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He hesitated. “And honey?”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“I miss you around here, all of us do, and I can’t help but wish you’d stay for good this time.”
I let my eyes drift around the familiar living room and over the dark wood floors, big comfy furniture, and the family pictures. So many pictures . . . “I missed you guys too. And—”
His eyes lit up on the “and,” and he nodded, encouraging me to finish.
“I’ll think about it this time, I promise.”
“It would mean the world to me, to all of us.” He got up and flicked the TV on for me. “I don’t want you getting off that couch today, princess. I’ll be at the shop. I have a few engine rebuilds on the schedule and can’t get behind, otherwise I’d be here to take care of you myself. Text me if you need anything, and at least one of your brothers will be here in the house all day. Put ’em to work.” He winked.
“Okay, Dad.” The shop was on the same property as the house. My brothers, except for Hunter and Deacon, the two oldest, still lived here with my dad. I would be safe here with them around.
For now, anyway.
This morning shook me up. And I doubted I’d get unshaken anytime soon.
Because I had a stalker.
I also had a couple of police reports and a seemingly useless restraining order against one Mr. Douglas Winthrop, pain in my ass and current ruiner of my life.
Trent, my college best friend and second ex-husband, suggested I get out of New York for a while to let Winthrop cool down and hopefully forget about me.
He had also encouraged me to take Krav Maga classes and buy a taser, both of which I did. My taser is cute and purple and I carry it in my purse. I also have a mini keychain pepper spray canister and am not afraid to spray the shit out of old Douggie McStalker if he gets in my face again. My new toys, my brand-new set of self-defense and fighting skills, and the fact that I grew up with five older brothers meant I could kick some ass, if need be.
Trent and I had always been platonic, even during our marriage. He’d needed a wife to claim an inheritance from his old-fashioned, stick-up-his-butt grandfather. We stayed married for a year, Trent got his fifty million dollars, then bada-bing-bada-boom—divorce. It was straight out of a rom com, except neither one of us had gotten laid and we never fell in love. Mostly, we just lived together in his fancy penthouse apartment and ate take-out in front of the television every night—much like we did before we got married.
Ironically, Trent had sort of become my stalker’s stalker after I left New York. He kept an eye on him for me and made sure he stayed in New York so I could have some breathing room back here in Sweetbriar. Hiding out in my hometown, finishing my book, and hanging out with my family would be just the thing to get him to forget about me. Then I could go back to New York and continue living my life.
So far, so good. My nom de plume—Keli, my middle name, and Marlowe, my mom’s maiden name—still concealed my identity, and he hadn’t yet managed to track me to Sweetbriar.
But the crash this morning had me worried. Trent would have been on a plane the second he had any new information. At the very least, he would have called to let me know to watch out. I had called and texted and hadn’t heard from him yet, which was freaking me out.
I had rented a townhouse when I came back but in this moment I couldn’t help thinking maybe I should have chosen a bigger place instead. One with a high fence and a yard that I could put a few guard dogs in, and perhaps a piranha-filled moat with a big-ass portcullis. My paranoid imagination sometimes got the best of me. It served me well as a writer, but it sucked when I was trying to fall asleep in the dark of night.
I curled up on my side as I blindly watched whatever was on TV. The fear I tried to keep on the outer edges of my thoughts had encroached into my daily life again this morning and it pissed me off.
I had lost my focus, which meant I wouldn’t be able to write today. I couldn’t even relax in my childhood home for a minute while surrounded by my five brothers and father who all still treated me like a baby and would stomp anyone who messed with me into the ground.
Apparently, it was foolish to think I could ditch him by moving back home. I’d had a few blessed months without Douglas Winthrop’s weirdo stalker schtick, and it had been wonderful. Ugh, even his name was creepy. On principle, I didn’t like to say it or think it. I didn’t want to give it the power to influence my life.
I didn’t know for sure he was the one in the Subaru behind me this morning, but I would be an idiot if I didn’t assume it was. And I was nobody’s fool.
He was just a normal reader at first. Then he’d upped his game to rabid super fan, leaving obsessive comments on my social media, followed by letters sent to my publisher, then finally following me home after a book signing to stand on the sidewalk outside my house later that night with handwritten signs, á la the Love, Actually cards-in-the-doorway scene. But, too bad for his wacko ass, he lacked the charm of Andrew Lincoln, and instead of opening the door I’d called the cops. He hadn’t tried to hurt me physically or break into my house (yet?) but he scared me all the same and I was sick of it.
It wasn’t even me he was fixated on; it was the character I’d created for my books. I wrote a series of big city murder mysteries called The Adaline Paige Files. He was obsessed with Detective Adaline Paige, my heroine—not me. Apparently, he thought she was real. His letters were addressed to her, and when he showed up on my porch, he had called me by her name. Clearly, he was a delusional wackadoodle.
Time was passing too fast. I wanted to hear from Trent; he had to be okay. I wanted the peace I had rediscovered to continue. I didn’t want to tell Cade or Matt or any of the other police officers in town about my stalker. And I really didn’t want to tell my family. I probably should have been honest this morning, but the tiny chance that it could have been some random driver with a horrible case of road rage held me back. I was enjoying my freedom here and I didn’t want it to end.
Shaking off the fear for the moment—because screw being scared—I got up and headed to the fridge for a glass of milk to go along with the cookies.
“I have a bone to pick with you.” I spun as Brody, big brother number four, entered the kitchen. He sat at the table and slid my take-out coffee toward the empty seat across from him.
Nervous laughter escaped before I could stop it. “I didn’t do it, I swear,” I joked as I joined him at the table.
He didn’t laugh. “I ran into my buddy, Matt, at Violet’s while I was getting your coffee. Did you leave out something about your accident when you were on the phone with Dad this morning?” An eyebrow ticked up as he waited for my answer.
“Uhhh . . .” Yes, I did, and I clearly should have known better. This entire damn town had a big mouth. It was like a great gaping maw of information, constantly spewing people’s personal facts at anyone who would listen. It was impossible to have any privacy in a small town like Sweetbriar.
“Someone was following you, Charlotte. Didn’t you think we should know about that?”
