Chapter 7 #2
Brock's arm tightens around me. "I know. But you handled it perfectly. And he knows now that you're not alone."
Three days after the downtown confrontation, my phone starts buzzing constantly. I’m at the shop, arranging a display of throw pillows, when the first text comes through.
Ryan: I miss you. I’ve been thinking about what I did wrong. I’ve changed, Sadie. Please just give me five minutes to explain. I love you.
My stomach twists. I delete it without responding and try to focus on work, but the phone buzzes again within minutes.
Ryan: You’re not answering. That’s okay. I know you’re scared. But you know me. You know I’d never hurt you. Come back and we can start over. I promise.
Then another.
Ryan: I saw you in town today. You looked beautiful. That dress is my favorite on you. Remember when I bought it for you?
My skin crawls. He was watching me. I was at the hardware store with Jackie for less than twenty minutes, and he saw me. He was there. Somewhere close enough to notice what I was wearing. Close enough to follow me without me realizing.
I don’t respond to any of them. I silence my phone and try to breathe through the anxiety creeping up my spine.
But they keep coming, every few hours, a new message.
Some are pleading. Some are angry. Some are just...
off. Like he’s trying on different versions of himself to see which one will work.
Ryan: He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t know what you need. I know exactly what you need.
Ryan: You belong with me. Not with some old man playing hero.
Ryan: I’m not going anywhere, Sadie. Neither are you.
By evening, I’m a wreck. I haven’t told Brock yet, I don’t want to worry him more than he already is. But when he comes home from his shift, he takes one look at my face and knows something’s wrong.
“What happened?” He drops his bag and crosses the room in three strides, already reaching for me.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired.” The lie tastes bitter.
He doesn’t believe me. He never does. His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Sadie.”
I cave. I pull out my phone and hand it to him without a word. I watch his face as he scrolls through the messages. His jaw clenches tighter with each one. His eyes go dark. Dangerous.
“How long?” His voice is low and controlled, which somehow makes it worse than if he’d yelled.
“Since this morning. I didn’t want to?—”
“Show me all of them.” He’s already scrolling back to the beginning, reading every single word. His hand trembles slightly as he holds the phone. “Jesus Christ, Sadie. He’s been watching you.”
“I know.”
“He knows what you were wearing today. He knows where you go.” Brock’s voice grows harder, sharper. “This isn’t just anger. It’s obsession.”
I nod, unable to speak. Seeing the messages through Brock’s eyes makes them so much more real. What felt like annoying persistence this morning now feels like a predator circling closer.
Brock sets the phone down carefully on the counter, like it might explode. He runs both hands through his hair and takes a deep breath. When he looks at me again, something fierce and protective burns in his eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere alone. Not to the shop, not to town, nowhere. I don’t care if it’s just down the street, you call me or you wait for me. Understood?”
“Brock—”
“Understood, Sadie?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Understood.”
He pulls me against his chest and holds me tight. I can feel his heart racing, feel the tension coiled through his entire body. “I’m going to keep you safe. I promise you that. He’s not going to touch you again.”
I wake up before Brock the next morning. He's still sleeping, his arm draped across my waist, his breathing deep and even. I slip out of bed carefully and pad downstairs in his t-shirt, craving coffee and a few minutes of quiet before the day starts.
The kitchen is still dark, the sun just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. I start the coffee maker and move toward the front door to grab the newspaper, but something makes me pause.
There's something on the porch.
At first I think it's the flowers from before, the beautiful red roses that arrived days ago. But as I step outside, my breath catches.
These aren't beautiful. They're rotting.
The roses are dead. Completely, utterly dead. Their petals are brown and brittle, crumbling from the stems at the slightest breeze. The leaves are blackened and curled inward like claws. The whole arrangement is wilting, decaying, a grotesque mockery of whatever romantic gesture this once was.
There's a card attached. My hands shake as I reach for it.
You were mine first. You'll always be mine. No matter what he does to you, no matter where you hide, you belong to me.
The card slips from my fingers. I can't breathe. The dead flowers feel like a threat written in nature, like Ryan is telling me that everything beautiful between me and Brock will wither and die just like this. That he'll make sure of it.
"Sadie?"
I jump at the sound of Brock's voice. He's standing in the doorway, still half-asleep, but the moment he sees the flowers, his entire body goes rigid.
"Don't touch them," he says quietly. He moves past me and picks up the card, reading it once before his hands curl into fists. "Go inside. Now."
"Brock—"
"Now, Sadie."
I've never heard him use that tone with me. I go inside without arguing, but I watch through the window as he carefully gathers the dead flowers into a bag, his movements sharp and controlled. His jaw is clenched so tight I'm afraid he might crack a tooth.
When he comes back inside, he immediately pulls out his phone and calls the sheriff.
He reports everything, the flowers, the messages, all of it.
His voice is steady, but there's a razor-sharp edge to it that makes my skin prickle.
This isn't just protective Brock anymore. This is Brock in full crisis mode.
After he hangs up, he finds me in the kitchen and pulls me into his arms. "I'm calling the station. Taking the next few days off. I'm not leaving you alone."
"You can't just take time off?—"
"Watch me." He kisses the top of my head. "He's escalating, Sadie. The flowers, the messages, the fact that he's watching you... this isn't going to stop on its own. We need to be ready."
I bury my face in his chest, trying to ignore the cold dread pooling in my stomach. Ready for what? What is Ryan planning to do next?
brock
I'm at the fire station when my phone buzzes with a text from Sadie. She's at the café downtown with Jackie, grabbing lunch. She promised to text me when she got there and when she left. I told her not to go, but she insisted she couldn't hide forever. She was right, doesn't mean I have to like it.
I'm reviewing equipment logs when Ramirez walks past my office. "Chief, you good? You look like you're about to punch something."
"I'm fine," I say, but I'm not. I'm wound tight as a spring, waiting for something bad to happen. The dead flowers this morning, the messages, the way Ryan's been escalating, it all points to something bigger coming. I just don't know what yet.