Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Julian slides into the booth, across from Jenna, that easy smile of his already working its magic. "You must be the famous Jenna."
She grins, one hand resting on her growing belly. "And you're the guy who's got Liza walking around like she's in a Nicholas Sparks movie."
"Guilty." He extends his hand. "Julian. Nice to finally meet you."
"Congratulations on the pregnancy," he says, nodding at her stomach.
"Thanks. This one's kicking my ass way more than my first." She shifts in her seat. “And I'm craving these burgers like you wouldn't believe."
I watch them fall into conversation—Julian asking about her son, Jenna teasing him about his "brooding musician vibe"—and something warm settles in my chest. They like each other. That matters more than I thought it would.
Reeves appears with our order, setting down three massive cheeseburgers with his usual gruff efficiency. "There you go. Extra pickles for Jenna."
"You're a saint," she says, already grabbing hers.
Julian's gaze flicks to Reeves, taking in all six-foot-four of him—the broad shoulders, the tattoos, the dark eyes that don't miss much. Reeves stares back, assessing.
"Thanks, man," Julian says evenly.
Reeves nods once and walks off.
I catch the slight tightening around Julian's jaw and bite back a smile. He's jealous. Just a little. It's adorable.
Jenna tears into her burger like she hasn't eaten in days. "Oh, my God. I needed this."
I pick at mine, taking small bites. It tastes like cardboard. My mind keeps circling back to that crumpled note in Julian's trash.
I found you.
"You okay?" Jenna's watching me, burger paused mid-air.
"Yeah. Just tired."
Julian's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently.
Jenna swallows, then points her burger at Julian. "Listen. You seem nice. But if you break her heart, I will hunt you down and finish you. Understood?"
Coming from a pregnant woman with ketchup on her chin, it's the least threatening threat I've ever heard.
Julian laughs. "Understood."
I laugh too, but it feels thin.
Because Daniel's still out there.
And he knows exactly where I am.
And he knows I'm with Julian—this beautiful, perfect man.
Daniel won't let me have him, won't let me have happiness.
He absolutely won't stand for it.
Of that, I am sure.
I slide Gord's plate in front of him—fish and chips instead of his usual burger and onion rings—and don't even notice until he clears his throat.
"Sweetheart, I didn't order this."
My face burns. "Oh God, Gord. I'm so sorry."
"No harm done." He waves it off, already pushing the plate back. "You got a lot on your mind?"
"Something like that."
"You're too young to be losing your marbles yet." His eyes crinkle at the corners, warm and grandfatherly.
I force a smile. "I'll get your burger right now."
Back in the kitchen, I lean against the counter and press my palms to my eyes. Between this job, moving into Julian's, Daniel's threats, and Claudia's case, my brain feels like it's shorting out. Too many tabs open. Too much noise.
I pull out my phone and dial Raine.
He picks up on the third ring. "Yo."
"Hey. Any progress on that phone?"
Silence.
"Raine?"
"Haven't gotten to it yet."
My jaw tightens. "Seriously? It's been almost a week."
"Yeah, well—" His voice cracks. "My aunt died. Car wreck. I've been dealing with that."
The air leaves my lungs.
"Oh, my God. Raine, I'm so sorry."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. Take all the time you need. I shouldn't have—"
"I'll get to it when I can, okay?"
"Of course. I mean it. I'm really sorry."
"Yeah. Later."
He hangs up.
I stand there staring at my phone, guilt and frustration knotted tight in my chest. Colleen's counting on me. Claudia's still missing. And I just snapped at a guy who's grieving.
"Order up," Reeves calls.
I grab Gord's burger and head back out, plastering on a smile.
"Here you go. On the house."
Gord looks up at me, concern etched in the lines around his mouth. "You sure you're okay, sweetheart?"
"I'm fine," I lie.
But I'm not.
I'm drowning.
And I don't know how much longer I can keep my head above water.
Twelve days. That's how long it's been since the last note. Twelve days of silence from Daniel, and I'm still bracing for impact every time I turn a corner.
Maybe he's found someone else. Moved on. Wouldn’t that be something?
I want to believe it. God, I want to believe it.
But deep down, I know better.
The parking lot behind the pool hall swallows my Mini Cooper whole. Dim streetlights. Cracked asphalt. My keys jangle as I step out of the hall, and the late autumn air bites at my neck.
I huddle for warmth as I reach my car. Then—arms. Rough. Fast. A hand clamps over my mouth.
"Don't scream."
His voice slithers into my ear like a snake's hiss—low, familiar, intimate in all the worst ways. Poisonous. The kind of voice that used to make me feel protected, special, wanted. Now it just makes my stomach turn, makes every nerve ending in my body scream danger.
My pulse quickens.
He spins me around.
Daniel.
His blue eyes gleam in the half-light, his grip iron.
I can't breathe. Can't move. My chest heaves against his hand.
"You don't need to be scared of me, Liza," he whispers, his voice taking on that soft, syrupy quality that used to make me melt.
He squeezes me harder, closing the already minimal distance between us.
His cologne fills my nostrils—the same expensive brand he always wore, the scent that used to comfort me and now makes me nauseous.
"I love you,” he breathes. “I love you more than anyone else ever could.
More than Julian ever could, or ever will. "
I shake my head, trying to wrench free, but he pivots, pinning me against the car. His arms cage me in, palms flat on the roof—my face two inches from his.
"What we had—" His breath warms my cheek. "—it was too good to let go. You know that."
"Daniel, please—"
He leans in closer, his lips hovering dangerously over mine, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
The distance between us shrinks to nothing, and I know what's coming—he's going to kiss me, just like he used to, as if we could pick up exactly where we left off, as if nothing has changed between us.
As if I haven't seen who he truly is beneath that carefully constructed mask of charm and kindness.
The thought of his mouth on mine now makes my skin crawl. Every cell in my body recoils. The act itself—this kiss he's attempting to steal—repulses me in a way I never thought possible. This is the same man whose kisses once made my knees weak, whose touch I craved.
Now all I feel is revulsion, deep and visceral. Everything we had, everything I thought we had, all those moments I cherished—it's all gone. Destroyed. Replaced by this suffocating fear and the bitter taste of recognition that what I thought was love was really just his need to possess and control.
When he presses his lips to mine—the moment of contact sending a jolt of pure disgust through my entire body—I don't hesitate. I don't freeze. I don't give him even a second to think this is okay, that this violation will go unanswered.
I shove him with everything I have, both palms flat against his chest, pushing with a force that surprises even me. My arms lock, muscles tensing as I put my full weight behind it, and he actually stumbles backward, caught completely off guard by the sudden, violent rejection.
The look of shock that crosses his face would almost be satisfying if I weren't so terrified, so utterly repulsed by what just happened. His expression shifts rapidly—confusion, then anger, beginning to darken those blue eyes I once loved.
His face twists. The softness vanishes.
"You think you can just walk away?" His voice drops, vicious now. "You think he can keep you safe?"
I try to duck around him, but he catches my wrist, yanks me back. Pain shoots up my forearm.
"Let go—"
"No." His fingers dig in. "You're not running from me again."
My free hand fumbles into my coat pocket. Fingers close around the small canister.
I've come prepared.
My mace keychain.
I whip it out, aim, and spray.
“Fuck!!!” He crouches back, hands pressed over his face. He rubs his eyes in a feeble attempt to ease the sting. Then stumbles backward, hands still clawing at his face.
I don't wait. I bolt.
My boots pound the pavement. The back door of the pool hall looms ahead.
“This isn’t over, you little bitch,” he yells, his words drowning in anger.
I crash through the door, slamming it shut behind me.
Inside, the familiar smell of beer hits me. Music hums from the speakers. Safe. I'm safe.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
I stumble toward the bar, legs unsteady, vision blurring at the edges. The room tilts. I grip the worn wood for balance.
Reeves glances up from wiping down glasses. His expression shifts the second he sees me.
"What happened?"
"Nothing." The word scrapes out. "I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
He rounds the bar, closing the distance between us in three long strides. His dark eyes search my face, and I know—I know—he can see right through me. He always can.
“Liza."
My throat tightens. "It was Daniel. In the parking lot. He—he grabbed me."
Reeves goes completely still. The kind of still that's dangerous.
"He grabbed you," he repeats, voice flat.
"He tried to kiss me," I cry out, the feel of Daniel's filthy mouth still on my lips. "I maced him. I got away. I'm okay."
"Fuck, that bastard."
"It's okay. I'm—"
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
"We're calling the cops." He pulls out his phone.
"Reeves, don't—"
"Like hell I won't." He's already dialing. "And then I'm going out there and beating the shit out of him."
"Please." I grab his arm. "Don't get involved. He's not worth it."
"He put his hands on you."
"I know, but—"
"In my parking lot."
"Reeves—"
He pulls away, jaw set. "Go sit in my office."
"I can handle—"
"Office. Now."
I don't argue. My legs won't hold me much longer anyway.
I sink into the old leather chair behind his desk. The room smells like stale coffee and must. Reeves' voice filters through the door, clipped and furious as he talks to the police. I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow.
The door opens.
"They want us to come in," Reeves says. "Give a statement."
"I can go myself."
"Not happening." He grabs his jacket off the hook. "Greg's got the bar. We're leaving now."
"Reeves—"
"Don't." His tone softens, just slightly. "Don't argue with me on this. You're shaking, you're terrified, and that asshole's still out there. So we're going to the station, we're filing a report, and then I'm driving you to Julian's."
My eyes sting. "Thank you."
He nods once. "Come on."