Chapter 17
Meg
It occurred to me that this was the second morning in a row that we had shared my house, and while I was embarrassed about last night, I felt oddly safe. I have never loved being in a house alone. Probably all those crime shows I watch. I have always just sucked it up.
It isn’t odd that I don’t recognize him, a couple of the houses in my neighborhood are used for short term rentals.
However, it seems odd. I keep watching his back as he walks away, wondering which house he may be renting— if he is at all.
I am so focused, I don’t hear Sterling come up behind me until he speaks.
“Is that a neighbor,” he asks gruffly. I jump a half a foot and manage not to spill coffee grounds all over the counter. Clearing my throat and taking a deep breath I turn around and respond.
“I don’t know who he is, actually. He may be renting one of the vacation homes in the neighborhood though,” I elaborate. Sterling looks at me skeptically. As if he thinks the notion is absurd. Honestly, it probably is. The whole not believing in coincidences thing, you know?
“I would go out there and confront him, but I don’t want to leave you alone in the house. That would put you at risk,” he states simply. As if it is everyday that a person can’t be left alone in there home due to some anonymous threat.
It is only now that I notice how unclothed Sterling is.
His black sweatpants hang low on trim hips.
His upper body mimics the shape of a triangle.
Broad defined shoulders and arms, firm pecs, muscular torso all on display.
His tattoo sleeves finally bared for my perusal.
Colorful swirls and symbols blend together. My mouth is dry.
It is almost like I can see myself frozen from above. Trying to force my mouth closed, I clear my throat. Sterling is smirking. He folds his arms across his chest. Nodding, I turn back around to finish the task at hand. Coffee. It hasn’t let me down yet.
“How’d you sleep,” he asks. The start of small talk shocks me. If we aren’t talking about my truck repair or the threat against me, we aren’t really talking at all. I almost don’t know how to respond. I shrug my shoulders.
“I got a few hours,” I say honestly. Plugging in the percolator and opening the cabinet to pull down a couple of cereal options and some microwave oatmeal.
I need to make sure I feed my unofficial bodyguard.
It is the least I can do. Plus it keeps my busy.
When I’m busy I tend to function better.
Remembering my manners, I return his question.
“I slept pretty well, the bed in there is comfortable. Have you gotten any other messages from unknown numbers,” he asks. Ah, there we go. Back into familiar conversation territory.
“No text messages, but I haven’t checked my email this morning.
I’ll do that now,” I say. Happy for something to do and hoping that he isn’t going to bring up last night, I go into the living room and grab my laptop off the coffee table.
Returning back to the kitchen, I notice that Sterling has pulled the table out from the wall, and is putting napkins and spoons out.
I’m not sure how he knew where the spoons were, but I’m quickly realizing he is full of surprises. So I let it go. Sitting at the end of one of the bench seats I pull up my email. I notice I have 15 new messages. Odd for a Sunday morning.
Opening the inbox my heart drops down into my stomach and then flies up into my throat. They are ALL from the same email. The one that sent the initial message. My mind repeats it over and over: Did you get my note? I meant it. Too bad about your truck.
Suddenly Sterling is straddling the bench seat right next to me. I must have made some kind of distressed sound, because he has one arm around my shoulder, while the other is moving to pull my laptop closer to him.
Before he can accomplish this, I click open the first email. It’s a picture of me yesterday. Standing in Doe’s talking to Piper. The photo was taken from outside. Sterling swears under his breath.
“Christ, this fucker is ballsy,” he grinds out. I don’t respond, I go to the next email. It is another picture of me. Going up the stairs to my office with my coffee in hand. Like the first e-mail from today, there is no message just the picture.
The other e-mails are more of the same. Pictures of me throughout the day yesterday.
At my desk working, Piper coming up to bring me lunch, me leaving the office at the end of the day to head down to meet Sterling, Sterling and I getting in his truck.
After each e-mail the pressure on my chest feels tighter and tighter.
My finger hovers over the trackpad of my laptop. I’m afraid to open the last one. Sterling does it for me. It is of me standing at the counter just a few minutes ago, making coffee. This email actually has a message.
Pay attention, you never know who is watching.
I stand up suddenly. Not knowing what I need, but knowing that I need to be moving. I push the table away and begin pacing around the small space of the kitchen. Sterling is up and on me before I know what is happening. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me tightly.
“Breathe with me, Meg,” he whispers to me.
For the first time, I realize I am wheezing.
I have never had a panic attack. This must be what one feels like.
“Just follow me,” he says. After a few seconds, something clicks in my brain.
I don’t know if it is the feeling of the pressure of his arms, or the rhythm of his breathing.
Maybe both. My breathing becomes easier and my heart rate slows a bit.
As I calm down, Sterling pulls away a fraction of an inch. Just far enough that he can herd me to the couch. Gently, he pulls me down onto the couch with him. I’m still numb and a bit hazy from my panic attack but my senses start to come back to me slowly.
Both of my hands are still clenched tightly into fists under my chin.
He takes one hand and uncurls it finger by finger until my hand is open.
He then lays it down on top of my thigh.
He does the same with the left. Reaching back for my right hand he starts to slowly massage and inspect each finger and my palms. He gives each hand equal treatment.
He growls when he sees the crescent shaped scratches that my short fingernails have left behind.
We are both silent. I’m grateful for a few moments of peace to quiet the white noise that my brain experienced when it short circuited for a second. I notice that while all of Sterling’s attention is on me, he is also hyper alert. His eyes are darting around the room to each window.
“I’m sorry about that little breakdown,” I try to joke, but it comes out sounding a bit more strangled then I wanted it to. I was going for witty but I know I missed the mark.
Sterling gets an stormy look in his eye. I shrink back for a second thinking it is directed at me, until I hear the words coming out of his mouth.
“You have nothing to apologize for, so don’t do it again. Do you understand me,” he demands in a low tone that shouldn’t do things to my insides but it does anyway.
“This asshole is going to pay, I promise you that. He will be so fucked up by the time we are through with him, he will have to drink his food through a straw,” the words are said with such a quiet fury, I can’t help but believe him.
With my senses coming back to me, I realize that I’m draped over his lap. My back is pressed up against the arm of the couch. One of his hands is cupping the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing tiny circles against the back of my neck. His other arm is banded around my waist.
At first I was cold, and now I am feeling a bit warm. I go to try to get up, but I am stopped by Sterlings strong arm and his deep voice.
“What are you doing,” he asks. Although, it sounds more like a statement then a question. I answer him anyway.
“I’m getting off of you, you can’t be comfortable with me all sitting on top of you,” as soon as the words come out of my mouth I knew they were a mistake.
He chuckles, letting me know that his mind is in the gutter—right next to mine.
“Honey, I am very comfortable with you sitting on me,” he smirks at me.
I am obviously still not in my right mind, because as soon as I feel the soft pressure of his hand on the back of my neck I let him cuddle me closer. Resting my head on his shoulder.