Chapter 38
LILA
I flip up my collar as I hurry down the corridor of Elmer Holmes Bobst Library, clutching my laptop bag close. The place is empty, just how I like it these days. No people means no problems, my new life motto since the Langford shit show three weeks ago.
My footsteps echo against the marble floors, unnaturally loud in the silence.
It's past six on a Friday, and even the most dedicated grad students have packed up for the day.
The New Yorker deadline looms over me, but every time I try to write about what happened, my fingers freeze over the keyboard.
A door creaks open behind me.
My heart slams against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I whip my head around to see a man step into the hallway.
It's fine. It's just some random professor. This is a public building, for fuck's sake.
But my body doesn't get the memo. My pulse jackhammers in my throat as I quicken my pace, the memory of Brian's hands around my neck flashing uninvited through my mind, his face merging into Mr. Colton's.
The footsteps behind me speed up too.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I fumble for my phone, dropping my student ID in the process. I don't stop to pick it up. The exit sign glows at the end of the corridor, promising safety, people, witnesses. I'm not dying in some empty hallway after surviving a serial killer, thank you very much.
My fingers finally close around my pepper spray—the industrial-sized can Tessa insisted I carry. I grip it tight, thumb on the trigger.
The footsteps get closer.
I spin around, canister raised, heart threatening to explode.
"Stay the fuck back!" I shout, voice cracking.
The man stops short, hands flying up. "Whoa! I'm just… I was trying to give you this. You dropped it."
Between his fingers dangles my student ID.
He's just some lanky kid with thick glasses and a confused expression. Not Mr. Colton. Not Brian. Not Claire. Not a hitman.
Just a student being nice.
I lower the spray, embarrassment washing over me. "Sorry. I'm... sorry."
"It's cool," he says, clearly not thinking it's cool at all as he backs away, still holding my ID out like he's feeding a wild animal.
This is my life now. Jumping at shadows, seeing monsters in every corner.
I burst through the library doors, gulping in the cool evening air. My heart rate finally begins to slow as raindrops spatter against my face.
Great job, Lila. Threaten a helpful student with pepper spray. Very normal behavior.
The light rain feels good against my flushed skin as I adjust my bag strap over my shoulder. I scan the sidewalk, the street lamps casting long shadows across the wet pavement. One shadow stands larger than the rest, a dark silhouette against the glistening concrete.
My breath catches, another monster waiting in the dark.
Then he steps forward into the glow of the streetlight, and everything in me recognizes him before my brain can even process his face. Dane. Leaning against a parked car, hands in his pockets, watching me with those steel-gray eyes.
The fear that's been my constant companion these past weeks evaporates like raindrops on hot pavement. My body relaxes, tension melting away as though someone cut invisible strings that have been holding me upright.
I feel safe. Actually, legitimately safe—like I haven't since... since... since the last time I was with him, even while he wore a hospital gown and lay unconscious with monitors beeping beside him.
"Tessa gave me your location," he says, his voice low and gravelly. "Hope that's okay."
I should be furious. I should turn around and walk the other way. I should remember the cameras, the invasion, the breach of trust. Instead, I stand frozen, rainwater sliding down my neck, soaking into my collar.
"You look like shit," I say finally, because it's true. The stubble on his jaw has grown wild, and dark circles frame his eyes. He's favoring his left side, where the second bullet tore through him.
"Thanks. Been working on this look." A hint of that crooked smile appears. "Takes dedication."
He doesn't move toward me, just waits there in the rain, giving me space to walk away if I want to.
But I don't want to. God, I really don't.
"You're supposed to be resting," I say.
"I've never been good at following doctors' orders."
God, what am I doing? My feet start moving toward him anyway.
I approach Dane slowly, like I'm the one who might spook him. He holds so still it's almost unnatural, a predator trying to appear harmless. His body language screams that he's terrified I'll turn and sprint the other way.
Ironic. I feel the exact opposite pull. Even knowing everything, even after all the lies, my body still wants to move toward him, not away. My new therapist will have a field day with this.
"So, you checked yourself out of the hospital." I stop a few feet from him, close enough to see the fresh scar along his jawline. Hair will never grow there again. "That seems smart. Three bullet wounds, major surgery, perfect time for a little DIY healthcare."
"The food was terrible," he says, his voice rough. "And the nurses kept waking me up to ask if I was sleeping okay."
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. "Yeah, that sounds brutal. Almost as bad as, I don't know, getting shot multiple times?"
"Almost." His eyes don't leave my face. I can feel him cataloging every detail, every change since he last saw me.
The rain picks up some, but I can't seem to move. Dane shifts his weight, wincing slightly.
"Look, I wanted to thank you," he says. "For being there at the hospital. For staying with me."
I cross my arms over my chest. "I was just making sure you didn't die before I could properly tell you off."
"Fair enough." His mouth quirks up in that half-smile that still makes my stomach do stupid things. "The nurses kept asking where my beautiful girlfriend went after you disappeared. Had to explain you weren't actually my girlfriend."
Beautiful girlfriend. The words echo in my empty chest, reminding me of what I thought we might become before everything went to hell.
"I figured they'd be too busy dealing with your charming personality to notice I was gone."
"They were devastated. I think Betty in particular was shipping us." He looks down at the wet pavement. "I don't blame you for not coming back, Lila."
A little rain trickles down my collar, uncomfortably cold against my skin. I should tell him to go fuck himself. I should walk away and never look back. Instead, I blurt out, "So is that why you're here… to thank me."
Dane's shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. It makes him look younger, more vulnerable.
"I'm not here just to thank you," he says, his voice stronger now. "I'm here because I've spent three weeks trying to figure out how to exist in a world where you're not speaking to me."
Oh. My heart does a weird little stutter-step that I refuse to acknowledge.
"I sold my business," he continues. "Transferred all my active cases to colleagues. I'm done being a PI.
"What?" I blink rainwater from my eyelashes. "But that's your job, your whole life."
"That's the thing, Lila. It wasn't a life. It was just... existing. I thought catching the bad guys would give everything meaning, but it never did."
"So what, you're gonna become an accountant?" I quip, trying to break the intensity of his gaze. I fail.
"I don't know what I'm going to be." A raindrop slides down his scar. "But I know who I want to be with."
Shit. SHIT. Why is my heart beating so fast?
"Dane—"
"You make me want things I never thought I could have," he interrupts, finally taking one step closer. "Normal things. Coffee in the morning. Arguments about what movie to watch. A fucking vacation somewhere with sand."
My throat tightens. "I can't be your rehab program for humanity. Nor you mine."
"You're not." He shakes his head. "You're the person who showed me I can be happy. That I can make someone else happy. And I know I fucked up—monumentally fucked up—but I'm in love with you, Lila."
The words hang between us in the rain.
In love with you.
In love with YOU.
Well, fuck.
I stand frozen in the rain, words jamming in my throat like a traffic pile-up. What the hell do you say to that? To him ? The man who watched me through hidden cameras, who killed three people to save me, who just said he's in love with me while rain drips off his stupid perfect jawline.
Something shifts in Dane's expression. The intensity in his steel-gray eyes flickers and dims, like someone turning down a dimmer switch. I didn't notice it before, but now that it's gone, I realize what I was seeing. Hope. It was hope, and I've just watched it die.
"Right." He backs up a step, then another. His shoes splash in a small puddle. "I understand."
He fishes his keys from his pocket, his movements stiff from his injuries. Probably hurts to stand here, the idiot.
"I just wanted you to know," he continues, voice rough. "I'll leave you alone now. For good."
The promise hangs between us—not just about tonight, but about everything. No more stalking. No more neat whiskies to pour. No more saving my life from serial killers. No more earth-shattering sex dangling from a door frame.
Just... nothing.
"Wait," I finally manage, the word escaping before I can overthink it.
He freezes, key halfway to the car door.
"I didn't say anything yet." My voice sounds strange, hollow in the rain-soaked quiet.
"You didn't have to." His smile is so sad it makes my chest ache. "Your face said enough."
"My face is a lying bitch," I blurt out. "Don't listen to her."
He almost laughs, confusion replacing the defeat in his eyes.
I take a deep breath. "I don't know what to do with you, Dane Wolfe. You're a goddamn tornado in my life."
"I'm sorry?—"
"No, shut up. It's my turn." I step closer, rain pelting my shoulders. "You bulldozed your way into the bar, my life, my... everything. And I'm still processing the whole creepy surveillance shit. It's fucked up."