Chapter 10
Maybe we'll run into each other again
Maliyah
As Reed disappeared into the crowd, I found my eyes drawn to his retreating back.
There was a definite feeling of warmth in my chest as I considered how well the last few hours had gone—much better than I'd dared to even hope. Reed had done so well with the kids—he hadn’t tried too hard and didn’t talk down to them.
At some point, Lucas had actually smiled at him, which was saying something.
We wandered around for a bit, but honestly my heart wasn’t in it anymore.
"Is Detective Reed back yet?" Zoe asked, looking around like he might be hiding behind one of the market tents.
"No baby, he had to go to work, remember?"
"Yeah, but I kinda hoped he’d be back soon."
"Oh, sweetheart. He won’t be back today, but he said he’d come over this weekend, right?"
“Yeah, okay!” And just like that, her mind was off to the races on a completely different topic—the difference in all the apples she saw and how we were planning to go apple picking this Fall.
And pumpkin picking. And berry picking this summer.
And don’t forget Christmas trees. Oh, and baby animal week.
I swear my kid has an unnatural fascination with farms and the outdoors.
This is not me. I was happy to be indoors where there was an extreme lack of bugs and creatures.
But I promised to do these things since the kids love them.
"Come on," I said, steering them toward the far end of the market. "Let's go grab the catnip you wanted and then head home."
We were walking past a booth selling handmade pottery when I heard someone call my name. Not Maliyah—the full version, the way my mother used to say it when I was in trouble.
"Maliyah?"
I turned around slowly, as my blood went cold.
Bryce Callahan. There he was. Fear gripped me as I saw the man ten feet away.
He looked almost exactly the same as he had more than a decade ago—salt and pepper at the temples now, more evil in his eyes.
Same dark hair, same sharp cheekbones, same smile that once quickened my pulse with anticipation before it learned to race with dread.
Next to him stood a petite blonde woman with kind eyes and a careful, guarded smile.
"I thought that was you," Bryce said, taking a step closer. "You look good. Maybe a little filled out, but still good."
I instinctively moved so that I was between him and the kids, my hand finding Zoe's shoulder.
The casual cruelty in that comment—the way he could make an insult sound like a compliment—hadn't changed.
My body had changed, yes. Two pregnancies, a decade of living.
But standing here now, I was grateful for every pound, every stretch mark, every sign that I'd survived him and built a life anyway.
I said his name aloud. "Bryce." A technique I'd learned—identify the threat, make it real.
"Are these your kids?" His eyes flicked to Lucas and Zoe, and I felt something protective and violent rise up in my chest. "They're beautiful."
"Thank you." My voice sounded steady, which was a miracle considering my heart was pounding so hard I was sure even he could hear it.
The blonde woman stayed by his side, quiet, with a small smile on her face. Of course, he hadn’t introduced her. So, when I looked to her she finally spoke. "I'm Diane, Bryce's wife."
I looked her over. No visible bruises or injuries, but I knew better than most that the damage wasn’t always visible. "It’s nice to meet you, Diane."
There was an awkward pause where nobody seemed to know what to say.
My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped bands around my ribs and was slowly tightening them. The familiar metallic taste of fear coated my tongue, and I had to consciously control my breathing—in through my nose, out through my mouth.
I studied Diane more carefully while Bryce just stared at me.
Her posture was slightly turned toward him, deferential.
The way she kept her hands clasped in front of her, the careful smile that never quite reached her eyes—I recognized the signs.
She was performing, the way I used to perform when Bryce would introduce me to his colleagues or friends.
Pleasant, agreeable, invisible unless he needed me to speak.
For a split second, I considered pulling her aside. Telling her to run. But I'd learned that lesson the hard way—women don't leave until they're ready. And warning her would only put a target on my back. Bryce would know I'd said something. He always knew.
My peripheral vision catalogued everything without making it obvious—the pottery booth to my left with several people browsing, the family examining handmade bowls twenty feet away.
Surrounded by people. Safe for now. I clocked the main exit, then the side passage between the food trucks.
When we left, I'd use that one. He wouldn't see which direction we went.
Bryce was studying me with an intensity that made my skin crawl, and I was trying trying to figure out the best way to get out of this place without him knowing which direction we went or being able to follow me.
"So you're living in Boston now?" Bryce asked. "I thought you'd moved away."
Silence. I owed him nothing.
"Did you come back for work?"
"Hmmm?" I felt a non-answer was best at this point.
Another pause. Diane was looking between us. While she looked like she wanted to say something, she clearly knew silence was better for her—at least Bryce would surely think so.
Zoe tugged on my sweater, and I looked down to see her holding up a small wooden toy from one of the nearby stalls. "Mama, can we get this for Detective Reed? It's a police car."
"Maybe later, sweetie."
When I looked back up, Bryce was watching Zoe with an expression I couldn't read. "Detective Reed?"
"Yes, Detective Reed." I said firmly, with just enough enunciation to make a point. "We should get going. The kids are getting tired."
"Of course." Bryce smiled, but there was something cold in his eyes. "It was good to see you, Maliyah. Really good. Maybe we'll run into each other again."
"Probably not."
"I have a feeling we will." His response wasn’t so much a thought, but a declaration.
I ignored it. Ignored him. Instead, I took Zoe's hand and put my other hand on Lucas's back, steering them away from Bryce and Diane as quickly as I could without running. My hands were shaking as I patted my purse and felt the comfort of my Sig P365 that I kept with me at all times for safety.
After I broke free of Bryce, the first thing I did was get licensed and trained.
After my kids came, I couldn’t take the chance of ever being caught unarmed again—not with my history, and not with this job.
So I made sure both my kids went through age-appropriate gun-safety instruction the moment each of them turned four.
Not because I wanted them anywhere near guns—God knows I didn’t—but because ignorance was more dangerous than knowledge.
I’m not a huge gun fan, but I’ll be damned if I ever walk through the world unprotected from the devil again.
As I walked, I kept glancing to the side so I could catch them in my periphery—making sure I wasn’t too obvious that I could see him. I refused to let him think he scared me. Fuck him and the hellhound he rode in on. He kept an eye on me until we disappeared into the crowd.
"Mama, who was that man?" Lucas asked as we walked toward the car.
"Someone I knew a long time ago."
"He seemed weird."
I buckled them into their car seats before responding carefully. "You know how sometimes you meet people who just don't feel right? Like when something in your belly tells you to stay away from someone?"
Both kids nodded.
"Well, that man is someone I'd rather you didn't talk to if you see him again. If he ever approaches you, you walk the other way. You come find me right away, okay?"
"Okay," Lucas said. "Is he a stranger-danger person?"
"Something like that. You don't need to be scared, just be smart. Always trust your feelings about people. And remember our password."
Both responded in unison, "Supercalafragilisticexpialadocious!"
"Good. And if someone says they don’t know that word, or give you a different word, what do you do?"
"Run away and find you or go find the police," Lucas said immediately.
Zoe nodded seriously. "Because it’s our secret word and you’ll tell them the password if they are supposed to know."
"That’s right."
For the drive home, I tried to remind myself that Boston was a big city, but even I knew that it wasn’t that big. It made sense that I might run into people from my past, but I’d definitely gotten too lax, and I should have known better.
Walking through our apartment front door, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. The way Bryce had looked at me, the way he'd asked about where I was living now, the way his eyes had lingered on the kids...
I'd spent ten years building a life where I felt safe. And in the space of a five-minute conversation, that safety felt like it was starting to crack. I thought about calling Reed, but he was dealing with work and had enough on his hands. I thought about calling Felicity, but she would just freak out—I didn’t really need to feel her anxiety right now. I had enough of my own.
That night, I went through routines I hadn't used in years.
After the kids were asleep, I moved through the apartment methodically.
Double-checked the deadbolt, tested the chain lock, made sure the sliding door to our tiny balcony was locked and the security bar was in place.
I pulled the curtains tight across every window, not just drawn but overlapping, eliminating any gaps.
I dragged a dining room chair to the front door and wedged it under the door handle as an added precaution.
On the TV, I pulled up the feed from the cameras I’d installed all around the apartment facing the windows and doors.
Even the ones in the kids’ rooms which faced outward toward the street.
Every camera I’d installed connected to my screen.
I would sleep with my phone attached to my hand and all the cameras on my TV.
My jerk of a landlord wouldn’t allow a permanent alarm system to be installed, so, I’d had battery operated cameras placed strategically throughout the apartment—I’ve learned difficult lessons from my past and from the women I’ve supported over the years.
Even all these measures somehow felt inadequate now.
I sat with all the lights off, the glow from the TV screen the only thing lighting the room.
Hearing each creak of the floorboards above made my pulse spike.
Every car door slam outside sent adrenaline shooting through my veins.
I kept my pepper spray within reach and my gun stowed safely in its case nearby.
The encounter played on repeat in my mind. How long had he been watching us before he approached? Had he followed us to the market, or was it really just a coincidence?
My phone remained silent in my hand. Again, I thought about calling Reed, but what would I say? That I ran into my abusive ex-boyfriend who had said hello and scared me? Reed was dealing with real shit. My paranoia could wait.
But deep down, I knew this wasn't paranoia. Bryce didn't do coincidences. And if a coincidence did happen, he didn’t let them slide without taking advantage. My phone buzzed. Reed's name lit up the screen.
Reed: Case wrapped up. I know we planned on tomorrow, but I miss you. Can I come by tonight? After the kids are asleep? I want to talk to you about something important.
I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I should tell him. I should tell him about Bryce, about the cameras, about the chair wedged under my door. But what would I say? That I ran into my ex and he said hello? That he scared me just by existing?
Reed was finally ready to open up, to be vulnerable. I could hear it in the way he'd texted. And I was sitting here in the dark with pepper spray in my lap.
I typed back: I miss you too. Come over. I'll put the coffee on.
I hit send before I could change my mind.