Pulse

Chapter 6

Dahlia

“That class just kicked my ass,” I say, smiling at the owner of the yoga studio I’ve frequented for a couple of years. “Where do you find these instructors?”

Mallory laughs. “You should see the ones I don’t hire. I’m doing you a favor.”

“That’s … scary.” I laugh, too. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

“See you then.”

I give her a little wave and then step outside onto the curb.

The warm evening air kisses my sweaty skin as I carry my mat to my car. The stunning sky shows off a vivid, beautiful spectrum of colors, reminding me of my mother. Mom always loved the setting sun. Her last request before she passed away three years ago was to open the curtains so she could watch the sunset. The universe didn’t let her down. That sunset was the most beautiful spectacle I’ve ever seen, and thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

“In you go,” I say, tossing my yoga mat into the back seat. Then I take my spot behind the wheel.

My car purrs as I pull onto the street and head toward my house. The ride is smooth, and with the radio off, it’s a nice bubble of peace. It’s a nice change from the chaos of the office this afternoon. Between a shooting involving Sebastian in California, a routine audit from an outside accounting firm, and Theo suddenly not getting to stay in the office, it was tense and hectic for everyone. The only bright spot was Troy bringing me lunch … and three cookies because, apparently, there was a sale.

I’m rarely eager to leave work. Today, I couldn’t wait to get out the door.

My dash lights up moments before I hear my phone ring. I glance down and see my father’s wife calling—my stepmom. Alexis isn’t wicked like the stories always promise, but it’s … awkward. Sometimes I’m glad Mom missed this particular development in my life, but other times, I wish she was here to talk to about things like this. It can be hard to separate my emotions from logic and to look at things from different perspectives. Mom was great at that.

“This should be interesting,” I mutter before pressing the button to answer. “Hey, Alexis.”

“Hey, Dahlia. How are you?”

My stomach tenses as I attempt to decode her tone. She doesn’t call often, but given the updates I caught on the news, who knows why she’s calling today.

Alexis Dallo is, by all accounts, a likable person. She seems smitten with my dad, and he’s equally taken with her. Sure, she might be young—only three years older than me, something I learned after seeing her thirtieth birthday pictures on Social a few months ago—but love is love, and she’s been nothing but kind to me. We wouldn’t exactly be friends if it wasn’t for her marriage to my father, but we can handle the roles we have just fine.

“I’m hanging in there,” I say, squinting into the light. “How are you guys doing over there?”

“We’re hanging in there, too.”

Her voice is heavy with exhaustion, and my heart hurts for her. My coping mechanism regarding the whole trial has been to avoid it—to not think about it. Luckily, I have a lifetime of habits on my side. I’m not used to thinking about my father, so although I’ve worried about him, blocking the hoopla from my mind hasn’t been an impossible challenge. That can’t be true for Alexis.

“Your father has wanted to get ahold of you for the past couple of days. It’s all I’ve heard—I need to check on Dahlia.” She laughs. “By the time he gets a moment to himself, it’s late at night, and he doesn’t want to disturb you. He winds up passing out anyway, the poor man.”

Even without the trial, it’s been established that my father is a hard worker. He took his father’s successful business and increased it one hundredfold. Articles are written about him. I’m sure his confidence and work ethic were qualities that attracted Mom to him in the first place. A part of me wishes he would’ve applied some of that determination to being a father much earlier in life, but no amount of wishing will change that now.

“How’s he doing?” I ask.

“He’s a trooper. He’s confident this will all be resolved. I don’t know if he’s telling me that to make me feel better or if he really believes it, but he’s marching forward.”

“I feel bad that I can’t be there more for you. But he told me to stay away and?—”

“Oh, Dahlia, no. Please don’t feel that way. You’re doing the right thing. Joe worries himself to death that you’ll get drawn into this mess, and if you stay away, that’s one less thing he has to deal with. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh.”

An awkwardness fills the line between my stepmother and me.

It’s such an odd relationship. This woman could be my sister. And, to make it even weirder, she’s known my dad longer than I have. No amount of kindness will ever make this feel … normal.

“It doesn’t sound harsh,” I say, turning left.

“There’s so much happening behind the scenes, and this is just … the accusations are wild. I hope they’re ready to be sued once this is over and it’s proven to be a witch hunt to steal your father’s assets.”

“The attorneys are optimistic then?”

“Yes. Our team feels confident that things are going well. Our attorneys are filing motions and poking holes into the prosecution’s case. They’re definitely earning their money.”

Good thing Dad has enough of it, then.

I drive down the street and into my driveway. “Will you please tell my father I’m thinking of him?”

“Absolutely. He asked me to let you know you’re always in his thoughts.”

“It was very nice of you to call. Thank you.”

Alexis sighs. “Okay, I need to go. I’m glad you’re doing well, and I’ll pass along your message to Joe. Take care.”

“You, too.”

“Of course. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

I sigh, grab my stuff, and exit the car. I sort my emotions as I get to the front door.

It occurs to me that Alexis’s call summarizes our relationship. It’s friendly and thoughtful—she didn’t have to call or tell me anything. It’s also forced and abrupt. But maybe that’s just normal in this anything but normal situation. We’re all trying our best. This can’t be easy for her either.

I smile and open the door. At least I had my mother. I had the best. I can’t ask for anything more. I toss my bag on the requisite chair and kick off my shoes. My body begs for a hot bath while my head cries for a glass of wine.

Wine wins.

I head to the kitchen. I’m reaching for a glass when my phone vibrates in my other hand.

Troy: My expense report has been uploaded to the system.

I sink against the counter, my hip digging into the square edge, and type a message back.

Me: I didn’t even have to ask. heart-eyed emoji>

Troy: It’s integral to my employment.

Me: You don’t want to admit you’re getting trained by me. Slowly but surely, you’re getting right where I want you. evil laugh emoji>

Troy: And where might that be?

Heat flames my cheeks as I reread his message. Either I’m reading that wrong or Troy is developing a sense of humor.

How do I answer this? I certainly can’t say that I’d like him any way he’d take me—pinning me against a wall, throwing my legs around his neck, beneath me as I bounce on his cock.

Me: I can’t tell you that. shushing face emoji>

Troy: Why not?

Me: Because then it won’t be any fun.

I lift my gaze to pick up my glass when my sight settles on something else.

Troy’s response buzzes in my palm, but I don’t read it.

A slow shudder runs the length of my spine as I examine the refrigerator magnets. The two squirting ones have been moved to the bottom.

Burt didn’t touch them yesterday. They were in the correct spot when he left after dinner. And they were where they were supposed to be when I left for work. I grabbed a bottle of water for the drive and would’ve noticed if they were out of place. It would’ve bothered me.

But it didn’t. Because they were in the right spot.

I glance over my shoulder as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Did Burt come here while I was gone? I mull that over. It’s the simplest answer, but he’s never done that before. He certainly doesn’t have a key. I bite my bottom lip. Maybe he thought I was home, and I’d left the door unlocked.

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

My skin prickles with anticipation as I swipe off my text app and call Burt. Each ring feels like a lifetime. Thankfully, it only takes three lifetimes for him to pick up.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he says. “Are you calling to tell me you didn’t eat that chocolate cake in the fridge and I can have it?”

“Hey, Burt.” I suck in a quick, hot breath. “That’s not why I was calling, actually. I have a really weird question for you. You didn’t come by my house today by any chance, did you?”

“Nope. Why?”

“Just … No reason. I was just curious.”

“Was I supposed to?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No. You weren’t. I just thought maybe you needed something and just came in. The magnets that you always mess with were moved. I know you didn’t move them last night.”

“Magnets? What are you talking about?”

“The magnets …” Troy’s texts buzz again. “You know, the two magnets on my refrigerator that you like to move around.”

“What?” He chuckles. “Sweet pea, I don’t touch your magnets. You warn me every time not to.”

My throat narrows, and I still.

Is he screwing with me?

Burt has moved the magnets three times over the past couple of weeks … hasn’t he? I rack my brain to remember why I assumed it was Burt but can’t remember.

If it’s not him, then who is it?

My heart drums against my ribs.

“Did you happen to see anyone here today?” I ask, my words falling fast. “Was anyone here at all?”

“Not this afternoon, but your friend Morgan just pulled up.”

“She did? Just now?”

“Yeah. Hi, Morgan,” he calls out.

My breath comes in and out rapidly. “Burt, I need to go. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

I end the call and race to the front door, pulling it open as Morgan’s knuckle is poised to knock. She takes me in and moves back.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s going on? I just stopped by on the off chance you were here. I thought we could grab dinner, but I feel like I just interrupted something.”

“Come in,” I say, allowing her to enter my house. I shut the door softly.

Suddenly, everything feels off. The oxygen in the room decreases, and energy flows through the walls. I feel like an outsider in my home.

I steady myself. “I’ll preface this by saying I’ve had a long day. And Mallory had us doing hot yoga today, which has messed with my brain before.”

“Okay.”

I square my shoulders to hers. “I might be losing my mind, I don’t know, but I think …”

It feels ridiculous to say it. My brain’s going too fast to get a grip on my thoughts. Everything I start to say feels like a terrible overreaction.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry. I just … Do you know the two squirting magnets you got me for my birthday?”

She nods.

“They keep moving around on my fridge. Both of them. I assumed it was Burt because he’d been here right before I noticed it the last three times. But I just got home from work, and they were moved. I know they were in the right places this morning.”

Her brows pull together. “Did he come in while you were gone?”

“He says he didn’t. And I don’t think he would’ve.”

“And you’re sure they didn’t just slide?”

“Yes. I keep them in a certain spot, and if they slid, the ones around them would have to move. They’ll be in the opposite upper corner of the fridge. Someone is moving them.”

She takes a deep breath. “Could it be Freddy?”

Fuck.

“Did you give him a key to your house?” she asks carefully.

“Yeah. I did. I mean, I got it back, but he could’ve made a copy of it.”

“Who else could it be?”

I sigh, partially relieved there’s a logical answer—and partially sick from it, too. “No one. It has to be him. He’s been texting and calling me every day, wanting another chance. Or he wants to come by and look for his sunglasses, or he thinks he left his gold chain here. Maybe he’s just trying to intimidate me or make me think I need him.”

Morgan looks around, then swipes the bottle of wine off the counter. “I’m bringing this. You’re going to get your stuff for work tomorrow and stay the night at my house.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She laughs. “Oh, it is. If Freddy’s coming in here, you don’t know what he could do. You broke up with the guy because he was doing cocaine in your bathroom.”

Fair point.

“Stay the night with me,” Morgan says. “Tomorrow, you can call a locksmith and get your locks changed. Have Burt keep a lookout. See if you can file a police report to have it on record.”

I nod.

My adrenaline begins to subside, and rational thought takes back over. While creepy and wrong on all levels, it’s just Freddy being a dick. He’s moving my magnets to bother me.

I bite my lip.

What if it’s not just moving my magnets …

My stomach churns as I fight myself not to go there.

“Come on,” Morgan says. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here.”

“Okay.”

I take a step when my phone vibrates. There are several missed texts spanning the last twenty minutes. I groan, hoping to hell it’s not Freddy blowing me up. I’m not sure I can handle that right now.

Troy: It would be more fun if I knew your endgame.

Troy: I take it you disagree.

Troy: Are you okay?

Troy: Dahlia?

Troy: I know I’m not entitled to a response within a certain timeframe, but just let me know you’re okay.

Troy: For fuck’s sake.

“Who is that?” Morgan has the baseball bat I keep by the door angled over her shoulder.

“Troy.”

She grins. “You know, this is his specialty. Maybe you should ask him for advice.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? This seems like the most authentic way for you to get that man over here.”

“That crosses a line from professional to personal.”

“I think?—”

“No,” I say emphatically. “This is just Freddy being a jerk. I won’t embarrass myself by telling him my ex is moving my magnets around.” I roll my eyes and start up the steps. “That even sounds silly.”

“It’s silly until it’s not.”

“That’s why I’ll call the police and file a report. I need to put my phone on the charger first.”

We clear the upstairs with the bat positioned for a grand slam. Then I head to my bedroom and plug my phone into the wall. Before I look up the number for the police department, I open my texts again.

Me: Hey. Sorry about that. My friend Morgan showed up. I’m fine.

Troy: Good to hear.

Me: I’ll see you in the morning.

Troy: Good night.

For once, I’m too preoccupied to taunt him with emoji. I make a police report instead.