47. Drew
DREW
I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck.
A very large truck.
Loaded with whiskey.
My mouth is dry, my head pounds, and my entire body aches.
I roll onto my back with a groan, throwing my arm over my eyes.
Never again.
I’m never drinking whiskey again.
My dreams were insane, too.
Apparently, my brain decided the perfect nightmare involved sneaking around Violet’s house, stepping on a rake like a cartoon character, falling into a bush, and getting attacked by Callie with a tennis racket.
I huff out a laugh.
Ridiculous.
I run a hand over my face.
“Ow.”
My fingers freeze against the tender spot on my forehead. The spot where the rake—
My eyes fly open.
Oh God.
Oh no.
I slowly lower my hand.
That wasn’t a dream.
None of it was.
The rake.
The bush.
Callie.
The tennis racket.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
I broke into Violet’s house.
I actually broke into her house.
I sit up too fast.
Terrible idea.
My stomach roils, and I close my eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning.
“Idiot,” I mutter.
Luna meows from somewhere nearby.
“I know.”
She meows again.
“Yes. I’m aware I make bad choices.”
Because I do.
Obviously.
I thought Violet was stalking me.
So my solution was to get drunk and stalk her back.
Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
I drag myself out of bed and head for the shower, hoping hot water can somehow wash away the humiliation.
The second I step under the spray, the rest comes back.
The funny parts.
Callie calling me the worst stalker ever.
Violet pulling leaves from my hair.
But also... the binder.
My stomach tightens.
I brace my hands against the shower wall and let the water run over me.
The binder full of pages detailing my schedule.
My routines.
My favorite foods.
My coffee.
Things I didn’t even realize she knew.
I swallow hard.
She admitted it.
And maybe that should bother me more.
Maybe I should call Sebastian and admit he was right.
Maybe I should be changing my locks.
Putting distance between Violet and me.
Doing literally anything except standing here thinking about the way she took care of me.
The way she refused to come inside because I’d been drinking.
The way she could have taken advantage of the fact that I wanted her, but she didn’t.
I close my eyes.
That’s the part I can’t make fit.
The binder feels insane.
Violet doesn’t.
She feels...
I stop the thought before it finishes.
No. I’m not doing this.
I’m not justifying a binder.
A binder, Drew. She has a literal binder on you.
I turn off the shower with more force than necessary.
I need to think logically.
Facts.
Evidence.
That’s what I’m good at.
Fact: Violet knows far too much about me.
Fact: She keeps a binder about my life.
Fact: She had a picture of us beside her bed.
A picture of us that technically wasn’t even us.
I grab a towel and dry my face.
Okay. That sounds bad.
Really bad.
But—
No.
No buts.
Except my brain supplies one anyway.
Fact: Violet has never made me feel like I wasn’t enough.
My grip tightens around the towel.
And that’s the most terrifying fact of all.
I head to the kitchen and make some coffee. I glance at the clock.
10:00 a.m.
I need to get to work.
My phone rings, startling me.
Sebastian.
I debate not answering.
Then I remember Sebastian was the last person with me at the bar.
And my car is still there.
My car.
Shit.
I pat my pockets, searching for my keys.
They’re not there.
My pulse jumps.
Where are my keys?
I head to the bedroom and check my pants pockets.
They aren’t there.
I head back to the living room.
Nothing.
I walk into the kitchen and look at the hook I always hang them on—
And freeze.
They're exactly where I always leave them.
I don't remember hanging them up.
Then another thought hits me.
My car.
It’s still at the bar.
Shit. What if Sebastian saw it?
It hits me that my phone stopped ringing.
I’m about to call him when it rings again.
Blowing out a breath, I answer. “Hey.”
Sebastian’s chuckle comes through the line. “Hey. That’s all you have to say.”
My shoulders tense defensively. “What do you mean?”
“What took you so long to answer?”
“Oh, um. You know.”
He chuckles. “You were drunker than you want to admit.”
I don’t say anything.
“So what happened after I left?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
But I have to. There’s no way I’m confessing to what I did yesterday.
A chill runs down my spine.
Unless he somehow already knows.
Ridiculous. How would he?
“Drew. Did you hear me?”
“Huh?”
He chuckles. “What happened last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you were drinking whiskey. And still at the bar when I left.”
My shoulders relax.
Thank God. He doesn’t know anything.
“Oh, you know. I stayed for a little longer. Called an Uber and came home.” I grab a mug, pour some coffee in it, and watch the steam rise.
I take a drink.
“So you didn’t get hit by a rake, fall in a bush, scream like a squirrel, and break into Violet’s house?”
I spit the coffee on the counter, burning my hand in the process.
“Ow!” I run my hand under cold water. “How the hell do you know that?”
“So it is true.” Sebastian hums with satisfaction.
Fuck. Why did I say that?
“Did someone see me and post in that damn Hollows Creek Facebook group?”
“I don’t think so. But now I want to check.”
I groan. “Please don’t. Or do and spare me the humiliation.”
“Later. I want to know what happened yesterday.”
“How do you know anything happened?”
Ivy’s voice chirps into the phone. “I saw Violet. I hired her company to help with my social media.”
Of course.
Ivy’s a romance author.
Violet’s company handles socials, branding, and a host of other services.
“We met at 8:30 at the coffee shop. I laughed my ass off when she told me what you did. She said her sister hit you with a tennis racket. Are you okay?”
“A tennis racket?” Sebastian booms, then starts howling with laughter. “I need to hear this story.”
I glare outside like he’s standing in my backyard, poking fun of me and my mishaps.
“Why aren’t you at work?” I murmur.
“I’m working remotely today. But when Ivy told me what you did, I dropped everything and called.”
“Of course you did,” I mutter.
“Why were you there, Drew?”
The question comes at me so fast that it catches me off guard.
I’m not prepared for this.
At all.
“I had a question,” I mutter.
“You had a question,” he repeats. “And that question required breaking and entering?”
“I didn’t break anything.”
Well, actually, I did.
My pride was broken.
And my skin.
Damn bush.
“That’s not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
He hums again.
I drag a hand through my hair. “I was drunk.”
“Oh, that makes it better,” he says dryly.
“It explains it.”
“It explains that you made a bad decision,” he agrees. “Not why you made it.”
I push off the counter, pacing now.
“I thought she was—” I stop.
“Was what?”
I exhale. “Watching me.”
Silence.
Then Sebastian laughs.
A knowing laugh... because he’s been there.
“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”
“That tracks?” I repeat.
“You like the woman who notices you,” he says.
“I do not—”
“You do.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I shake my head. “I know what you’re thinking. This is not the same thing.”
“No?” he asks mildly.
“No. Ivy crossed lines. Violet is—"
“Different?”
“Yes.”
“I said the same thing.”
I shake my head. “No. Ivy was—” I gesture vaguely, even though he can’t see me.
“Unhinged?” he supplies.
I stop pacing.
“Yes.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“She hasn’t snuck into my house,” I say.
“Yet.”
The word lands like a small bomb detonating in my kitchen.
I scoff. “That’s not happening.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he says easily.
Too easily.
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t believe me.”
“I think,” Sebastian says slowly, “that you’re trying very hard to convince yourself of something.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Because I don’t actually know.
“I’ve been where you are.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“I really have.”
“You married your stalker.”
“And you broke into your stalker’s house.”
I grimace. “That’s different. She’s not my stalker.”
“Is it?” He sighs. “You’re in denial.”
“Yes, it’s different. And no, I’m not.”
“How, Drew? Tell me the difference.”
I don’t answer.
Because I can’t.
He lets the silence stretch before he speaks. “Just don’t ignore it if something feels off.”
“Nothing feels off.”
That comes out too fast.
He hums softly. “Okay.”
I hate that tone.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I’ll be here when you figure it out.”
“I don’t need to figure anything out.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“Sebastian—”
He laughs. “Do you need me to pick you up so you can get your car?”
I glance out the living room window and freeze.
My car is sitting in the driveway. In its usual place.
I blink.
I definitely didn't drive it home.
“Um... no.”
“No?”
“It’s already taken care of.”
He pauses. I know he’s judging me.
“By Violet?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
He hesitates for a moment before he says, “Get some work done, Drew.”
The line clicks dead.
I stare at my phone.
Then slowly lower it.
"She hasn't snuck into my house," I mutter.
Luna blinks at me.
"...Right?"
She just stares.
Somehow, that doesn't feel like an answer.