Chapter 23
DESI
“Hey Des. Got a minute?”
“Hi, handsome,” I say, recognizing Grant’s voice as if it were my own brother’s. “How are my babies doing?”
“Driving me crazy,” he says through a laugh, but I can hear the absolute adoration in his tone and the smile on his lips.
“Isn’t that the job of all women?” I shut the baby gate so the four pooches I’m dog-sitting are confined in their special room, and I can pick up the grooming area.
“Seems like it.” He clears his throat. “I have some good news for you.”
“Yeah?”
“They caught him.”
I freeze mid-step and then stand there as those three words sink in. “They did?”
“Another house in Melville. Same scenario, except this time the husband happened to be sleeping on the couch and the perp didn’t know it. Woman screamed, husband came...he may have roughed the fucker up to keep him until the police showed up, but...that’s what he deserved.”
“How do you know it’s the same guy?” I ask, staring at the yard beyond and wondering how many nights since my incident I’ve stood here and wondered if someone was out there staring back at me, waiting until I go to bed to stand over me again.
“Because he confessed. I guess he had a box of shit, something he took from each house.”
“Ugh.” The thought that he had something of mine is enough to make my stomach churn. “Please tell me he didn’t have a pair of my panties to sniff or something.”
“Not yours, no. But he did have others. He had a Doggy Style business card and he had the date of his visit written on the back of it,” he explains as chills creep over my skin at the thought of him touching anything of mine.
“And I know what you’re thinking, but no, you didn’t know him.
You did nothing to reject him or spur interest..
.it was just a random thing—which I don’t know if that’s creepier or not, but it’s over. ”
“Thank you, Grant.”
“I didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome.”
I sag against the counter, and for what feels like the first time in months, I breathe a sigh of relief.
But when I hang up the phone, I know that’s not true.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief the night Reznor took me to the haunted house and showed me that it was okay to be scared. That I didn’t always have to be the strong one.
Without thinking, I drop the phone, run out the front door, and over to Reznor’s.
For the first time, I don’t have to think about what it is I want. I don’t have to remind myself of the pact I made with myself to simply enjoy what little time I have left with him before he leaves. I don’t have to tell my feelings to shut the hell down.
But when I knock on the front door—over and over—I realize that no one is home.
Reznor’s not home.
And with each passing second, that excitement I felt moments before slowly comes crashing down around me. This is how it’s going to be sooner rather than later.
Because this isn’t Reznor’s home.
He’ll be gone.
He’s not here now.
He’ll be gone permanently very soon.
And I’ll be here.
Alone.
Again.
Shit.