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“I don’t know much about your life except what happened to you,” he said.
Now I burned from a different sensation. “You want to know about the Midwest Butcher?”
“No.” That word came out strangled before he cleared his throat. “But I’m thinking I need to. You told me fanatics come out of the woodwork when you do anything in the news.”
Dread sank into my bones. “You’ve been talking to Howard?”
A frown flitted over his face. “Should I be?”
I pulled away, getting enough space so I could cross my legs in front of me. “You’re worried about the trending clip of you and me?”
His hand moved to my knee. “I’m worried about the continuous attention you’ll get if you’re linked to me.”
My heart sank. This was what I’d feared. “Why are you worried about that now?”
“Just tell me. What would your life look like if there was press about you and me? And it wouldn’t di—fade away?”
“That hasn’t happened yet.”
“It could. What if it did?”
I lifted my head, finding his eyes on mine.
“I’m not used to people caring about me,” he said. “Never happened when I grew up, and it rarely happened when I got older—until football. The attention grew, but it was still not a lot. Defensive ends usually don’t get a lot of attention, but yeah, sometimes we do. I’ve had five relationships in my life, and only two of those women were publicly identified. I didn’t think about you and me, about the ramifications for you, until it was pointed out to me that there’s been a new spotlight on me since last year.”
The dread grew in me, lining all my organs. “Worst-case scenario for you and me? There are serial killers out there, and new ones starting every year. They’re all sick, and they all have egos, but they fixate sometimes on the ones who came before them. The worst-case scenario is if someone who wanted to make a name for himself considered finishing what the Midwest Butcher hadn’t finished. It’s out there that he didn’t kill me, so as a present, someone could do it for him and do it in the way he used to kill. They’d slice and dice me up, and they’d do it in my home, because that’s how he did it. He always killed people in their homes. There were other things he’d do, but that was the main gist. Worst-case scenario is if someone decided to make me the ‘starting point’ for their own career.”
His lips thinned. “Starting them off to become a serial killer themselves?”
I nodded.
“That’s the worst-case scenario? Footage of you could entice them to finish what the Midwest Butcher hadn’t been able to?”
“That’s what they think, yes.”
He was quiet a moment. “Jesus Christ, Billie. Being with me could potentially get you killed?”
“If it helps, this could happen anyway. This does happen. The Midwest Butcher has ambitious lawyers. He was supposed to get the death sentence. They got that shifted to life. He was never supposed to get an appeal, and now they’ve fought so he gets to try for one. Every year they do a big press splash and swear he’s not the Midwest Butcher. They keep saying they’ve found new evidence that it’s someone else. Every time that happens, my picture, my name, it’s always in the news, and it could happen just from that. Nothing to do with you.”
He fell quiet again. “How are you okay with this? Why aren’t you angry?”
This was my life. I’d dealt with this since I was twelve. I’d always deal with this. “Because I can’t change anything. Only thing I can do is change me. Maybe my name? Leave a family that took me in? I lost my friend, and then my mom and my brother in the same week.”
“You said your dad wasn’t worth reaching out to?”
My chest got tight, and I balled my hands into fists, pressing them into my lap. “No, he’s not. There was a reason my mom didn’t want us to have a relationship with him, though that was ultimately more his decision. She never fought him when he stopped in to see us. It was always at random times. He traveled a lot, but he wasn’t a good person. I didn’t even know his name to give the police, and it was better that way. He never came forward when I was in the news.”
Brett went back to rubbing my knee. “If I’m a danger to you just because of who I am? What I do? I can’t carry that. I can’t be the reason you—”
I covered his hand with mine. “I’ve lived, okay? I’ve lived through nightmares. I’ve lived through loneliness. I don’t know where you and I might go, what could happen, but I feel like I have a chance at living in the sun. Don’t take that away.”
His eyes darkened, and his hand gripped my knee. Holding on tight. “Your safety isn’t wor—”
“That’s my decision. Mine. Not yours. We’re adults here. I’ve lived long enough to know what I want to try for and what I can’t risk. So have you. We’ll be safe. We can be discreet. We can…” I paused, not sure he was hearing me. “Don’t make a decision like this for me. Let me make it.”
Why did I feel like I was pleading for my life?
Everything in me felt squeezed, taut, waiting.
