Page 20 of Stalkers Anonymous

“What do you want?” Jack asks, pulling out his wallet.

“Black coffee. Large.” I need the caffeine today. “Thanks. I’ll get it next time.”

The echo of Tyler covering our bill at the diner, then telling me I’ll get the next one, makes my throat go dry. What would he say about the way I’ve been thinking of Hailey nonstop? Would Tracey give me one of her penetrating glares—the kind designed to make me second-guess all my life choices?

Get out of my head, losers.

Jack orders for both of us, adding a sandwich I didn’t ask for but will probably need.

Madison turns her bloodshot eyes on me. “Name for the cup?”

“Cole.”

She nods, very seriously, and writes. I count the strokes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Statistically, she should have been fine. My name only has four simple letters, yet we’ve somehow landed on five flicks of her wrist.

As we wait, Madison calls out into the café, “Order for Byron! Bree-on?”

A shortish white guy in a business suit steps forward, visibly annoyed. “Brian.”

“That’s what I said.”

I resist the urge to turn around and check if Hailey’s seen me yet. I watch a different barista set our order on the counter, and I brace myself for whatever name Madison has written on my cup.

“I have a large drip for Coke!” Madison’s voice cuts through the café. “Coke? Anyone here named Coke?”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he’s holding back a boisterous laugh, but he doesn’t say a word.

I weigh my options: correct her for a third time in front of a line of caffeine-deprived customers, or accept that for the next ten minutes, I am Coke. I take the cup. The side reads in clear, confident black marker: COKE. And it’s underlined. Twice.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Have a great day, Coke!”

Jack loses it. Just for a second. Just enough that I see his shoulders shake before he gets it back under control.

“One word,” I mutter as we cross the café. “I will end you.”

“I didn’t say anything, Coke.” Jack gestures toward an empty table on the opposite side of the café from Hailey and her friend. Far enough for privacy, but close enough that I can see her in my peripheral vision.

“So,” Jack says once we’re seated, his sandwich unwrapped and my coffee sending up tendrils of steam. “Let’s talk about the real reason I dragged you here.”

I wrap my hands around the coffee cup, letting its warmth seep into my skin. COKE stares up at me. “The group.”

“The group,” he confirms. “Look, you know I went to bat for you. Convinced the board that what happened was a one-time lapse in judgment, that your skills were worth the risk.”

A one-time lapse in judgment. An extremely polite way to refer to the night that changed my life. The night I refuse to talk about at IBSG, and the night I don’t plan to tell Tyler about, no matter how much he insists we’re two peas in a pod.

The night I confronted Shitbag Steve in the parking lot of his favorite dive bar and returned every blow he landed on Emma’s body. With interest.

That’s the reason I got fired. Because when that asshole sued me for assault, it came out that I’d used company assets to find him, track him, and nearly end him.

More’s the pity I didn’t finish the job.

“I know.” And I do. Jack’s the only reason I have a job, a paycheck, and a future that isn’t completely fucked. Well, Jack and the judge who cleared me of charges because he understood the assignment. That guy was awesome.

“But here’s the thing—that goodwill has limits. The board wants proof you’re actually working on the boundary issues.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “They want to see Tracey’s reports. They want confirmation you’re attending every session, participating, making progress.”

My jaw tightens. No one can access those kinds of records without my permission, but giving it would feel like handcuffing myself and swallowing the key.