Chapter 48
chapter
forty-eight
SHAY
I clean money for the Mafia.
I think the normal thing to do would be to accept that either he was telling the truth, or I was so clingy he had no choice but to come up with the most insane excuse to break up with me. Which wasn’t much better than the Mafia.
Instead of accepting it, I found myself hiding behind a menu.
Stalking my stalker.
I’d told my friends the gist of what was happening, minus the criminal part. Things weren’t adding up, and I wanted answers. Where did he spend his day? Who did he spend it with?
I’d told them I wanted to do something crazy.
“I support women’s rights and wrongs,” Eames had said.
Which was how I found myself a few booths away, wearing one of Eames’s wigs, a beard from Olly’s old Darwin Halloween costume, watching Calder. A hat was tugged low on my forehead, and in one of Olly’s oversized shirts, I was mostly unrecognizable.
I’m a criminal.
A criminal who took care of me when I was sick.
A criminal who broke into my house to do my laundry—
A tall woman with blonde hair approached Calder, ripping me from my thoughts, and sat down at his table. I leaned forward, watching as he ordered for them both with a smile. Was this a date?
It wasn’t technically cheating if we’d agreed to be casual.
But still, it felt fucked up.
The woman slid a grocery bag across the table, and he stood before the food arrived, taking the bag with him, leaving the woman alone to finish eating.
I tilted my head. What the fuck? I was so confused by that I nearly forgot to follow him out. I quickly stood up, dashing after him into the brittle winter air. I followed Calder down the street, keeping my distance enough to see him but not arouse suspicion.
Calder stopped walking, and I ducked behind a trash can just as my phone buzzed—well, Eames’s phone. I couldn’t exactly stalk my stalker if my phone showed my location directly behind him.
He said he’s sorry and wants to know if you’re okay.
I glanced over the trash can. Calder stared down at his phone. He wanted to know if I was okay? Absently, I scratched at the beard. It was made of cheap, most likely plastic, material.
I was not okay. I didn’t want a relationship. I didn’t want any of this. But just as I was about to give in and admit okay, fine, I liked him—I more than liked him—he told me he cleaned money for the fucking Mafia.
What the fuck did that mean? Was it some kind of role-play? People didn’t actually work for the Mafia. That was a movie thing. A specific romance subgenre.
I quickly messaged Eames.
Tell him I’m fine.
A few seconds later, I received a follow-up.
Cool, I told him to reach out later, as unfortunately you were busy blowing up the bathroom.
I’m going to kill you.
Eames sent a cartwheel emoji.
A group of teenagers stopped, giving me a look.
“Dropped an AirPod,” I said, peeking over the trash can.
Calder was moving again.
I followed him to his car, and then continued to follow him from mine.
He parked in a church, and I drove past the somewhat empty lot, because if watching Burn Notice taught me anything, it was I couldn’t park in the same lot as the guy I was tailing.
So I drove around and parked far enough away that I was both inconspicuous and could still see him.
I leaned back, getting comfortable.
Calder didn’t move for hours. The sun made a rotation across the sky, the blue growing hazy and soft as it dropped beneath the western mountains.
Then when only the afterglow of the sun lingered, backlighting the night, Calder finally got out of his car.
He walked quickly, disappearing inside the church.
I scrambled, following.
The air inside was stiff and musty, like it had absorbed the old tweed church pews and dusty Bibles. I slowly shut the door, doing my best to be quiet.
“…told you to leave her alone.” Calder’s voice drifted down the hallway.
Leave who alone? I tiptoed closer, trying to hear more.
This should probably be a deal-breaker, right?
If you had to stalk the person to find out the truth, maybe that meant it wasn’t the healthiest relationship. But still, I landed outside of an office with the door open, keeping my back pressed against the wall.
“See…” Calder spoke again, this time his voice clear, laced with an icy venom I’d never before heard. “I thought I was clear what would happen if you didn’t listen.”
“I signed the papers,” a new voice spoke, thin and whiny.
Papers? What papers? I leaned closer to the doorway, trying to figure out what they were talking about.
“You’re still in Utah—”
A high-pitched, distorted, synth-pop guitar rang out in the hallway—“Toxic” by Britney Spears. What the hell? I spun around, trying to see who else was joining this, when it hit me.
Oh fuck.
Shit.
That was Eames’s ringtone, and I had Eames’s phone.
What happened next was a blur. At the same time I scrambled to get the fuck out of there, someone emerged from the office.
We collided. Eames’ phone went flying and smacked against the wall—still playing the distorted, screeching melody.
Then I saw red.
Blood.
Was I bleeding? Did I somehow cut myself on Eames phone or my fake beard? Or was this some kind of divine retribution for being such a sexual deviant I was actively stalking my stalker—
Red trickled down the painted white walls. The hand of the stranger who’d collided with me now impaled on…the Crucifixion.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
It wasn’t my blood.
The stranger’s eyes found mine, wide with horror. Blood poured out of his hand to the ground in a geyser as Britney Spears continued to sing.
“Oh my god,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I spun around, looking for something to stymie the flow, and grabbed the first thing I saw, an old coffee-stained napkin on the ground. I slammed it onto his hand.
He screamed.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Shay?” Calder appeared, frozen in the doorway as if his feet had stopped working when he saw me.
“I—I…” I pressed the napkin against his hand.
“This is so fucked,” he screamed. “I’ll go. I’ll go, just let me leave.”
A hand grasped my shoulder, tugging me gently away from the man I’d just accidentally crucified. Calder tugged my gaze to him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
He spoke with the trademark Calder stillness. The inherent calm that had always settled my nerves. Only now it was all the more impressive, as if there wasn’t a literal impaled man next to us.
And as if on cue, the man screamed.
“I’ll go. I’ll fucking go!” He yanked his hand off the wall, stuttering backward down the hallway, eyes wide. Then he sprinted and disappeared out the church doors.
“Sorry!” I called after him.
The slamming of the doors echoed down the hallway.
And then it was silent.
Stiff.
Calder’s presence was a black heat. I refused to look at him, focusing on the blue tweed church carpet.
“Is that guy going to be okay?” I asked, still keeping my gaze to the floor. Why did every church use the same ultra-thin carpet? It was barely more than hardwood.
Hardwood would be better.
“Trust me, that’s the least that guy deserves.”
At his cold, apathetic tone, I shot him a look. Calder glanced at my phone—Eames’s phone—then back to me.
“Does Eames have your phone?” he asked, tugging down the beard I forgot I was wearing.
I rolled my lips, nodding.
He nodded to himself, like I’d just answered a long-standing question. “I thought it was strange how many times you complimented Eames.”
Another silence settled, then:
“What are you doing here, Shay?” Calder asked.
“You dropped a bomb and then left. I’m figuring out the truth.”
A smile quirked the corner of his lips, but he quickly wiped it away with his hand. “So you were stalking me?” His hand lingered on his face, rubbing his jaw.
I shrugged, like, yeah.
“I think rule number one of stalking is to put your phone on ‘do not disturb,’” he said.
“You would know.”
This time when Calder smiled, he didn’t wipe it off. His dimple popped and his sharp white teeth flashed.
And my gut melted.
Was I a chaotic sexual ball?
No.
Whatever was happening between Calder and me was about so much more than sex. I think it was always about more than sex.
Fuck.
I think I love him.
I do.
I’m in love with my Mafia stalker.