Page 105 of Stalkers Anonymous

But I don’t move. I can’t.

“Cole. Get in the fucking car. We’re leaving.”

“I’m going up.”

“No, you’re not.”

“She’s not answering her phone. He was right here, Tyler. I need to know she’s okay.”

“She told you not to come.” There’s frustration in his voice, but his eyes show me understanding.

“I know.”

“Then don’t go, Cole. That’s how you start fixing this. Listen to her.”

“I have to see her face.” I turn toward her building. “I have to see she’s okay with my own eyes. After that she can hate me all she wants.”

“Cole—”

But I’m already running. I take the stairs two at a time once I’m inside, desperate to see she’s okay.

If he laid one finger on her, I’m going to fucking kill him.

What right does he have to violate her like this? She’s not his.

Tyler’s trailing me the whole way. He stopped arguing somewhere on the second flight, but he didn’t turn around.

I pound on Hailey’s door harder than I should, and instantly regret it.

“Hailey, it’s me. Please open up. He was here.”

Silence.

Tyler catches up and leans his shoulder against the wall beside the door, shaking his head at me but not saying anything while he catches his breath.

“Hailey, Lars Winters is running down the street right now. We scared him off.”

But my words are met with more silence.

That’s when it dawns on me how serious she was when she said she didn’t want to see me.

I lean my forehead against the doorframe and force myself to slow down and take a breath.

“Please,” I say, keeping my voice low enough the neighbors won’t hear, but loud enough she will. “I know you’re upset. I know you told me not to come. We can talk about all of that. I just need to see that you’re okay.”

“Let’s just go,” Tyler says softly, nodding toward the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

“Go away, Cole.” Her voice comes through the door, quiet but so clear. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

I freeze, swallowing hard. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve been following me.”

“Hailey, let me explain—”

“No.” Her voice is stronger now, angry. “You told me you needed me to let you explain later. You told me to lock the door and wait. What you did not tell me, Cole, is how you knew what Lars Winters looked like.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, pressing my palm against the door like I can reach through it. “Lars has a history. Restraining orders, assault charges—”