Page 351 of Faking the Goal

My hands curl into fists so tightly my knuckles ache.

Across the street, Conrad walks Taylor toward the entrance of Sakura Café, carrying her bag as though he's some fucking gentleman instead of the psychopath who's spent years destroying her life. He says something that makes her force a small smile in return before reaching over to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Every muscle in my body locks.

Jesus Christ...

I want to rip his arm off.

It's been a little over two weeks since Taylor and I supposedly "broke up," and she drove me insane the moment her doctor cleared her for light activity by insisting she was going back to work. Apparently, spending another day alone in her apartment was "a special kind of torture," and according to her, she was "one more Netflix marathon away from talking to the furniture." As much as I wanted to chain her to the couch until every broken bone had completely healed, saying no to Taylor has never exactly been one of my strengths.

So we compromised.

Well... she compromised.

No heavy lifting. No hauling boxes of newly delivered manga. No climbing stools to shelve books. No running around the café. Just inventory, organizing new arrivals, recommending manga to customers, and spending most of her shift tucked safely behind the counter or in the stockroom where I know she won't aggravate her still-healing ribs.

Unfortunately, that also means Conrad has barely left her side these past two weeks. He picks her up before work, drops her off afterward, calls her throughout the day, and somehow always finds another excuse to wedge himself deeper into her life under the guise of being a concerned friend.

If I didn't know who he really was...I'd probably believe him too.

That's the part that makes me sick.

Charlie isn't slipping.

He's not getting careless.

If anything, he's becoming even more patient.

More careful.

More calculated.

Every day that passes feels like another day he's waiting for the perfect moment to stop pretending.

And we're forced to wait with him.

God...

I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.

Every instinct I have screams at me to storm across the street, wrap my hands around his throat, and beat the truth out of him until he confesses to every fucking thing he's ever done. Forget the investigation. Forget surveillance. Forget building a stronger case.

Just end it.

Make him disappear from Taylor's life once and for all.

But I can't.

Because the second I do, every piece of evidence we've spent weeks gathering goes with him.

So I stay exactly where Detective Matthews told me to stay.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hating every goddamn second of it.