Chapter 20
ROSALIE
He was here.
I could feel him.
Not a physical sensation but a cold dread that snaked its way up my spine and pooled in the pit of my stomach. My hand, slick with sweat, pressed against the cool, rough plaster of the apartment hallway.
When did he get out?
Was I too paranoid?
My trembling legs throbbed with the aftereffects of my frantic sprint home, threatening to give way at any moment.
I dug my heels into the plush gray carpet as I listened to the sound of my throat closing.
Every frantic inhale felt like sandpaper scraping against my raw insides.
My breath continued to hitch—a result of the ragged gasps I’d taken on the desperate run.
Placing my hand against my chest, I began to breathe in through my nose then out through my mouth.
Ever since I found out who Max really was, I’d had these panic attacks often.
Often enough to learn calming techniques from cheesy self-help blogs.
Inhale through the nose—a long, slow count of four—then exhale through the mouth.
I did that six more times, until I could finally catch my breath.
My purse rested loosely in my hand, the worn leather cool against my clammy skin.
Inside, hidden among forgotten receipts and lip-gloss containers, was the pepper spray Dad had insisted on, along with the small but sturdy knife he’d given me, and a small checkbook in his name, since there was nothing in mine.
Taking a shaky step, I tiptoed to the edge of the landing and peered down the stairwell to see if anyone had followed me.
How long had he been out? When was he released? Why hadn’t my father told me? Panic gnawed at me again. The questions hammered in my head.
My hand trembled as I dug my phone out of my pocket. This was against the rules, but I had to do it anyway. With a frantic swipe, I dialed my father’s number, willing it to connect on the first ring. The silence stretched on, each unanswered ring exacerbating the growing dread in my chest.
Then the automated chime of the answering machine pierced my ear.
“Oh gosh,” I choked out, the words catching in my dry throat. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t part of the plan. Everything I’d worked for, the foundations I’d tried to build a new life on, felt like sand slipping through my fingers.
I punched in Lucas’s number, my thumb hovering over the call button for a second too long. Taking a deep breath, I pressed it.
Lucas and I had a silent understanding. He always picked up, no matter the hour.
As the phone rang, a vision of his face flashed in my mind: a strong jawline etched with worry lines that had seemed to deepen within his year of knowing me.
The ring cut off abruptly, replaced by Lucas’s deep voice. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
I choked back a sob, the sound catching in my throat like a fist. My hand trembled as I gripped the phone tighter. I knew then that the silence was screaming, telling him everything I couldn’t voice. “I . . . I . . .” I stuttered, frustration fighting within me.
“Rose?”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was released?”
He stayed silent. “Max?” He finally spoke, his voice strained. “He still has years left. You’re safe.”
He didn’t understand. He hadn’t seen those familiar brown eyes. Or was I seeing things?
“Are you sure?”
Lucas yelled at someone in the background, his voice the complete opposite of what it was when he was talking to me. I hoped I’d never make an enemy of him. “Yeah, I’m positive. Your father wouldn’t let you walk around like this if it weren’t safe.”
There wasn’t a corner on this earth that could keep me safe from Max Romano—not if he was out of jail.
“You’re right. I’m sure it was nothing.” I took in a deep breath, hoping that would do something—anything—to calm my nerves. It didn’t. “What’s your route tonight?” I asked.
“It’s the usual. Southside. Why?”
“Do you think you could come by?” The words tumbled out. “Just for a bit.”
Silence stretched between us, then a reluctant sigh. “Yeah, I can swing by that way.”
Relief washed over me. Then, just as abruptly as it had arrived, hope died. A sharp crackle erupted from the phone, the dispatcher’s voice cutting through our conversation.
“Robbery . . . gunshots . . . two suspects . . .”
“Sorry, baby, I gotta go.” His voice was strained with urgency. “There’s no telling how long this will take, but I’ll be there once I’m off-duty.”
The line clicked dead, leaving me alone with a silence that was suddenly heavier, more menacing, than before.
“Psst,” I whispered, calling attention to my dog sitting beside me. “Duke.”
He lifted his head and whined softly. His eyes held a focus that saw right through my facade. Duke was a dark, long-haired German shepherd, and he was my lifeline. He kept me safe. Alert. Calm.
Finally, I fumbled for my keys. With a deep breath, I unlocked the door to my apartment.
Once inside, I slammed the door shut. The door and the lock weren’t enough. Grabbing a chair from the kitchen table, I wedged it against the doorknob.
Suddenly, the words came back to me.
“You may think you’re safe, but the world hasn’t forgotten who your family is. There are those who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit a weakness, a careless mistake.”
He’d told me everything I needed to know, and yet I’d refused to believe it.
Hours crawled by as I sat on the couch with Duke by my side. My mind raced with memories, questions, and fears. Every creak of the building, every waterdrop from the sink, heightened my anxiety. I needed Lucas to come home.
Finally, close to midnight, I heard the faint sound of footsteps outside my door, followed by a gentle knock. Duke’s ears perked up, and he stood, his body tense but not aggressive. He recognized the familiar scent.
I stood, my legs wobbly, and made my way to the door, peering cautiously through the peephole. Relief washed over me when I saw Lucas standing on the other side.
I removed the chair and unlocked the door. Lucas stepped inside, his tall frame filling the small entryway. His eyes met mine with concern. He was still in his uniform, the navy-blue jacket making his broad shoulders seem even more imposing.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice immediately calming my nerves.
“Thanks for coming,” I replied.
He gave me a small, reassuring smile and closed the door behind him, securing the locks once more. “You sounded pretty shaken-up on the phone. What happened?”
I led him to the couch, Duke trailing behind us. As we sat down, the tension in my body began to ease just a bit. “I . . . I thought I saw Max tonight. It felt so real.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened at the mention of Max. He reached out and took my hand, his touch warm against mine. “I talked to some people after I got your call. Max is definitely still in jail, Rose. I even had them double-check the records. There is no way he could be out.”
“But what if . . .?” I began, my voice trailing off as I struggled to articulate my fear.
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, squeezing my hand. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll figure this out.”
His words were a comfort, but they also reminded me of the complicated nature of our relationship.
A part of me remained distant, unable to fully commit to the idea of a future with him.
Lucas wanted more than I could give him, and deep down, I knew that.
He’d proposed to me, offering me everything I could ever want, but I’d hesitated and asked for more time.
Time to heal. Time to understand myself.
Time to come to terms with my past. And while he’d given me that time, I could sense his growing impatience.
There were moments when his frustration would bubble to the surface, his patience wearing thin.
He’d get mad sometimes and yell at me, especially when I said no to sleeping with him.
I didn’t know what to tell him. How was I supposed to explain myself?
I didn’t have the slightest clue how to digest it.
His outbursts left me feeling trapped. Sometimes, he scared me. His words, his tone, the way he seemed to tower over me in those moments—it was all too much.
But I held onto him anyway, because he wasn’t scarier than the devil I knew.