7. Sadie
SADIE
Something hit my window.
I sat upright in bed.
Heart pounding.
The room was dark.
Silent.
Another tap.
My hand immediately reached for the handgun on my nightstand.
Three years ago, that would've terrified me.
Now it was instinct.
Training.
Preparedness.
I slipped out of bed.
Moved quietly to the window.
Peeked through the curtain.
Then immediately regretted it.
Because there was a man standing outside my house.
A very large man.
A very familiar man.
A very annoying man, lately.
Beast.
I yanked open the window.
"What are you doing?"
He looked up.
Completely unconcerned.
"Morning."
"It is four-thirty in the morning."
He checked his watch.
"Four twenty-seven."
I stared.
He stared back.
The giant lunatic actually corrected me.
"What are you doing?"
He pointed upward.
I looked up.
My roof.
Then back at him.
Then back at the roof.
"No."
"Your shingles are loose."
"No."
"They are."
"How do you know that?"
"I checked."
Of course he did.
Of course.
Because apparently the man had lost his mind.
"You checked my roof?"
"Yep."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
I closed my eyes.
Counted to ten.
Opened them again.
Unfortunately, he was still there.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
Like this was a completely normal conversation.
"Needed checking."
"It absolutely did not."
"It did."
"It didn't."
He pointed toward the roof.
"Loose shingles."
I hated him.
I really did.
Unfortunately, part of me was trying not to smile.
The traitor.
"Go home."
"No."
"Beast."
"No."
I groaned.
Loudly.
The porch light clicked on next door.
Mrs. Jenkins appeared.
Wearing a pink robe.
Holding a coffee mug.
I froze.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
Not her.
Anybody but her.
She looked from me.
To Beast.
To my roof.
Then smiled. She actually walked off her porch so she could get closer.
The dangerous smile.
The one that usually ended in trouble.
"Morning, kids," she hollered.
I considered moving.
Far away.
Very far away.
Beast nodded.
"Morning."
Mrs. Jenkins sipped her coffee.
"Interesting place for a date," she hollered again.
I nearly fell through the window.
"It isn't a date."
"Of course not."
The woman didn't believe me for a second.
Neither did Beast.
Though he'd never admit it.
Mrs. Jenkins leaned against her porch railing.
"What's he doing?"
"Apparently inspecting my roof."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"That's love."
"It is not."
Beast climbed onto the porch roof.
Like a mountain goat.
A giant military-trained mountain goat.
Mrs. Jenkins sighed happily.
"Definitely love."
I dropped my forehead against the window frame.
This was my life now.
Apparently.
A few minutes later Beast disappeared onto the roof.
I could hear movement overhead.
Tools.
Hammering.
The sound of repairs.
Because naturally he'd brought tools.
Who carried roofing supplies before sunrise?
Psychopaths.
That's who.
Twenty minutes later I gave up.
Pulled on jeans.
Boots.
A sweatshirt.
Then headed outside.
By then Beast was climbing down.
He landed lightly in the yard.
A feat that shouldn't have been possible for a man his size.
"Done."
"Wonderful."
"It was worse than I thought."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I don't."
His mouth twitched.
Victory.
Small victory.
But still.
Then I noticed something.
A dirty truck slowly rolled down the road.
The same vehicle we'd seen next to her barn.
The same dark windows.
The same feeling.
The smile vanished from my face.
Beast noticed instantly.
His entire posture changed.
Every muscle tightened.
Every instinct sharpened.
The vehicle continued past the house.
Never slowing.
Never stopping.
But I knew.
So did he.
We watched it disappear around the bend.
Neither of us spoke.
The morning suddenly felt colder.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Then Beast looked at me.
Really looked at me.
And I knew exactly what he was about to say.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You don't have to."
His jaw tightened.
"I want you carrying that gun."
"I already do."
"Good."
"I know how to use it."
"I know."
"I can take care of myself."
His expression softened.
Just a little.
"I know that too."
The answer caught me off guard.
Because there was no argument.
No lecture.
No dismissal.
Just certainty.
Like he truly believed it.
The silence stretched.
Then he stepped closer.
Not much.
Just enough.
"I also know you shouldn't have to."
The words hit harder than they should have.
My chest tightened.
His eyes never left mine.
And for one dangerous moment...
Neither of us looked away.
Then Mrs. Jenkins ruined everything.
Again.
From her porch she shouted:
"I've got Thanksgiving in the pool!"
A second voice yelled from somewhere behind her.
"Christmas!"
Another voice shouted:
"October!"
Beast closed his eyes.
I started laughing.
And just like that...
The moment was gone.