Page 133 of Stalkers Anonymous

“Your therapy group?”

“Yes.”

“Your therapy group…came to you outside of therapy? And what did they say?”

It’s now or never. Here we go.

I take a deep breath and don’t let myself stop until I’ve said everything that needs saying: “There’s a second version of the group that our therapist doesn’t know about, and their whole mission is to help people in situations like yours, and they’d like to meet you tonight, if you’re up for it, so you can tell them what you want done about Lars Winters. They want to help you find him. Help us, I mean.”

The pause that follows is painfully long.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“No, Hailey, I’m not fucking with you.”

She stares at me, and I stare back. Her good eye narrows at me, the corner of her mouth twitching just slightly.

“The meeting is tonight at seven. You only have to come if you want to. They’re going to pitch you straight, no pressure, and leave you alone if you say no. The whole thing is your call.”

“Cole.”

I should’ve known she’d never go for this.

“Yeah?”

“Drive me home.”

Disappointment fills my entire body, and all I can do is nod. “Okay.”

“And then drive me to this meeting at seven.”

I turn back to her so quickly my neck gives a little pop. “Yeah?”

“Obviously, yes. What kind of question is that? Fuck Lars Winters.”

I throw the car in drive, repeating after her, “Fuck Lars Winters.”

Chapter Thirty-Three: Hailey

Cole pulls up to a little house on a quiet street in Old Town Fort Collins and shifts the car into park.

It’s the kind of house I’d picture for a romantasy book club. There’s a whimsical wreath on the door accompanied by a fairy garden to the side of the front walkway. The mailbox even has cute decorative metal numbers painted to look like red-and-white polka-dotted mushrooms. Nothing about this place reads Welcome to Stalkers Anonymous, the unhinged offshoot of your boyfriend’s therapy group.

Consistent with the stalker theme, though, is a beat-up white van in the driveway. It has a brewery sticker on the rusted bumper and a little dent above the wheel well.

I’m suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. What the fuck was I thinking?

I don’t move when Cole kills the engine. Actually, I stop breathing entirely.

“Hey.” Cole turns toward me, his hand finding my knee. “You don’t have to do this. We can drive away right now and I’ll handle it without them.”

“I want to do this,” I tell him, trying to reassure myself, too. “I won’t be able to function until Lars Winters is no longer out there. So if this is the best way to do it, we have to do this.”

This is easily the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

And I am desperate to put an end to my Lars Winters problem.

He squeezes my knee once and lets go. “For the record, I’m not trying to talk you out of this. I’m just giving you an out in case you change your mind. I’ll do whatever you want.”