Chapter 1 #2
Heat floods my face. "I'm not—it's not like that. I just want to talk to her."
"Then call her like a normal person. Don't lurk around her workplace hoping to corner her."
Lurk. The word hits me like a slap. Is that what I'm doing? Lurking?
No. I'm just... trying. I'm fighting for us. That's what you do when you love someone, right? You don't give up.
Week Five
I see her car in the grocery store parking lot on Sunday. My day off. I wasn't following her—I really did need groceries—but there's her Honda Civic, and before I can second guess it, I'm waiting by her car like some kind of creep, scrolling news reports like a maniac.
Another fucking IED attack. This is it. I'm going to get a call that he's dead. Then I'll be completely alone.
I can't fucking breathe.
She comes out twenty minutes later with two bags. When she sees me leaning against her bumper, she stops dead.
"Reid, what are you doing?"
My chest is so tight. Am I having a heart attack? Honestly, that wouldn't be the worst thing. Dropping dead, getting out of this mind fuck I'm currently living, would be a relief. "I was just—I needed groceries too. I saw your car and thought maybe we could talk."
Her brow furrows, and her eyes dart around, landing everywhere but on me. "In a parking lot?"
"Anywhere. Laine, please. It's been over a month. Can't we at least—"
"No." She pulls out her keys. "Move away from my car."
"Just five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
Her eyes close, and her inhale is long and slow. And when she speaks, the words seem painfully final. "I said no."
"But I love you. Doesn't that count for anything?"
She stops fumbling with her keys and looks at me directly for the first time in weeks. "Love isn't supposed to feel like this, Reid."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm being hunted."
The word hits me like a defibrillator to the chest. Hunted. My stomach drops so fast I actually sway on my feet. I take a massive step back, my hands shooting up in the air. "Laine, no. God, no. I'm not—"
"You're hurting me right now," she says, her voice cracking. "I need you to leave me alone."
I can't breathe. I step back again, bumping into the cart corral. I watch her drive away, the exhaust from her Civic hanging in the cold air. Hunted. The one thing I swore to do was protect her, and I'm the monster in the dark.
Week Six
I stop sleeping. Not on purpose—I try. But every time I close my eyes, I see her face in that parking lot. The fear in her eyes. Not fear of me, exactly, but fear of the situation. Of what I've become.
My job performance starts slipping. I miss details. Forget protocols. Tony covers for me twice, but I can see the concern in his eyes.
"You need help, man," he says after I nearly give a diabetic patient the wrong dose of glucose. "Professional help."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're falling apart."
He's right, but I can't stop. If I stop moving, the voices catch up.
It's not just Laine anymore. It's Jared. I close my eyes and I see Jared in the casket. Then the face changes, and it's Blake. Blake bleeding out in the dirt, staring at the sky, because I exiled him.
I hope it's a long one.
Those were the last words I said to him. If he comes home in a box, that’s the eulogy I wrote for myself.
I sent him another text yesterday. Just let me know you're alive. Please. Nothing. I'm shouting into a void, and the void doesn't give a fuck.
I can't save Blake. That ship has sailed. But I can still save us.
I drive past her apartment every night after shift. Not to bother her—I've learned that lesson. Just to see if her lights are on. Just to know she's okay.
Sometimes I park across the street and sit in my truck, wondering what she's doing. If she's happy. If she misses me at all.
I know this is fucked up. I know it is. But I can't seem to stop myself.
Week Seven
I wait outside her yoga studio on Thursday evening. I don't go in—that would be crossing a line. But I sit in my truck across the street, watching people file out after class.
I shouldn't be here. Put the truck in drive, Reid. Step on the gas. Go home. But my foot won't move. My hands are locked on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I'm a pathetic, broken mess, but if I can just see her walk out of that door smiling, maybe I can breathe for the next twenty-four hours.
She emerges with an older woman I've never seen before. They're talking and laughing, and for a moment, Laine looks like herself again. Happy. Relaxed.
Then she sees my truck.
The change is instantaneous. Her whole body tenses. She says something to her friend, who follows her gaze to where I'm parked. Even from this distance, I can see the other woman's disapproving expression.
Laine pulls out her phone. For a wild moment, I think she might be calling me. Then I realize she's probably calling someone else. For help. For protection.
From me.
I drive away before I can find out, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. I don't recognize the man I'm becoming, and it's fucking terrifying.
Week Eight
Joyce corners me outside the ER on Tuesday morning.
I'm bringing in chest pain—routine call, stable patient.
I should have been in and out in ten minutes, but I've been lingering, hoping for another glimpse of Laine.
I don't understand why I can't just let her go.
I love her. That's never going to change.
And I sure as fuck don't want to scare her.
But getting a glimpse of her face is the only time in my day that I don't feel like I'm drowning.
That darkness is growing, and it's getting harder and harder to fight it off.
"Reid. We need to talk."
Her tone makes my stomach drop. Joyce has been a friend for years. She was one of the first people to welcome me when I started bringing patients here.
"Is it about the patient? Did I miss something in my assessment?" God. Why do I even bother playing dumb?
"It's about you lurking around my unit like a lost puppy."
The word 'lurking' again. It makes me flinch.
"I'm not lurking. I'm doing my job." Again with the dumb. Why can't I move the fuck on?
"Your job doesn't require you to hang around for thirty minutes after dropping off a patient. Your job doesn't require you to time your calls to coincide with Laine's shifts."
Heat floods my cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't." Her voice is sharp. "Don't lie to me. I've been watching you for two months, Reid. This isn't normal behavior."
"I love her."
"No." Joyce steps closer, and I'm struck by how small she is. How did I never notice that before? "This isn't love anymore. This is panic. You're bleeding out, Reid, and you're trying to use that girl as a tourniquet."
The medical metaphor hits me harder than a slap. "I'm trying to fix things. I'm trying to show her—"
"You're scaring her."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"
"She jumps every time the elevator dings. She checks the parking lot before leaving. I caught her looking at help wanted ads out of state." Joyce's expression softens slightly. "She's afraid to come to work, Reid. Her own workplace."
My knees nearly give out. I am such a piece of shit. "I never... I wouldn't hurt her. I'm the one who protects her."
"Not anymore," Joyce says, and her voice is brutally quiet. "Right now? You're the thing she needs protection from."
My lungs stop working. The ambient noise of the ER waiting room drops out, leaving a high, thin ringing in my ears.
"I know you wouldn't hurt her. But intent doesn't matter when the impact is fear." Joyce touches my arm gently. "She filed an incident report yesterday."
The blood drains from my head so fast my knees actually buckle. I have to slap a hand against the side of the rig to stay upright. "What kind of incident report?"
"Workplace harassment. She hasn't pressed charges—yet. But if this continues..."
I lean against the ambulance, struggling to breathe. "I was just trying to talk to her."
"How many times has she told you no?"
I can't answer. I can't even count.
"Reid, look at me." Joyce's voice is gentler now, almost motherly. "You're a good man. I've seen you with patients. I've seen you save lives. But this version of you? The one that won't take no for an answer? This isn't who you are."
"I don't know how to stop." If I stop, I lose everything.
"Yes, you do. You stop showing up where she is. You stop sending flowers. You stop driving past her apartment. You let her breathe."
"What if I lose her forever?"
"Son, you've already lost her. The question now is whether you lose yourself too."
I almost laugh. I already lost me. The only part of myself that I even recognize is the part that still loves Laine. The rest of me is fucking shattered.
I drive back to the station in a daze. Tony takes one look at me and sends me home early.
I sit in my empty house and finally understand what I've become. What I've been doing to her.
Hunting. That's exactly what it was. I was using her as a crutch. As a path out of pain. Because the pain around Blake's betrayal, and him leaving is massive. Almost as big as the pain from losing Laine.
I delete her number from my phone. I throw away the letters I never sent. I cancel the flower deliveries.
Then I look at the string of green texts I've sent Blake over the last month.
Dozens of them. Unanswered. Unread. I thought getting rid of Blake would fix it.
I thought if he was gone, I could make Laine stay.
But my brother is a ghost in the desert who won't answer my calls, and the woman I love checks dark parking lots because of me.
They're both gone.
One is in a war zone because I told him to leave. The other is terrified of me because I wouldn't let her go.
I fucked everything up. There's nothing left for me. No other options.
I spent the last two months hating Blake. Hating him for deciding what was best for us. For manipulating the board. For hurting Laine to serve his own ends.
And what the fuck have I been doing?
Deciding my love matters more than her fear. Forcing a reality she doesn't want. Refusing to listen.
I turned into him.
No. I'm worse.
Blake left to let us heal. I stayed and picked the wound until it festered.
The woman I love checks dark parking lots because of me.
I did that.
I'm the fucking monster.