Chapter 7 #2
But if I used it this time, I wouldn’t be thinking about some faceless version of the ideal man. I’d be thinking about Kane. I’d be thinking about his big hands roaming across my skin, his wicked lips exploring my body, my legs falling open to welcome him in?—
Jess. Was that too much? I’m sorry.
I blink at Kane’s text as I drag myself back to the present.
No. It’s not too much. I was thinking about what you might be wearing, too.
I’m almost shocked at myself for being so bold. Not bold for old Jess, who flirted without hesitation, but new Jess, who’s constructed so many walls it’s hard to know where to start taking them down.
Three dots blink. Stop. Blink again.
Shit, sweetheart. I wish I could see you right now. But it’s late and I know you have to get to sleep. I know we already have plans for Saturday, but how about a dinner and movie tomorrow? Unless that’s too soon?
I beam at the phone, feeling happier than I’ve been in a very long time.
Dinner tomorrow would be great. I saw there’s a new movie on Netflix we could watch.
His response comes back right away.
Absolutely. And I’ll pick up something to eat so you don’t have to cook. Around six sound good? Fortunately, I’m back on the day shift for the rest of the month.
Tonight is one of the rare times that Kane works the three to eleven shift, which is why I’m hearing from him so late.
Normally he works days, but one of the other officers is on vacation this week, so Kane offered to cover for him.
Selfishly, I’m glad Kane has the day shift because that means I get to see him more often.
Even though I know it’s too soon to see him every night, if I’m honest with myself, I wouldn’t mind if I did.
Before I can reply, Kane texts again.
I have to finish up some paperwork before I leave. Text me if you need anything, okay?
Still grinning like a loon, I send a quick reply.
I will. Have a good night. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
And the unsaid part of it— I miss you .
As I run through my bedtime routine, the thought keeps spinning in my head.
I miss Kane.
I miss his smile.
I miss his hugs.
I miss how safe he makes me feel.
I even miss his gentle bossiness; how he pushes me to open up and nudges me into plans I’d be afraid to make myself and how he defends me when I’m too much of a coward to do it on my own.
Maybe, like Hazel said, I deserve something good, after all.
With a smile still lingering on my lips, I slide into bed and snuggle under my fluffy down comforter, a rare splurge I allowed myself as a Christmas present last year.
I’m wearing decidedly un-sexy pajamas tonight—worn flannel pants and a shirt with a stain on the sleeve—which will definitely not fly if Kane ever ends up staying over.
Waking up my phone, I punch in a quick reminder. Buy sexy PJs. ASAP .
Overly optimistic? Maybe. But better prepared than not, as my mom used to say.
I flick off the light on the nightstand and check my alarm one last time before setting the phone on its charger. Just as the screen’s about to go dark, another message lights up.
Just leaving work. And still thinking about you and those PJs. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
Well. It looks like new pajamas are definitely in order.
In fact, maybe I should look online now. Just in case.
I’m just reaching for my phone again when the sound of glass shattering breaks the silence.
Moments later, the security system starts blaring.
Then another crash follows. And another.
I shoot up in bed, my heart slamming against my chest.
Fear seizes my lungs, stealing their air.
What was that?
My brain knows but doesn’t want to believe.
For a few seconds, I just sit frozen in bed, my breath coming in short, frightened bursts.
Logic tells me to get up, lock the bedroom door, and wait for help. The security system should notify the police, maybe even Kane, if he hasn’t left the station yet. All I have to do is hide until they get here.
But.
I’ve been through this before. Been told I was making things up. Or that I orchestrated the evidence—footsteps outside, threatening mail—in an attempt for attention.
I need to know for sure that it wasn’t some fluke.
That it wasn’t one of the shelves I installed after watching a YouTube video falling off the wall, shattering the glass figures my mom used to collect as a result.
That the pan rack hanging over the kitchen island didn’t pull out of the ceiling.
That my TV didn’t take a suicidal leap off the stand and onto the floor.
It might be stupid to look, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
So I gather my courage and slip out of bed.
Clutching my phone in a death-grip, well aware this could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, I tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the hallway.
The alarm is still blaring, but it doesn’t seem as loud anymore. Or maybe my ears are just used to it.
Heart thrumming at double speed, I creep to the stairs. A voice in my head shrieks, Go back! What are you doing? This isn’t safe!
Go back , the poor, ignored, rational part of my brain insists. This isn’t smart. If this was a movie, you’d be the too-stupid-to-live woman, the one who marches into danger when all the signs tell you to turn around.
I almost turn back. Almost. But then the image of a police officer pops into my head—not Kane, of course—glowering at me as he stands beside my broken shelf in the living room. Scolding me for wasting the police department’s time again.
Just as I’m about to make my way down the stairs, common sense drags me to a halt.
Check the security cameras first. They’re all around the house. Then I’ll know for sure if someone’s in here or not.
I skitter back into the upstairs hallway and pull up the security app. Thirty seconds later, I have confirmation that all the doors are still locked and no one is lurking outside the house.
At least, not now .
I check the cameras in the living room and kitchen, seeing only furniture and shadows and the glitter of something scattered across the floor.
Glass?
Did someone?—
Crap.
Did someone break my windows?
Anger surges, chasing away my fear. But it quickly fades, followed by a heavy despair.
Why won’t they just stop?
Tears burn in my eyes as I head downstairs. My nose prickles. A lump expands in my throat.
Why won’t they leave me alone?
Swallowing hard to keep from crying, I keep going.
To the bottom of the stairs and into the living room.
Where an icy breeze catches me, sending goosebumps rippling across my skin.
My heart lurches into my throat.
Moonlight pours in through the broken window, its silvery glow reflecting off the glass all over the floor. And in the center of the broken glass, a large rock, at least the size of my fist.
The tears I’ve been struggling to hold back burst free.
Why?
I’m not a bad person.
I didn’t hurt anymore. It was just a mistake.
Scanning the room again, I notice a second window broken, with another rock and puddle of glittering glass shards below it.
And there.
Just beside the end table, my mom’s favorite glass figure. The one she got when we went to Maine and she thought it was so funny to buy a glass lobster. It’s silly , she told me, but that makes me like it even more.
Now it’s broken.
Full-on crying now, I rush to the table, heedless of caution or logic. All I can think is, My mom’s figure is broken. It’s one of the things she loved best and it’s broken.
Pain shears into my foot, but I’m scarcely aware of it. The pain in my heart is so much worse than that.
I pick up a glass claw with a trembling hand.
My tears flow faster.
My chest feels carved out. Aching.
Then my phone rings, startling me so badly I drop it on the floor.
I scoop it up after three missed tries to find Kane’s name splashed across the screen.
Voice wobbling, I answer, “Kane…”
“What happened? Where are you?” It’s rough. Worried. Tense.
“In the living room.” A shuddering sob escapes. “Someone broke the windows. And my mom’s?—”
“Jess. I need you to hide. Right now.”
“I don’t think anyone’s?—”
His tone gentles. “Sweetheart. I need you to get someplace safe. Now. The bathroom if you can. A room that locks. And I need you to wait there for me.”
I cast another look around the living room, more tears spilling free when I spot the framed photo of me and my mom with a spiderweb of cracks across the glass covering it. “Kane. I don’t understand. I’m not a bad person. I’m not.”
An engine roars to life in the background. Then a beat later, soothingly, “Sweetheart, I know you’re not. You’re not a bad person at all. But listen to me. I need you to get someplace safe. I’ll be right there. I promise. Please just hide, okay?”
Amid the turmoil roiling inside me, I cling to his voice. To his promise. To doing what Kane asks me to do, because I trust him.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I think upstairs is safe. I’ll hide in the bathroom up there.”
Kane exhales, his breath gusting over the phone. “Good. And just stay on the phone with me, okay? Keep talking to me until I get to you. Alright?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
Then, in a tiny voice, I ask, “You promise you’re coming?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I promise.”