Page 27 of Hunt You Down

I stood and walked over to the sliding glass door, tightly pressing the lock into place, then tugging to make sure it worked. I did the same with every outward facing door and window in the place. Though with one hand on the shades, I paused. The view was breathtaking. André had pointed out his office before and as I searched for it, an odd movement caught my eye. But when I whipped my head in that direction, the shadow was gone. I was just being paranoid, right?

As I went through the motions of making my morning coffee—after asking Andre how to use his spaceship espresso machine—I took advantage of the quiet. I’d hardly had a chance to reflect over the last few days.

I’d considered starting over in another city somewhere—multiple times. But there was always something to stop me. At first, it was fear. The world is a big place for a small-town kid. Then, when my dad was diagnosed with rapidly progressing Parkinson’s, it became about him. In the end, staying in Georgia was simply more convenient where the courts were concerned.

And now that I was out? I couldn’t imagine going back. Georgia had brought me nothing but pain and heartache.

I’d made my peace with my dad. He didn’t want us to watch him waste away in a hospital bed, and didn’t want his kids putting their lives on hold for him. We still talked when he felt up to it, and that was enough for us. Mom always said that when the time came, she’d move in with her sister in Tennessee, so I knew that she wouldn’t be alone.

Dylan didn’t need me holding him back anymore either. He’d taken care of me for long enough.

I’d hoped that if I did decide to stay, that Dylan would eventually join me. Moving states was a big step, and I wasn’t sure the little spitfire could commit to it. Not that I would blame him—he’d already moved for me once. He was younger, but he carried me most of our lives. That’s just how it always was: he was my protector.

He was taller, and kept up with his athletic routine years after his football-playing days were over. Where I was more timid, Dylan had enough personality to cover both of us. He was always at the forefront of everything. You never had to wonder what was on his mind, because the boy had zero filter.

With a vague memory of incessant ringing, I grabbed my phone—nothing but random numbers. None of them had left a voicemail, so I ignored them.

Taking a chance, I opted to have my coffee on the terrace. My hands shook as I unlocked and opened the sliding glass door, but the second I felt the fresh, spring air on my skin, I was determined to enjoy it.

There was still a slight chill in the air, but I welcomed it. The weather was sure to turn hot and sticky soon enough. I slowly sipped at my drink, entranced by flowers on magnolia trees in a nearby park. Soft wisps of pink and white flowed in the light breeze. Naturally, I snapped a picture to brag about the view to Dylan.

Wrapping my hands around my mug for warmth, I settled back in my chair. I planned to take my time. After all, it wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be.

By the time my mug was empty and I couldn’t take the chill anymore, my stomach was starting to growl. I took my cup to the sink, and I was standing there washing it when keys rattled in the door. My heart raced and I began to search for a way out. That was, until André stepped around the corner, shrugging out of his jacket. I sagged against the counter in relief.

“Are you still waking up?” he asked, seemingly unaware of my brief moment of panic. He met me in the kitchen, and I leaned into the kiss he offered. “Goddamn, I can taste how much sugar you had in that.”

I smiled. “Does it feel strange to come back to someone in your apartment?”

I caught him smiling at me. “A little, but I like it. You know I have a dishwasher, right?”

“Yeah, that thing is even scarier than the coffee maker.”

With a laugh, he set a brown paper bag down on the counter.

“What’s that?”

“I felt bad about leaving you alone this morning, so I’m taking tomorrow off. I thought we could have a little fun tonight.”

André reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Mark. As he set it on the counter, red wax flaked away from the seal and fell to the surface. “You’ve taken shots before, right?”

“Yes, and I don’t remember the rest of that night.”

André smirked, taking me into his arms. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

I considered it. That night was a long time ago, and really the only time I’d ever let myself go. “What if I throw up?”

“I’ll hold your hair back.”

After a moment, I nodded, and André leaned down to press his lips softly against mine. I hummed, and relaxed in his arms.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked when he pulled back. I shook my head, leaning into André’s touch when he cupped my cheek in his hand. “Why don’t you let me take you out?”

At the memory of the gorgeous weather, I agreed. Once we’d both changed, André led me downstairs and out of the building. Every other footfall had me looking over my shoulder—or so it seemed. A flash of red hair here, a leather jacket there. More than once, André redirected my attention before I crashed into something. But with a single squeeze from his hand, or his lips brushing my temple, every worry was whisked away with the breeze.

We chose a sandwich shop that didn’t seem especially crowded and once we were seated, I set my menu aside. “Order for me?”

André peered at me over his. “Are you sure?”