When I’m back home alone in my apartment, I can’t help but think one thing: he’s going to leave me soon.

I know it’s irrational. That’s part of the deal. Wyatt has his own life back in the city, he couldn’t just put everything on hold and just live out of that motel. It’s costing him money, time, effort, and I can’t repay him for any of that.

Still… I had hoped he’d stay. We’re getting somewhere already, and he’s only been here a few days. I feel like we’ve done more investigating together than the whole Mason police department has since Atticus died. We’re actually making inroads, getting things done.

When he’s gone, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t keep poking around the Niners, although obviously they know what happened to Atticus. The look on Jaxson’s face when we confronted him was pure anger and hatred, and the only thing holding him back was Wyatt. If I try to keep investigating Jaxson without him, well, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up like Atticus.

I pour myself a glass of wine. I sit down cross-legged on the couch and sip it before opening my laptop. I scroll through Facebook, idly looking at profiles, not really thinking about what I’m seeing.

I find myself on Wyatt’s page, pulled like a magnet. He barely ever uses it, but there are pictures there. He has friends, family, a whole life in Chicago, and some stupid part of me thought that he might want to put all that aside and help me.

No, that’s not true. I sigh and glance at the time. It’s a little after midnight, and I know I need to get to sleep.

I want him to stay because I want him. I can barely admit that fact to myself, so I don’t know why he could possibly leave his whole life aside somehow. I can’t even tell him how I feel, that I want something with him more than just a professional relationship.

I want his hands on my body. I want his lips against my neck. I want to moan his name as he presses me up against a wall and pins me there.

I have so much guilt about this. I should be thinking more about Atticus and less about having sex with Wyatt, but I can’t help myself. Ever since I saw him back at the funeral, standing there and looking so stoic and handsome, I knew I had to talk to him again. I have so many memories with him, but they all pale in comparison to the intense desire that’s rolling around in my gut every time I see him.

I finish my glass of wine, rinse it out, and put it in the dishwasher. I stretch a little, resigning myself to sleep, when my phone starts to ring.

I give a little jump and my eyes go wide. It has to be him, calling to say he wants to see me. It’s irrational, I know, but it’s the reason I’ve been staying up so late. I keep thinking he’ll call.

I run over to my phone, grab it, and answer without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I pause, taken aback. The voice is definitely not Wyatt’s, and the tone… this person is angry.

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, you little cunt. You think you can solve your brother’s murder?”

“Who is this?” I ask, suddenly afraid.

“Stupid bitch.” The man laughs. I think it might be Jaxson, but no, the voice isn’t right. “I know where you live. I was in your trash, remember?”

A chill runs down my spine. I glance around the room and walk over to my blinds. I peer outside, but it’s quiet and empty. “What do you want?”

“I want you to back off,” he says. “Tell your little boyfriend to fuck off back to Chicago.”

“Who is this?” I ask. “Why are you so afraid?”

“Stupid fucking bitch,” he spits. “You want to die next?”

“Did you kill my brother?” I ask softly.

“No, but I know who did. And I’ll send him to fuck your ass with a gun before killing you. Back off, stupid bitch, or we’ll kill you and your whole goddamn family.”

He hangs up the phone. I stand there, staring at the screen for a second, before slowly sinking down into a nearby chair.

The guy’s words keep ringing in my ears. He knows who killed my brother, and I might be next.

Me and my whole family, which is really just my mother at this point.

All because of what I’ve done. I pushed too hard, investigated too much. Wyatt’s leaving, and once he’s gone, I’ll have nobody to watch out for me.

I’m going to get killed. The realization hits me fast and hard, makes the breath seep from my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. I realize that I’m having a panic attack, but that doesn’t matter. My heart is hammering, my ears are ringing, and I can’t breathe.

I stumble into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face before curling up on my bed in the fetal position, terror ringing through me. Slowly, my breathing becomes normal again, and I can actually think.

I need to tell Wyatt. He may not be able to protect me, but maybe he can get someone who can. Maybe he can convince the local cops to watch me and my mother.

I head back out into my living room and grab my phone again. I pull up Wyatt’s number and send him a text.

“I need to see you,” I say. “Something happened.”

He answers me just as I finish getting my clothes on. “Are you okay?”

“I’m coming to your room,” I tell him.

There’s a short gap before he sends me the room number. I slip my phone into my pocket and head downstairs, out to my car, and pull out of the driveway.

I could probably just tell him what happened over the phone, but I have the sudden and intense urge to see his face. I don’t know why, but I don’t think I can sleep tonight without talking to him in person. He can calm me down, get me to see that everything will be okay.

Maybe he’s not staying, but at least he can make me feel better. At least for tonight.