious that Flynn had never stored his first name in the collapsing cabinet of his brain. Speaking of, where was Flynn’s bodyguard? How long did one phone call take? Zavier should’ve returned by now.

“You smiled at me every day.”

Flynn snorted. “I smile at everyone. I work retail. It’s a hostage skill.”

Which clearly needed worked.

The guy took a slow step forward. “You never paid attention. After everything I’ve done for you.”

Flynn was thrown back in time, a small boy again, trembling as his drunken mother ranted at him. Flynn never understood why everything made her so angry. Especially when she aimed her fury at her own mother. Nana never backed down, even when he’d wish she would. Then his mom would turn her fury on him once they were back home. Don’t you ever take her side again. After everything I’ve done for you, I deserve more respect!”

“What’s. My. Name?”

Flynn was sucked back to the present, but the fear and anger had followed.

“It’s Mr. Mailman.”

For one psychotic heartbeat, pure disbelief crossed the guy’s face. Then color flooded it.

“That’s a fucking job title,” he snarled. “My name is Melvin.”

Flynn tried to dispel the ugly worthlessness the memory had set free, but it clung to him, wrapping its oily fingers around him in a hug that burned his skin. Never once had he disrespected her. She was his mom. He loved her.

But Flynn was no longer that little boy. That phrase didn’t make him tremble. It triggered an avalanche of everything he’d buried.

“You delivered my mail. That’s literally you’re fucking job! You’re even paid to do it, Melvin the mailman.”

The burst of hysterical laughter that escaped sounded demented, but Flynn had a lifetime of pain to purge. Since Melvin had started this… “You are nothing but an NPC player. Background, where every service worker lives. That’s not being cruel. It’s a simple fact. Paid to make sure everything runs smoothly. Like mail delivery. What gives you the goddamn right to try and take that choice from me!”

“You were supposed to notice me.”

“Welcome to reality, where every is desperate to be seen while refusing to open their own eyes!”

Flynn had been just as desperate. His entire life he’d buried the pain, smiled when all he’d wanted to do was bawl his eyes out, and be important to at least one goddamn person.