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“Have a good evening, Mr. Gipson.”
I give him a dismissive nod and step around him to make my way down the rest of the steps. Jonathan chases me after bidding Garry Gipson farewell. The minute he’s at my side, the questions start.
“You’reseeingGarry Gipson’s son? Isn’t he the kid on the football team? Bri! How could you not tell me about this? With your lack of a love life, I was beginning to think you were asexual!”
I can feel Garry’s gaze burning a hole in the back of my skull until I round the corner of the Atwater building. The minute it relents, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and glare at Jonathan.
“First off, he’s not a kid. He graduates with his MBA in the spring. And second, I didn’t tell you about it because it was just a casual thing, and I didn’t want anyone knowing about me seeing a student. It’s kind of against the rules!”
Jonathan’s eye roll is the definition of dramatic. “You know I wouldneverspill the beans to anyone else. You should’ve told me! Now you have Garry Gipson involved in your love life. You better watch out, Bri.”
He’s teasing, but my colleague’s warning feels ominous all the same.
“Watch out? Why?”
“Because that man gets what he wants. If he wants to know about you, he’ll find a way, I’m sure of it.” Jonathan just shrugs. “He does a lot of good in the community. I swear he’s probably donated more to the public parks and local government in the area than anyone else has in a century. But, you know, people with heavy pockets and who have a strong influence in the community are people to be wary of. Don’t get on his bad side.”
As the sidewalk forks, we stop to say our goodbyes.
“He doesn’t scare me.” It’s a lie that I say with a scary amount of confidence. Giving Jonathan a smile that feels brittle, I add, “I’ll see you Monday. Give Brenda my love.”
“I’m going to give her your loveandthe tea I just heard. Don’t think that I won’t!”
“What happened to not telling anyone?” I demand, knowing very well that he wasn’t including his wife in that statement.
Jonathan laughs and shrugs. “Brenda’s not just anyone. She’s the love of my life, so she gets to know what’s going on.”
There’s no point arguing this with him. He’s going to tell her whether I beg or not. Shaking my head, I leave him to head to my little forgotten parking lot. I walk a few steps, check over my shoulder to see if Jonathan or Garry are watching, and when I’m sure neither of them are there, I pull my phone out and immediately call Grant.
He picks up on the third ring.
“I’m heading to practice, dollface, what—”
“Your dad was here.” The words tumble out in a rush as a shiver works down my spine. “He asked me to go get coffee with him so he could question me about us!”
I wait for his response. If Grant says that his dad showing up at the library looking for me isn’t completely unexpected and it’s nothing to worry about, I’ll believe him. The silence stretches. As it does, my unease turns into true fear. When Grant’s lack of response becomes too much, I try again,
“Grant did you hear—”
“Brace yourself for trouble. I’ll try to get ahead of this.”
Without another word, Grant hangs up. I pull my phone away from my ear to stare at the blank screen. Before I can get upset at his abrupt end to our conversation, a text pops up on the screen:
Grant: Go directly to your place. Trip’s on his way there now. We’ll figure out a plan to keep you safe.
Grant: His interest in you is going to keep growing unless we can circumvent it. Until then, expect more visits.
Grant: Don’t say anything else out loud. Delete these messages.
My stomach drops as I read his text.
Why do I have a feeling that Garry Gipson’s harassment is going to be worse than anything Grant and his friends have ever done?
At my car, I grab the handle but pause. I survived these three, despite the efforts they went through to break me. If Garry wants to try his hand next, fine.
How bad can things get?
* * *
