Page 80 of Stalkers Anonymous

I don’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Instead, I watch the shadows move across her ceiling as the moon sets, and I think about Lars Winters. About his routines. About all the ways a man like him could simply…disappear.

The rage from earlier has settled into something colder. More monstrous and dark.

He made a mistake tonight. He showed his hand. Revealed how much he knows.

He’s confirmed he’s more than a nuisance—not just an unstable patient with boundary issues and a drug problem, but a genuine danger to the woman currently sleeping in my arms.

And I protect what’s mine.

The thought surfaces without permission, and this time I don’t push it away. I let it sit there, heavy and possessive and probably a massive red flag.

Mine.

Outside, the first gray light of dawn starts to filter through the curtains. Hailey shifts against me, still deeply asleep, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.

Lars Winters has no idea what’s coming for him.

Chapter Eighteen: Hailey

I wake to sunlight streaming through my curtains and the distant sound of cars traveling down the street. For a short moment, everything feels normal, and then last night comes flooding back: Lars Winters. How scared I was. How safe Cole made me feel.

Cole.

I sit up quickly, suddenly remembering I fell asleep in Cole’s arms, but he’s not here. I pad out to the living room in my pajamas and find it empty. My favorite throw blanket, normally tossed on the couch, has been neatly folded, and a piece of paper with my name written across it waits for me on my coffee table.

Hailey,

I had to leave for a meeting, but didn’t want to wake you. Lmk when you’re ready to go to the police station, and I’ll meet you there. Please call me if anything feels off today. I mean it. Even if it seems minor. Thank you for trusting me last night. I hope you got some rest.

Cole

The note makes me smile despite the lingering feeling of unease from last night. He stayed with me when I needed him most, and not once did he complain about how soft my mattress is. And he slept in my bed with zero expectation of fucking me.

Safe and respected.

That’s how I feel when I’m with Cole.

I make coffee and feed Chewy, who seems particularly energetic this morning, bouncing around his enclosure like he’s been mainlining espresso. Having Cole here last night was…grounding. Even after what happened, I slept better than I have in weeks, and I know it’s because he cared enough to stay.

He gave me a sense of security when I needed it most.

I pour my coffee and settle onto the couch, pulling my favorite blanket around me like armor. The apartment feels different in the daylight—safer, somehow, like Winters’s words have less power when the sun is up. I know that’s irrational. Stalkers don’t operate on vampire rules. But my brain is grasping at straws to find comfort.

“What do you think, buddy?” I ask as Chewy scampers across the coffee table, attempting to steal a pen. “We like him, don’t we? Cole, I mean. Not the stalker. Obviously not the stalker.”

Chewy successfully makes off with the pen, and I decide to interpret this as enthusiastic approval. I should probably stop using a ferret as my emotional support therapist, but he’s cheaper than the real thing, and his judgment feels less loaded.

The truth is, I don’t need Chewy’s input. I already know the answer.

I like Cole. A lot. Possibly an alarming amount, given how recently we met. He occupies an overwhelming amount of space in my mind—every thought seems to find a way back to him, like he’s installed himself as my brain’s default homepage.

Is it too soon to feel this way? Probably.

Do I care? Not even a little.

The quiet morning is interrupted around noon by my phone ringing. The caller ID shows Memorial Hospital’s main number, and my stomach immediately clenches. Calls from this number are never good news.