Chapter Twenty Cole
I sit in my car across the street from the community center, watching people filter into the building for various meetings—AA, grief counseling, divorce support, a kid’s birthday party, and buried in the basement, group therapy for people who don’t know how to take a fucking hint.
I should be walking through those doors right now, taking my seat in that circle of metal folding chairs, listening to Tracey guide us through another hour of self-examination and accountability.
Instead, I start my engine and drive away.
Because fuck that.
The annoyance from last week still burns in my chest. Tracey’s idea that I’m incapable of interacting with people in normal ways—that every thought I have about Hailey is suspicious and should be analyzed under a fucking microscope—pisses me off.
I don’t deserve that shit. And then there’s Tyler, who’s been blowing up my phone all week and won’t accept the hint that I don’t want to talk to him.
He’s digging for information that isn’t his.
I drive through downtown Fort Collins, past the coffee shop where Hailey and I crossed paths, past the hospital where she’s just starting her shift.
My phone sits on the passenger seat, two different applications running simultaneously.
One tracks Lars Winters’s location via his cell phone—a little digital penetration that took me exactly four minutes to execute.
Another monitors police scanner activity for any calls related to Hailey’s address or the hospital.
I know it’s wrong. I know it violates unspoken boundaries, goes against every principle IBSG tried to shove down my throat.
But I also know about Lars Winters and the patterns he followed with previous victims. I know the hospital administration is more concerned about profiting off the sick fuck than prioritizing staff safety.
Someone has to protect Hailey. And if that someone has to be me, so be it.
Lars Winters’s location shows him at home, eight blocks from her building.
He’s too close.
I pull into the parking lot of the twenty-four-hour diner where Hailey and I met and open my laptop, connecting to the secure network I’ve established.
The dashboard I’ve created looks like something from a spy thriller—multiple data streams, location overlays, alert systems that will notify me if certain parameters are triggered.
It’s been three days since I started full surveillance on Lars Winters, and I’m more concerned than before.
He’s methodical. Every morning at nine a.m., he drives past Hailey’s apartment building, slowly, like he’s checking for her car.
He’s mapped what I assume to be her jogging route, which means he already knows where and when she’s most vulnerable.
Yesterday afternoon, he spent two hours sitting in the hospital parking garage, positioned to watch the private employee exit.
He’s full-on stalking her.
And Hailey has no idea how far he’s actually gone.
The hospital security footage I’ve accessed shows Shitbag Lars hanging around the emergency department entrance during shift changes, watching staff come and go. Learning faces and schedules. He’s gathering intelligence on her just like I taught military analysts to do before raids.
My phone vibrates with an alert indicating the scumbag’s location has changed.
He’s moving.
I track him on the map, my pulse quickening as I realize where he’s headed. Not toward the hospital, but toward Hailey’s neighborhood. At eleven thirty p.m., while she’s working and her apartment sits empty.
I’m driving before I fully process the decision, but I have to make sure he doesn’t go inside.
Hailey’s street is quiet when I arrive, the kind of eerie silence that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Most of the windows are dark. I park down the road and approach on foot, sticking to the shadows.
His shitty little Toyota is parked across from Hailey’s building.
And he’s not in it.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I scan the area, looking for movement, for any sign of where he might have gone. The fire escape outside Hailey’s building draws my attention—the same fire escape I was fucking worried about.
There. A shadow moving on the second floor, a man crouched outside Hailey’s bedroom window.
The rage that floods through me is unimaginable. This piece of shit is trying to break into her apartment. He’s testing the window locks, probably planning to wait inside for her to come home from work.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
I pull out my phone to call 911, then hesitate. How do I explain this? I can’t really say how I knew he was here or even why I’m here. My surveillance techniques aren’t exactly legal, and revealing them would expose everything I’ve been doing.
But I can’t let him get inside her apartment.
I move closer, staying hidden behind parked cars, getting within thirty feet of the fire escape. Close enough to see that he’s managed to pop the lock on her bedroom window.
I step into the open, phone in hand, letting my voice carry clearly in the quiet night air. “Police are on their way. I’d suggest you leave now unless you want to explain to officers what you’re doing outside that window.”
Shitbag Lars freezes, then turns toward my voice. Even in the dim streetlight, I can see his face clearly—thin, predatory features contorted with surprise and anger.
“Who the fuck are you?” he calls down, though he’s already moving away from the window.
“Someone who doesn’t appreciate people being where they don’t belong,” I reply, keeping my voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “This is the only warning I’ll give you. Stay the fuck away from her.”
He climbs down the fire escape with surprising agility for someone who supposedly lives in chronic pain, but instead of retreating to his car, he starts walking toward me.
Aggressive posture, hands clenched, confrontational body language that implies he’s not used to being challenged.
But I already know he’s all bark and no bite. With me, at least.
“You think you’re protecting her?” he sneers, stopping about ten feet away. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know you’ve been stalking her and she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
“She’ll come around when she learns what’s good for her,” he says, the cold certainty in his voice escalating my rage to murderous new heights. It takes every ounce of discipline I possess not to put him on the ground right here and now.
“Last warning,” I say instead, my voice dropping to a sterner tone. “Stay away from her apartment, stay away from her workplace, stay the fuck away from her entirely. This is not a negotiation. If I catch you anywhere near her again, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Something in my demeanor must penetrate his bravado because he takes a step back, reassessing the situation. After a moment that feels like hours, he turns and walks back to his car.
“This isn’t over,” he dares to call out as he drives away.
Yes, it is. Because I’m going to make sure it is.
I wait until his taillights disappear before approaching Hailey’s building. The window he was working on is still slightly open, the lock clearly broken.
I can fix this. But fixing it will require going inside—crossing a literal boundary on top of a figurative one.
Hesitation stills my hand over the window sash.
I could call the police—tell them I was in the neighborhood and saw a suspicious figure, ask them to investigate.
But surely they’ll have questions about what I’m doing this close to midnight.
Even if I told the truth, that my girlfriend is being stalked and I was walking the neighborhood while she’s at work, their involvement would still trigger more anxiety for Hailey herself.
Really, the easiest, fastest way to deal with this is by going inside, securing the window, and leaving. The police don’t need to know, and neither does Hailey. I can fix the problem without creating new issues—a win all around, though I doubt Tyler or Tracey would agree.
I slip through the window and into her dark apartment.
I do what I can to repair the broken lock, but it’s going to need a more permanent fix. The front window is still shattered, but it’s taped over to keep some of the chill out. It’s too high up to reach without a ladder, and I don’t think Winters is bold enough to show up here with one.
Only when I’m certain every other window is locked do I return to my car, leaving through the front door and securing it with the smart-lock app I’ve downloaded to my phone.
My phone buzzes with an email notification as I’m driving away.
FROM: traceydoyle@
TO: cmatthews@
SUBJECT: Missed Group Session
Cole,
I noticed you weren’t at tonight’s meeting. While I understand that recovery can be challenging and setbacks are normal, regular attendance is crucial for your work-mandated program compliance.
I’ll allow this absence as a one-time exception, but you’ll need to make up for the missed session by extending your program participation by one week. Please confirm you’ll be at next Tuesday’s meeting.
Remember, recovery requires consistency and accountability. The group is here to support you, but we can only help if you show up.
Best regards,
Tracey Doyle, LCSW
I delete the email without responding.
Fuck her and fuck IBSG.
Tonight I prevented an actual break-in. While Tracey and the group sat in a circle talking about feelings and triggers, I did something meaningful. The real predators are out here, prowling the fucking streets.
I go back to my car, then drive closer to the hospital, where I can observe who goes in and out of the parking garage.
I’ve been parked there every night she’s worked since I started protecting her from the monster known as Lars Winters.
The sleep deprivation is catching up with me—three hours a night for the past few days, the rest of my waking hours spent obsessing over where Hailey and Lars are at all times, all while maintaining a totally normal facade at work. If Jack knew what I’ve been up to…
But I can’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see what could happen if I stop watching. I see Emma, broken and bruised in a hospital bed.
At 3:50 a.m., exhaustion finally forces me to drive home. I fall into a restless sleep that’s interrupted every few hours by the need to check the monitoring application.
I’m protecting her.
I drift in and out of light sleep, the laptop open beside me, alerts configured to wake me if Winters moves.
I’m protecting her.
Even if she never knows it and might hate me for it if she did. It may destroy whatever chance we might have at something real and healthy, but it’s a risk I have to take to keep her safe.
As dawn breaks through my bedroom window, I wake from a restless doze to the sound of my phone buzzing. It’s not an alert, but a text message.
Hailey: Good morning! Just got off work. Thank you for letting me crash at your place last night. I appreciate it more than you know.
I stare at the message for a long time before responding. She has no idea how much of the night I’ve spent thinking about her. Obsessing over preserving her happiness. Losing sleep to keep her safe.
Cole: Good morning, beautiful. I’d love to see that gorgeous smile later today if you’ll let me.
I’ll make sure she never stops smiling. No matter what it costs me.