Page 37 of No Good Fight

The cold comes back immediately.

“You call me if anything else happens,” he says.

This time, there is no pretending it’s a casual offer.

I nod because my voice is gone and I’m not about to croak out anything. Or worse, invite him inside to hold me.

He walks me to my door and I feel him there with every step, his attention never wavering.

“Good night, Allycat.” He leans forward and brushes a wet strand of hair behind my ear.

With a nod, I shut the door and lean against it before moving into the kitchen so I can stare at Ryder’s truck in the parking lot.

It’s not until I see him leave that I strip and change into dry pajamas.

And for the first time since finally leaving Preston, I want more. More than a silent apartment, or the ability to starfish in the middle of my bed.

I want Ryder.

I sleep with my phone in my hand because some terrified, traitorous part of me believes Ryder will come if I call.

6

RYDER

The second I saw that photograph in Alex’s hand, I stopped believing this was about intimidation and knew it was Preston Lee trying to force his way back into her life.

I’ve never wanted to hurt another human being the way I’m craving his blood on my hands, and I know that should scare me…but I’d do anything to keep her safe.

By dawn, I still haven’t slept.

The kitchen is dark except for the stove light and the low blue pulse from the police scanner near the sink. I keep the volume turned down enough to hear dispatch without letting it fill the house. A beer sweats beside my notebook on the counter, untouched since I opened it hours ago. The label has started peeling at the corner from all the condensation, and I keep picking at it with my thumb instead of doing anything useful.

The photo sits open on my phone. The first of the two Alex sent with four words. One showing the front and one the back.

AllyCat: In case you need it.

I saved a copy outside the thread before I answered her, then spent the rest of the night staring at the screen until my eyes burned.

She’s younger in the picture. Smiling beside that jackass Preston while his arm hooks around her waist like he’s keeping her exactly where he wants her. It’s the kind of photo people look at and make stupid assumptions about. Such a happy couple enjoying a nice night. A pretty girl with a good-looking man who probably shook hands with fathers, charmed mothers, and held doors open while everyone congratulated him for having manners.

I know better. Not just because I know some of the truth, but also because I know Alex in a way normal people wouldn’t understand.

I look at the pressure of his hand on her hip. I look at Alex’s smile, too wide and too careful. Then I look at the picture I have of the message written on the back.

You looked happier with me.

My grip tightens around the beer until the bottle creaks.

Preston isn’t trying to scare her off. He isn’t warning her to stay quiet or punishing her for leaving. This is so much worse than that. Preston is a man trying to remind her of who he thinks owns the before and after of her life. He’s trying to get her back under his control.

He wants to make her back into that version of herself.

The version of her in that picture wasn’t happy. She was surviving long enough to get home and bleed where no one could see.

I set the bottle down before I break it in my hand.

A notebook waits in front of me, already full of ugly pieces I don’t like seeing in one place. It practically hurts to make the list of shit that Alex has had to deal with. The blocked calls. White roses that were delivered that she didn’t know I watched her throw away. Her bedroom window opened three inches. Dark SUV downtown. Fake maintenance worker that could potentially have been sent by Preston. Photograph left in her car at Mason Ridge.