Chapter 18
Finn
“So, you disappear on me for weeks and come back with a degree, a new job lined up, and a boyfriend?” Maggie asked, raising an eyebrow.
I shrugged but couldn’t help the grin splitting my face, even though it was way too fucking early in the day to be up. The last couple of weeks had been amazing, with me just sleeping in. Now my early morning shift started at five fucking thirty a.m.
“Maybe.”
She gave me a dirty look. “You know what happens when I disappear for weeks? I come back looking like shit because I either got my heart or my fucking leg broken. Or both.”
I let out a laugh as I cleaned the counter. We had approximately ten minutes before the morning rush started.
“I don’t know anyone who manages to break their leg three times within two years.”
“I’m special like that,” she said, winking at me as she loaded a fresh tray of muffins into the glass display case.
“Oh, yeah. Especially clumsy. And dumb.”
“Hey!”
“What?” I said, raising my hands defensively. “You’re the one who thought getting onto that damn bike with your boyfriend—who was high as a fucking kite at the time—was a reasonable idea.”
She harrumphed but nodded. “Okay, yeah, that was dumb. Let’s not speak about my ex-boyfriends and my stupid decisions. Tell me all about your new boyfriend.”
I smiled.
“He’s nice.”
Maggie slapped my arm. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. “What do you want to know? I’m not even sure we’re really boyfriends. I mean, we didn’t talk about it.”
“But you want to be?”
“Yeah.” I grinned at her. “Because he’s nice.”
Maggie rolled her eyes dramatically and muttered, “Oh, fuck you,” just as the door opened and our first customer entered.
He headed straight for the counter and ordered a large black coffee with an extra shot of espresso.
While I rang him up, Maggie got started on the order.
Slowly, the customers started coming, and we quickly fell back into our rhythm, bantering during the occasional lull in customers, but mostly working quietly in tandem.
“We really need a third person behind the counter in the mornings,” I told Maggie, letting out a breath as I had a look around the coffee shop.
Nearly every table was taken. People were working on their laptops, scrolling on their phones, listening to god knew what on their headphones.
One guy in the back was even making a video call.
“We need a third person in the afternoon too.” Maggie sighed. “It’s been crazy busy the last couple of weeks. I mean, we’ve been getting more business for the past couple of months, but we won’t be able to keep up like that for much longer.”
I nodded. “What does Stan say?”
Maggie let out a bitter laugh. “He says that if we can find good people, he’ll hire them.”
“Soo… let’s put up a sign.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t want us to put up a sign because that’s too much of a hassle. He also doesn’t want us to make an Instagram post or anything.”
I blinked. “So how exactly does he expect us to find someone to hire if he doesn’t want to let people know we’re hiring?”
“Stan thinks our friends are basically waiting in line for a chance to work here.”
Snorting, I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”
Most of my friends were in my position—looking to find a job in their chosen careers. They didn’t want or need part-time jobs to afford college; they needed full-time jobs to afford life.
“Tell me something I don’t know. Oh, hey, does your boyfriend need a job?” She waggled her eyebrows. “I hear it’s a great way to spend time together.”
I gently nudged her out of the way, carrying a tray of empty cups to the back to load them into the dishwasher.
“It’s a great way to spend time together until you break up. Then one of you quits, and we’re down a great barista,” I called through the door before heading back out.
Maggie gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
“I really liked Dean.”
“Me too.” She sighed, then shook her head. “Anyway. We were talking about your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
“Eric.”
“Ohh… that’s a serious name.”
I laughed, his hard and cold face coming to my mind. “He kinda is the serious type.”
“I knew it. Okay. How old is he? What’s he doing? What’s he like? And I don’t want to hear nice, okay? I want details.”
I took a deep breath, letting my eyes roam through the room, but nothing had changed. People were working, scrolling, drinking their coffee, but no one was coming up to the counter.
Okay, first things first.
His age…
“I uh… actually don’t know how old he is. A couple of years older than me? Not much, though.”
“Okaaaay.” Maggie twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I suppose you don’t have to know his age?”
I shrugged. “It never came up. I can definitely ask him, though. As for what he’s doing…
he’s working for his friend, or like, interning?
He was in med school, but then he was in some kind of accident and got shot.
He had to quit afterward. And he’s great.
No.” I shook my head and held up a hand when I saw Maggie opening her mouth.
“I mean it. He truly is great. He’s considerate and funny, and he likes to listen to me complain about cheesy rom-coms.”
“He was shot?”
Sure, that was the thing she remembered.
“Yeah.”
“Ouch. Where?”
“Uhm…” I blinked, thinking back to our encounter two nights ago, trying to remember if I’d seen a scar, but… no. I definitely would’ve remembered a fucking gunshot scar. His skin had been utter perfection. Pale, marble-like perfection.
“His back?”
Probably, right?
I hadn’t felt it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
“Oof. That sounds rough.”
I nodded, my mind still busy trying to remember if I’d ever seen his back. I’d seen his legs when we’d been in the shower, and there hadn’t been a scar there either, so it had to be on his back, right?
Was Eric somehow moving in a way that prevented me from seeing or touching his scar? Was he self-conscious about it?
I blinked.
Fuck.
Was that the real reason he kept sneaking out of my bed?
Hell, he could just put a fucking shirt on instead. I didn’t care.
Or well, yeah, I did care, but I didn’t care about the scar. I did care about him being comfortable with me. If that meant wearing a fucking shirt to bed or keeping the lights out or whatever, so be it.
I should definitely tell him later.
Maybe that way I’d finally get a lazy morning after with him.
Hoisting the messenger bag onto my back, I reached for the bags of groceries on the ground and exited the elevator, letting out a yawn. Why had I thought doing a double shift after weeks of not working would be a good idea? I was fucking wiped.
I looked at the bags in my hands. So much for buying fresh groceries—I wasn’t in the mood to cook anything right now. I wanted my couch, and I wanted a pizza.
My stomach rumbled, my mouth watering as I thought about the greasy, cheesy wheels of heaven Pablo made.
I stopped in front of my door and put the groceries down to take my key out of my pocket. Was my stomach ready for pizza?
I’d started eating like a normal human being again—although I was still staying far away from caffeine—but I hadn’t tried fast food yet. Huh… maybe it was time to. After the day I’d had, I’d definitely earned it.
Key in hand, I straightened, extending my hand just as my eyes zeroed in on the note on my door.
My blood drained from my face, taking all the warmth with it, leaving an icy, numb feeling as I stared at the yellow Post-it.
Congratulations, your iron levels are back to normal.
A shiver ran down my spine.
I swallowed, goosebumps rising on my skin.
This was not funny.
He sounded so fucking sure. Like he was really taking blood samples from me.
But how?
How the fuck did he get my blood?
I hadn’t even been to the doctor again. I had a quick follow-up appointment scheduled in two weeks.
I looked around the empty hallway, my throat slowly closing in.
Did I go to the police with this?
What would they even do?
I’d checked myself for any kind of marks, but I hadn’t fucking found any.
Yet, this didn’t feel like a prank. It didn’t feel like someone just randomly leaving unsettling notes.
The tone of those damn notes was so fucking serious and sincere.
Which meant he somehow had access to me. Furthermore, he had access to me in moments I was unaware. Probably sleeping. Because I sure as shit would notice some random stranger in the street stabbing me with a needle to draw my blood.
Which meant he had access to my apartment.
The world started spinning around me, my throat closing up even more.
Was he waiting for me inside?
Shit.
I thought it’d gotten better.
I didn’t get groceries anymore. Hell, I hadn’t gotten one of those fucking notes in almost two weeks, and I’d told myself that was it. That the guy had moved on. I was getting better, so now he needed someone else to act out his weird fetishes with.
But this note tore the thin construction of my self-reassurances to shreds.
He wasn’t gone.
He was still there.
And I still had no idea who he was or what he wanted.
But I knew what I didn’t want.
I didn’t want to go into my apartment. I should, because I had groceries and everything, but I didn’t. Not right now.
Taking a step back, I reached for my phone, the bags of groceries still on the welcome mat. I retreated until my back hit the wall opposite my front door, my eyes never leaving the doorknob, just in case the stalker truly was waiting for me and about to lose his patience because I wouldn’t come in.
My fingers trembled as I navigated to my contacts and hit call.
“Finn? Is everything okay?” Eric rumbled in that deep, soothing tone that nearly brought tears to my eyes.
I swallowed a sob and nodded. “Can I, like… can I come over? I don’t want to be at home right now.”