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“Yeah, I remember. Good to see you.” I straighten up and continue walking. I can see his car out of the corner of my eye. It’s still idling along beside me.
“Want a lift to your car?” He shouts the question.
Ugh, this guy is relentless.
I shout back, “No thank you,” and send another fake smile his way. This time I wave.
As in, goodbye, Trevor. Please leave me alone now.
“You sure? It’s a long walk.” Of course he doesn’t get the message. “I’m heading over to Clark anyway.”
“Really, Trevor, it’s fine. Thanks, though.”
I pick up my pace to get some distance between us, and right before I break into a competition-worthy pow
er walk, he goes racing by at a speed that leaves my hair windswept.
Watching him drive off, a feeling of unease settles over me out of the blue. It makes the knot in my stomach burn. I rub my belly absently as I resume my walk. My mind is racing, trying to remember something it’s forgotten, and I have an idea that it’s connected to the strange way my body’s acting.
Or reacting.
My feet become concrete blocks that refuse to take another step. That’s it. I’m reacting to something.
Want a lift to your car?
How did he know where I was parked? Or that I was on my way to Clark? It feels like someone’s dropped a ton of bricks on my chest, and my breathing becomes shallow and quick.
Emily! I love you!
I will my feet to move with everything I have in me, and break into a run. A pained grunt escapes me as I push even harder. I’m practically sprinting, my ragged breath burning my dry throat.
The floodlights from the softball field come into view and I know I’m close to the parking lot. To Peter. I get a searing stitch in my side that feels like I’m being stabbed with a flaming dagger, but I don’t care about that. And I don’t care about the tears stinging my eyes either. Because I have to get to Peter.
I have to tell him I know who my stalker is.
Chapter Eight
Peter
Emily is a mess when she gets into my car. She seemed fine when she texted me earlier, so I know something must have happened between then and now to have her in such a state.
“Hey, Emily, what’s going on? What happened?” I feel like a helpless loser. All I can do is watch her hyperventilate in my passenger seat, tears streaming down her face.
I put my arm around her and grab ahold of the trembling hands in her lap. Using my thumb, I begin to stroke gentle, soothing circles on her skin. It always feels good to touch her, but seeing her like this is unbearable.
“Please, Emily, talk to me.” I give her hands another squeeze. That’s my way of telling her she’s safe. I’m here now.
It seems to help, and she takes deep, slow breaths to get her panicked breathing under control.
“There, it’s okay. Breathe.” My hand on her shoulder finds its way up to her head, and I move the hair that’s fallen across her face neatly behind her ear.
I let my fingers linger there a while, stroking the curve of her neck. Even in this state, there’s no denying how beautiful she is. It’s almost painful to look at her.
Finally, once she’s calmed down enough to speak, Emily turns to me. Her eyes are shot with red, but she’s not crying anymore.
“Oh, Peter,” she says, her lip trembling with the threat of more tears. They don’t come.
Once again, I’m left in awe of her strength and character. It was one of the things that drew me to her in the first place as a young woman ten years ago.
