Callie is beyond nervous as she gathers her stuff to leave and go meet her new boss. It’s ridiculously amusing watching her shuffle around our apartment, flustered, and nervous. I’m sure she’ll probably act this way until she gets used to the job, which is fine. While I’m happy for her, I can’t help but be a bit unsettled by the way that Easton secretary dude was openly flirting with her in front of me. Sure, Callie was completely clueless, and even if she wasn’t, I know she’d never cheat on me. But the guy flirted with her right in front of me, even when he knew I was her fiancé and that doesn’t sit well with me.

I’m not about to bring this up, though. Tonight is about her, and all I need to do right now is be excited.

“How do I look?” she asks for the tenth time in the last five minutes.

She’s wearing a pair of black jeans and a red top that matches her clunky velvet boots. Her hair is braided to the side and she’s put on some black liner around her eyes and I think a bit of lipstick.

“You look…” I tilt my head to the side and let my gaze scroll over her body. “Hot, actually.”

Her cheeks flush. “I do not.”

“Actually, you kind of do.” I tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Relax. You look perfect. You always do.”

“You say that too much to me.” She leans into my touch, staring up at me with those big, beautiful eyes of hers. “But thank you for saying it.”

It’s moments like these, when she’s looking at me like I’m her entire world, that make me feel so whole inside. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be and I’m so fucking grateful she continues to want to be with me.

“I say it because I mean it.” I lightly graze my lips across hers, and she sighs contently against my mouth.

“I should probably get going,” she murmurs. “The note said not to be late.”

“Okay.” I lean back, sweeping my knuckles across her cheek. “Do you want me to drive you?”

Shaking her head, she collects her car keys and the notebook and pen Evie gave her. “I don’t want to make you wait around. I’m not even sure how long I’m going to be.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Plus, I don’t like the idea of her driving around this late by herself.

While Callie takes kickboxing classes and carries a can of pepper spray in her purse, I’m always nervous whenever she’s out late by herself. Both of us know too well about the evils hidden in the world. Plus, that whole guy following me around has me on edge.

“It’s okay. You have a game tomorrow anyway. You need your rest.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss me goodbye, pulling away too soon.

I press my hand to the small of her back and guide her back to my lips. “Promise me you’ll message me when you get there and when you leave, okay?” I seal my lips to hers, parting her lips with my tongue and kissing us both breathless. “And let me walk you to your car.”

She nods easily. Walking her to the car is something I do every time she goes out late.

Threading my fingers through her’s, we head outside into the cold night. My gaze instinctively scans the parking lot that’s lit up by a few lampposts. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for. Maybe nothing. And that’s pretty much what I see—nothing except a few other people wandering out to their cars. Still, my nerves are all over the place tonight, as if I can sense something unsettling heading my way. The last time I felt like this my dad died.

“Be safe,” I tell Callie as she unlocks the car door.

“I will. And I love you.” She climbs into the car, nervousness written all over her face

“I love you too.” I grab the door as she starts to shut it. “Hey, you’re going to do great. They wouldn’t have gone through all of this trouble to tell you that you got the job if they weren’t impressed by you.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I just hope I do well with… Well, whatever this thing is tonight.”

“You will. You’re an amazing writer and person.” Then, just because I can, I steal another kiss from her.

“You’re amazing too.” She smiles at me then closes the door.

She says that to me all the time, but my mind is still blown that she sees me as amazing.

I stand in the parking lot and watch her drive away, only heading back inside when her taillights disappear down the road. I’m halfway to the stairs, my thoughts stuck in Callie Land, when I hear someone call out my name.

“Kayden Owens?”

I glance around then promptly tense as I spot the guy who was following me earlier slowly walking across the grass. He’s wearing the same outfit as he had on before only he’s ditched the hat and has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

“Can I help you?” I cross my arms and stare him down, trying to be as intimidating as I can.

“I’m hoping so.” He comes to a stop in front of me. “You are Kayden Owens, right?”

“That all depends on who wants to know.”

“I…” He glances at a couple exiting their apartment. “Can we go somewhere and talk privately?”

“No,” I say flatly. “Whatever you have to say, you can do it right here, man.”

He’s really starting to creep me out. While I can hold my own in a fight, he’s not a small guy, at least as tall as me with the same type of build, so there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll be able to kick his ass if I need to. I hate fighting, though. It reminds me too much of my psychopath of a father.

He surrenders his hands in front of him. “I swear I’m not trying to come off weird. I just really want to talk to you. Need to actually.”

“Well, your efforts at trying not to be creepy are failing because you’re acting fucking weird as hell.”

He chuckles, his hands falling to his sides. “I guess I probably am, huh?”

“And speaking of creepy. Did you follow me earlier today?” The fact that he knows where I live has to mean he did. Realizing that, I turn to leave. “You know what. You need to leave before I call the police.”

“Kayden wait.” He rushes after me, but I only quicken my pace. “Please just listen to me. I promise what I have to say is important.” He jogs to my side. “It’s about your father… He wants to talk to you.”

I slam to a stop so swiftly he nearly trips over his feet. “Nice try but my father is dead,” I bite out, more than pissed off.

“Not the father who raised you,” he says with pity in his eyes. “Your real father.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out then I rush up the stairwell and lock myself in my apartment.

The guy knocks on the door several times, yammering about how my real father wants to meet me. Eventually he gives up and leaves, but not before slipping a card underneath the door.

I don’t pick it up as I pace the living room, my thoughts racing a million miles a minute. What if what he said is true? What if my father wasn’t my birth father? What if all those years of abuse were never supposed to be my real life?

I want to tear the card to pieces. I want to scream. What I really want to do is cut the pain right out of me.