Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dahlia
Rain trickles down the front windows of the bookstore in streams, blurring the world outside into nothing more than smears of headlights and slick asphalt. The sun set a few hours ago, taking its warmth with it, and another soul hasn’t set foot in Better Than Fiction since.
I should just close early. If it were any other day, I would. But Fallon is working the night shift tonight, and the thought of coming home to an empty loft even earlier than planned just doesn’t sound appealing.
I miss Mom and Dad extra tonight. If they were still around, I could just head over to their place for the night. I’d gorge myself on Dad’s food and binge-watch my favorite Filipino soap operas with Mom. Instead, I’m stuck here. Alone.
Echo hasn’t contacted me in over two weeks. Which is fine. I told him to stop, and he did. But I think I just got too used to him being there. The constant texts. The random check-ins. The way he always seemed to know what I was thinking.
Echo took up space in my world. And now that he’s gone, I feel his absence. And I really hate that I do.
It’s just so unlike him to disappear like this.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and quickly check the notifications. No new messages. Damn.
He’s always been vague about his work, but judging by how effortlessly he killed those men in the alley, I know he isn’t sitting at a desk for a living.
Maybe something happened to him. I swallow hard. God, I really hope nothing bad happened to him.
I restart my phone and wait for it to power back on. Maybe my connection is off. Or there’s some kind of network error. Nothing again. I lock the screen and slip it back into my pocket, feeling embarrassed for even bothering.
God Dahlia, get a grip on yourself. This is what you wanted.
The rain picks up outside, tapping harder against the windows.
My shoulders tighten before I can stop them.
I move behind the counter and start straightening things that don’t need to be straightened.
A stack of bookmarks. A cup filled with pens.
The little chalkboard sign with our book of the week.
Anything to keep my mind distracted and my hands busy.
I’m adjusting a crooked pile of paperbacks when my phone buzzes. The sound ricochets through the store, and my heart jumps so hard it almost hurts. I grab it without thinking and answer it.
“Dahlia Nocon?” A man on the other end asks, his voice professional and familiar in the worst possible way.
My stomach drops. I haven’t heard anyone call me by my real last name in years. “Yes.” I manage. “This is her.”
“This is Detective Harris with the Franklin County Sheriff’s Department’s Major Crimes Unit.”
He pauses, and in that silence, I know something is wrong. I sit down slowly on the stool behind the counter. “I wanted to inform you personally before the news goes public. Christian Sanders escaped custody two nights ago.”
I try to process what he’s saying, but his words don’t make sense. They can’t make sense.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, my voice strangled, barely audible.
He clears his throat. “There was an incident while he was being transferred to another facility. We’re-”
“How?” I interrupt. “How did this happen? He was supposed to be locked up. He was supposed to-”
“We’re still investigating the details, but I wanted you to be aware. He hasn’t contacted any of his immediate family, so we have reason to believe that he may attempt to contact you. I understand this is alarming, but—”
The rest of his words fade as my phone slips from my fingers and hits the rug with a dull thud.
Christian is out.
The room tilts and I grab onto the edge of the counter to steady myself.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be fucking happening.
I worked so hard to escape my past. I changed my last name, moved across the country, and built a whole new life for myself. And now, the safe little life I’ve made for myself is at risk. All because they let him slip through their fingers.
I slip off the stool and slide down to the floor, pressing my back against a bookshelf as I pull my knees to my chest.
What if he comes for me?
What if he finds me?
What if—
Fuck, I need to calm down. My heart is beating so hard, it feels like it’s trying to leap out of my chest, and every ragged breath I pull in feels harder than the last, like the air is too thick for my lungs to take in.
I claw at my neck and try to ground myself by taking slow and steady breaths, but it’s no use. My mind won’t stop racing.
Lightning strikes, and a second later thunder rattles the windows, making my head snap up instinctively. A wall of rain-streaked windows stares back at me, and I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.
I race to lock the door, flip the open sign to closed, and then pull the curtains shut over the front windows, sealing myself off from the street. I retreat to the back room and close the door, pressing my forehead against the cool wall as I try to breathe through the panic blooming in my chest.
I pull my phone out again, and my thumb hovers over Fallon’s name, but I hesitate. She’s working and telling her now will only make her worry.
Then I glance at Echo’s name, and without thinking, I call him. It takes a second for my brain to catch up, and when it does, I quickly end the call before the second ring.
Calm down. I think to myself. You’re not thinking clearly.
I slide down the wall and sit on the floor, folding in on myself, and breathing slowly with my head between my knees like I’ve done a hundred times before.
My phone vibrates in my hand, but I can’t bring myself to look at it right now. I don’t want any more bad news, and I don’t want anyone to hear me like this.
Eventually, the vibrations stop, and the silence that follows is deafening, but I allow myself to wallow in it and cry.
Once I’m finally able to breathe again, I wipe my face with the back of my sleeve and force myself to stand.
I can’t hide back here forever.
I step back into the store, and the first thing my puffy eyes see when I glance at the front door, is the tall man standing outside of it.
Echo is here.
He’s standing there, completely soaked, with rain streaming down his face and splattering against his dark gray suit. He’s standing perfectly still beneath the torn awning, staring at me.
He could’ve knocked or forced his way in. But he didn’t. He just waited for me.
Our eyes meet through the glass, and something inside me breaks open.
I cross the distance in three long strides, but as soon as I get there, I feel myself freeze.
If I let him in, if let him see me like this, with my walls fully demolished by ghosts of my past, there’s no going back to how we were before. He’ll see every vulnerable part of me, and I won’t be strong enough to hide it.
The rain drums against the glass between us as I look up with my hand hovering inches from the lock, debating what to do.
For his part, Echo doesn’t ask me to open it. He doesn’t even imply that I should. He just watches me with those amber eyes of his that see way too much, and I realize, without a doubt, what I want to do.
Cold, damp air rushes inside as I open the door, carrying the smell of rain and asphalt and him. Echo steps just close enough that I can see the water clinging to his lashes, the darkened fabric of his suit jacket, and the way the muscles in his throat are working.
“What are you doing here?”
“You called me.”
I swallow hard, my throat burning. “I didn’t mean to.”
He nods his head in quiet understanding. “I know.”