Chapter 19
Dahlia
I climb the steps from the workout room, leaving Troy behind to run another five miles. I didn’t even want to work out this morning, but I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to see him shirtless and sweating—even if that meant lifting weights because he says it’s good for my bones. It won’t be good for my bones if I drop one from fatigue and break my foot. But I didn’t bring that up. I’ll save that for a time when I need him moody.
Moody sex, I’ve learned, is the best.
I yawn, heading into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. My dreams last night were actual nightmares—something I didn’t tell Troy. For one, I’m starting to think that he takes any discomfort or perceived unhappiness to heart as if it’s his fault or responsibility.
Thatbreaks my heart.
For two, I know the reason for the bad dreams is a nonissue. It’s silly.
The man next door last night is not a threat. He had to have passed a background check to live here. They card every person coming onto the island and again to enter this neighborhood. He’s lived here for who knows how long. It’s not like he bought a house a day ago to stalk me. He even named-dropped Grey.
All that being said, I know that Troy would’ve been on top of things if he thought anything was even remotely amiss. He wouldn’t get sidetracked by a blow job or a smooth-talking name-dropper, so I could largely logic my way anxiety. Still, I’m not sure my heartbeat ever dropped back to its baseline rate. Maybe it would when this is all over.
I pour myself a steaming cup of joe and add a little milk. But as soon as the acidity hits my stomach, I nearly vomit.
“You gotta love anxiety,” I grumble, dumping the caffeine down the drain.
I sit at the table, feeling the warmth of the sunshine streaming through the windows, and think about Burt—the other part of my night of terrors. I kept seeing him bleeding, reaching his old, wrinkled hand to me, and begging me to help.
Tears fill my eyes. I ache for him. He didn’t deserve Freddy’s wrath … and it’s my fault. I brought Freddy into Burt’s world. I literally hate myself for that.
My face heats as I consider, once again, calling him. The thought is a rock in my stomach, getting thrown around by the acid that’s burning holes in my organs.
I know I shouldn’t call him. I shouldn’t turn my phone on. Ford downloaded the data from it and let me keep it just in case but was adamant I keep it off.
Besides, I know the drill. We deal with this every day.
My fingertips strum against the table.
Even if Freddy knew where I was, I’m nowhere near Savannah. And with charges against him, he can’t even leave the state of Georgia.
The whole thing is overblown, anyway. He had a moment of empowerment and was going to scare me. But now that he’s getting rung up on resisting arrest, assault, and whatever else, I’m probably the least of his problems.
I bite my lip.
So one quick call to Burt wouldn’t hurt, would it?
I press against my belly and feel it churn. It hurts. I probably have an ulcer already. And, most importantly, Burt is my best neighbor. He’s probably lying in his hospital bed alone, with no one visiting him and no one giving a crap.
Tears roll down my cheeks.
I move quickly, before I can change my mind, and hustle upstairs to my bag. I find my phone. With shaky hands, I hold the power button.
As soon as the lights come on, I know I’ve fucked up. But I’m already in it this far. I might as well see it through.
Act now and repent later.
My battery indicator is red, so I ignore the missed calls and unread texts, find Burt’s number, and hit call.
“Please pick up,” I say, glancing at the doorway. “Come on.”
“Hey, sweet pea.”
I stifle a sob at the sound of his scratchy, raspy voice.
“Burt. Oh, my gosh, it’s good to hear your voice. I heard what happened. Are you okay?”
“Don’t be sorry for me. I just got a broken rib or two.” He stops to cough, wincing at the end. “I got a couple of good shots in on that little sonofabitch. And he got arrested, I heard.”
“Are you in the hospital?”
“Yeah. Gonna keep me a couple of days. When you hit your seventies, they like to make you think you’re on death’s door. It’s a little game they play. But, hell, there’s three hots and a cot. I’ll survive.”
I laugh, wiping away my tears. He sounds good—weak and definitely groggy—but he still has his wit. That’s a great sign.
“So where have you been?” he asks. “I’ve been worrying. You’re never gone this long.”
“I know and I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon and I’m going to take care of you.”
“The hell you are.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I say.
“Well, you should be. Just ask Freddy Fuckface.”
I laugh. “Listen, I hate to get off here this fast, but I have to. I’ll be unreachable for a couple more days. I’ll be at your door as soon as I get home. Do you have my friend Morgan’s number? Did she give it to you?”
“Yup. You know, I think she’s hitting on me. She wants some of this grandpa juice.”
I laugh again, relieved that he’s still his ornery self, even if that last part was a bit nauseating. “You’re probably right. But if you need anything at all, call her. She’ll help you.”
“Are there parameters on that? Like are you talking dinner or sponge baths?”
“Burt, behave.” I pause. “And, Burt?”
“Yeah, sweet pea?”
“I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks, heavy with sorrow and guilt. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. It’s all my fault and I?—”
“Nah, I’m not listening to this bullshit. None of this was your fault. But I gotta go. Someone’s standing over me with a needle.”
“I’ll see you very, very soon.”
“Bye.”
The call ends.
My heart pounds now that the deed is done and all that’s left is to face the music … or Troy. And he’s not exactly going to be a beautiful symphony over this.
It’ll be more like a symphony of destruction.
I reach for the power button but hit the voice mailbox instead. The top message is from Joseph Dallo with a time stamp of this morning.
Curiosity gets the best of me, and I hit play. Then because my hands are trembling, I turn on the speakerphone.
“Hi, Dahlia, it’s your dad. I’ve been trying to call you for a few days now. I hope you’re okay. I just want to give you a heads-up that much is going to happen very soon. You might want to keep your head down for a while, just in case. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep you safe and I don’t want to fail you now. This will be over soon. I promise.”
I press the power button and turn to shove my phone back in my bag. But I only get partially turned when my gaze is met with a set of steely gray eyes.
My body runs hot. My cheeks flame. I try to control my breathing so I don’t panic … because he’s pissed.
“What will be over soon?” he asks, his eyes blazing. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I can explain.”
“You better do it quick.”
I take a quick breath. “Troy, hear me out. I had to know how Burt was doing. It’s all my fault and I know it was stupid. But?—”
“You think?”
He fills out the doorway with his towering body and powerful presence. I can’t imagine being on his bad side and how terrifying that would be. But I’m not scared of him. Moreover, I know his reaction is because I’m on his good side.
“I can’t help it,” I say, holding my hands out in front of me. “He has no one, Troy. Not a soul on this planet to check on him and I’m the reason he’s hurt.”
He snatches my phone out of my hand and slips it into his shorts pocket.
“Keep doing shit like this and you’ll be the reason you’re hurt,” he says, his jaw flexing. “You’ll also be the reason I’m in fucking prison for murdering the person who hurts you.” He groans, running a hand over his head. “How could you be so careless?”
I fight the tears that want to come. “This is hard for me, okay?”
“I understand that. But you work for a security company. You know how phones are tracked. We say it all the time. Small mistakes make big problems. And this …”—he removes my phone from his pocket and waves it in the air—“this is not a small mistake.”
“Be mad at me. I was careless. I know you’re coming from a good place with this, and I screwed up,” I say, fighting so hard not to break down in front of him. But the enormity of the past week just hit me like a ton of bricks, knocking me flat on my proverbial ass. “But I’m doing my best here not to panic, not to think, not to worry … not to focus on the fact that someone wants to fucking kill me. And, in the meantime, my friend just got hurt and I’m his only friend and … I’m having a hard time today, okay?”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I step away from him.
He bristles, his breathing turning ragged.
“When it was just me, it was fine,” I say. “But it’s hard to know that innocent people are paying the price for my life. For my choices. I’m the one that dated the asshole.”
“I know all about how hard it is to live with things that you probably caused.”
I storm across the room, shoving my finger in his chest. He’s a blur through the tears that won’t stop. “You did not cause that.”
He stiffens, reverting to the Troy I know at work—the one that puts up a shield when emotions are involved. The only sliver of the man I’ve known over the past few days is a softness buried in his eyes.
“Don’t do this to me,” I say, dropping my finger.
He ignores me, making sure my phone is off, and throws it on the bed. “Who was on the voicemail?”
I wipe my face with the backs of my hands. “My dad.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know. That this will be over soon, and that something’s going to happen and I need to keep my head down.”
His anger at me slips. “What’s that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he say? Say it again as close as you can remember it.”
I sit on the bed, my shoulders sagging. How did this day turn so quickly?
Just an hour ago, we were in the gym laughing and lifting weights. I was trying to barter blow jobs for fewer reps. He was promising orgasms for extra repetitions. And now, we’re here.
Oh, how quickly things can change.
“Dahlia.”
I typically like to screw with him when he says my name like that—demandingly. But I’m not in the mood for one. And I have a feeling this isn’t going to end in moody sex.
“Okay,” I say, gathering myself. “He said he hopes I’m okay and that something will be happening very soon, and I should keep my head down for a while. Um … something about he’s spent his whole life trying to keep me safe and he doesn’t want to fail you now. And it’ll all be over soon.”
Troy stands tall, his eyes dark. “I need to make some calls. Please don’t put out an SOS or anything while I’m gone.”
“Troy …”
For the first time, he doesn’t look back.