I FLICKED THROUGH the newspaper while I sat behind the counter at work, trying to stay awake. I’d endured an almost sleepless night, lost in the memory of Clay.

The bell over the door trilled, indicating the arrival of a customer. I stood to greet the shopper, but the words froze in my throat as I took in the sight of the person before me.

My first thoughts were of escape. With him right in front of me, a rush of heat ran over my skin. It was foolish to ignore my instincts when I’d spotted the flowers on my doorstep. Flames prickled just beneath my skin as I prepared to fight my way past him to safety.

How could I have been so stupid?

Resisting the urge to cry out or take my chances and run, I stared at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. What was he doing there? Had he come to finish the job he failed to do back in high school?

The thought of that Clay—the innocent one who’d worked so hard to steal my heart—flooded into me and, despite the danger, I couldn’t help but assess the differences between the boy and the man who now stood in front of me.

He’d grown another inch or two, his arms and chest were slightly fuller, and a dusting of stubble darkened his jaw, but it was unmistakably him. It was almost as if the Clay I’d met on my first day at Grandview Heights High School in Ohio had manifested in front of me. His hair and eyes were as dark as ever, both so brown that they almost appeared to be black, lending him a mysterious, almost dangerous, air. The only thing missing between the man in front of me and the boy he’d been was the mischief in his eyes and the smile that broke the pout of his lips that had made him approachable back then.

For his part, no surprise registered on his features when his gaze fell on me. In fact, his face revealed very little in the way of emotion at all.

He raised an arm, and I took an instinctive step away from him. Instead of lifting a weapon, his empty hand continued upward until his palm was against the back of his neck. My mouth dried out, and I had to remind myself to breathe as I watched the familiar gesture—all through high school he’d made that same move. Even over the short time we’d spent together, I’d learned it was a move he made when he was nervous. Why would he be nervous?

As I blinked, my eyelids brushed across the contacts I wore, and I was reminded that I had my costume firmly in place and his impassive expression might simply be evidence of his failure to recognize me. Although I could have sworn hours had passed since I’d seen Clay, less than a minute has passed. I planted what I hoped came across as a look of casual disinterest on my face and smiled at him like he was just any other customer. There was no reason to let him know he was responsible for my shaking hands and ragged breath.

“How can I help you today?” I asked when my voice was steady enough.

He stepped closer to me and splayed his hands on the counter. “Did you get the flowers I left for you?”

I tried to take another step away from him, but l was stopped by the wall behind me. It doesn’t mean he recognizes you. It’s been two years since high school, and right now you don’t look like you. Maybe he just likes the new look.

If my hair were out, I would have had no doubts over whether he recognized me. I could still remember his words to me on my first day, “I like what you’ve done with your hair, by the way. Not many girls have the courage to dye it so many colors at once.” At the time, it had unnerved me that Clay had paid close enough attention to me to notice that my hair wasn’t strawberry blonde like most people had assumed when I was younger. It made me wonder how long it would be before he noticed my eyes were actually purple and not the blue they could pass for with a casual glance.

“Will you please answer me?” he asked in a graveled whisper.

I raised my gaze from the long fingers of his hands pressed against the counter in front of me and met his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I said, still clinging to the vestiges of hope that he didn’t really know who I was.

“Sir?” he sneered. “Evie, please?” The way his lips wrapped around my name and the quiet, pleading tone of his voice made me take a step closer to him as if he’d used an invisible cord to draw me toward him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder at the security camera trained onto the register. “Not here. Can you meet me later?”

I shook my head, I couldn’t risk it. I needed to get home, and then Dad and I needed to leave. Home isn’t safe—he knows where you live.

And yet, you’re still here. I frowned at the thought. Not that I was going to ask him to explain his reasons for not attacking sooner, but I couldn’t help wonder why was I still alive.

“Please?” One of his hands shot forward and grabbed my wrist. He didn’t even flinch at the warmth of my skin, but then he had to have expected it. After all, for whatever reason, he was the catalyst for it. “I just want to talk to you.”

“No.”

“Please?” he pleaded. His tone was desperate and it disarmed me.

“I—I can’t.”

Using his hold on my wrist, he pulled me closer to the counter until I was leaning forward and we were almost cheek-to-cheek. “I understand why,” he murmured against the shell of my ear. His warm breath washed over my skin, making my body quake. It was almost as strong as the tremors I experienced over thoughts of what he might do now that he’d found me again. “But I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

A cold shiver raced along my spine at his meaning, and I nodded robotically. The meeting was confirmation of what I’d dreaded ever since I’d seen the flowers on my stoop.

He’d found me.

Is that camera the only reason I’m still alive?

“You will have to listen to me eventually,” he murmured, and then, almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, he was at the door. He cast one last furtive look over his shoulder before sweeping out of the store. I leaned heavily against the counter, finally breathing freely again. At least until his final words settled over me. He’d said something similar once before, and, with the dreams I’d had of him still fresh in my memory, I could easily recall it.

 

 

CLAY HAD always been able to make my heart stop for tiny moments of time; only now it was for completely different reasons. For the rest of my shift, every noise caused my heart to leap and stutter in staccato bursts. Whenever the door opened, I had to double-check that it wasn’t him coming back to finish the task that he’d failed to do twice already.

One thing was clear to me. If Clay didn’t kill me before I reached home, there was no valid excuse to stay in Charlotte for a moment longer. I would have closed the shop to leave earlier, but I wasn’t ready for a confrontation with Clay. It was an unrealistic thought, but part of me hoped he would disappear if he had to wait long enough.

I scoffed at my own naivety. He’s waited two years, what’s another couple of hours?

At least four times over the course of the afternoon, I’d gone to door to survey the area in front of the shop. Even though I couldn’t see him, his gaze burned into me. Every minute that passed in that tortured state deepened my resolve to leave the instant I arrived home.