Nicole
When I headed home that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about Maxwell. With everything going on in my life, the last thing I needed was another distraction, but there he was, and I couldn’t make myself angry with the fact that he was around. Although I was furious with him saying I was his wife and the way he kissed me—and groped my ass—I had to admit, at least in part, that he saved me. I didn’t know what Ben would have done, but I knew it wouldn’t have been good.
I knew that from the time we’d spent together.
Still, it would be nice if I could focus on other important things. Like my job. I had to keep it, and, not just that, I really wanted that promotion. How was I supposed to do that with people tormenting me through angry, harassing texts and highly appealing invitations to dinner?
Sighing, I got off the bus and headed up the stairs towards my apartment. It was on the fourth floor and there was no elevator. My feet already ached, but I took the walk in stride.
When I unlocked my door, shoving it open with my shoulder—it had a tendency to stick—I sighed with relief and immediately dropped my bag. Then my coat. Then kicked off my shoes. All I wanted to do was relax.
Then my phone went off. I searched my pockets, but quickly realized it wasn’t there, so I grabbed my coat off the floor where it had slid to after I’d tried to throw it on the table. Grabbing it up, I searched the pockets to retrieve my phone—and immediately wished I hadn’t.
I froze as I stared down at three texts.
He won’t take care of you like I will.
He doesn’t know you like I do. Doesn’t know the things you like.
I fucking know, Nicole. I know and I won’t let you keep being a bitch. You’re mine; I’m getting you back.
By the time I’d read through the last text from my ex-boyfriend, I felt pale and dizzy. I had to reach out for the wall nearby to steady myself, worried I might collapse at any moment. Although he hadn’t been explicit, the threat was clear in his voice.
I slammed the phone on the table and headed into the kitchen, desperate for a drink of something, anything to take the edge from my frayed nerves. As I grabbed the emergency bottle of vodka from the freezer, I considered my options—they weren’t many.
I poured myself a glass.
I could go to the police, but there was a good chance they wouldn’t, or legally couldn’t, do anything about Ben. Although I found his texts incredibly terrifying, there was every possibility the police would tell me they weren’t technically threatening. He hadn’t said he would do bodily harm to me. He hadn’t told me he was stalking my every move, though I was increasingly beginning to suspect that was the case. He hadn’t said anything that would specifically tell me that he was going to do something terrible to me.
The implication was there, but only if you knew him.
So, police were probably out. As I took a sip of my vodka, I thought about other options. Moving. Changing my number. My name. The whole shebang. I could cut and dye my hair, get glasses or contacts or something. Change my whole look and my location.
It would probably be the most effective method, but I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to run away and I definitely didn’t want to be chased away. This was my home and now I finally had a decent job where I could move up the ranks. Was I really going to let him destroy all of that?
Thus, I came to my third option: blocking his number.
It was so simple and to the point that it almost felt like it couldn’t possibly work. I debated it for the rest of the night, trying to find where the flaw was, and when I was about to lay down, I discovered it: he’d know.
He’d figure out that I’d blocked his number and suddenly he’d be angrier than he had been before. It sounded like a dangerous proposition.
I got ready for bed, showering and changing into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Ben had bought me all these silky teddies with lace trim and matching panties, insisting I wear them whenever we went to bed together. He said it was important to be classy even when we were getting into bed. It was the reason he’d have me wash off the day’s makeup only to put on another layer to sleep in, then repeat the process in the morning. Just one of the many things that had become overbearing and controlling in my life when I was with him.
But now, I was alone and I was happy. No makeup to bed. No silk teddies. Just a ragged pair of cotton sleep clothes I could snuggle into for warmth.
As I settled beneath the oversized comforter, I finally decided I would just change my number.
I didn’t belong to anyone and I wouldn’t let him destroy my life all over again.
***
The following morning, I got ready for work, dressing in a dark charcoal pinstriped pencil skirt that stopped above the knees and a slight lavender colored button-down shirt that would contrast nicely with my dark hair.
I grabbed a light coat and walked out the door—and right into Ben’s waiting frame.
I jerked back away from him, my heart full of deep fear as it hammered wildly in my chest, but he was too quick. He’d been expecting me after all. He grabbed me by the arms before I could get away and held me tightly as we stood there in the hall.
My eyes searched, but I didn’t see anyone else. We were alone.
“So where is he, Nicole?” he demanded coolly, his eyes flashing.
I blanked for a long moment, my mind too full of fear to catch on right away. “What…what do you want?”
“I asked you a question. Where. Is. He.”
It took me a second longer before I realized what he was asking: where’s your husband? Except I didn’t have a husband and he definitely wasn’t here and I had the sinking suspicion that without my telling him, Ben already knew all of that.
I swallowed heavily, then forced myself free of his grip. I tried to appear cool and collected, haughty even, but I was sure my hands were shaking. “Maxwell is already at work. He’s gone for the day, but he’ll be back.”
Ben’s gaze darted down to my fingers—the fingers that had no rings whatsoever—and I realized my mistake. If I were married, where was my ring?
His thin lips kicked up in a knowing smirk. “Married, eh? What is he, too cheap to get a ring for you, then? Or…are you not really married at all?”
I blanched, but recovered quickly. “It’s in the damn shop, Ben. I had to get it resized. The whole event was a…spur of the moment thing,” I bluffed, hoping desperately I sounded convincing, all the while certain I didn’t. But maybe it was enough. Maybe he would take my words at face value and disappear out of my life.
“We’ll see.”
That was all he said, then he turned to go. I stood there in the hallway, my door still half open behind me, watching him go, terrified to move. When he was to the stairs, he looked over his shoulder and called, “I know you’re lying, pet. And I’m going to find out the truth.” Then he disappeared, but I didn’t feel any relief, not even when he was gone.
Instead of leaving for work, I darted back into my apartment, deadbolted the door, and slammed my back against it. I slid down to the floor, shaking.
I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I couldn’t go into work like this. Yesterday had been bad enough, but this would be worse. I pulled out my cell and instantly deleted the messages from Ben from last night. Then I went into my contacts list. I had intended to call work and let them know I was either going to just be late or not come in at all, but then I found Maxwell’s name listed. Before I even knew what I was doing, the phone was ringing.
In two rings, he had answered the phone. “Hello?” He sounded terse, maybe even angry, but I told myself I was reading too much into it. After all, he didn’t have my number so he had no idea I was the one calling.
“Maxwell?” I asked shakily. “It’s Nicole.”
His voice softened immediately, turning into warm honey that was smug even over the phone. “I knew you’d call,” he cooed.
Despite my fear, a small flutter tumbled through my body. I pushed it aside. “Ben was here…” I proceeded to recount everything. The text messages, Ben just showing up, and more. Things that had happened before. How I couldn’t go back to that, but I didn’t know how to really get away.
He was silent as I spilled everything out to him, laying it bare before his eyes. When I finally got it out of my system and fell silent, he spoke. “Skip work, babe. I’ll be there in ten.”
I risked giving him my address and I didn’t even jump on him for calling me babe. Instead, I felt a wash of relief fill me at the knowledge that I wouldn’t be alone and Ben wasn’t the one who was coming back to my door.
***
Maxwell took just shy of ten minutes to arrive at my apartment, just as promised. When he knocked firmly on the door, I jumped. I was still sitting on the floor, leaning against it, and had to scramble up quickly to check the peephole.
It was Maxwell.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open. A strangled gasp almost escaped my throat as I took him in. He was as devilishly, sinfully handsome as he had been the night we met, but now his sexy features were bruised and cut. There was a purple circle around his eye and a matching one on his chin next to his split lip.
My eyes darted down to his hands and found that they were split, too, and bruised. He had definitely been in a fight and I couldn’t say whether or not he had won.
It should have made me wary, but I couldn’t deny the rush of relief I felt at seeing him.
He stood there for a full minute, just staring at me, looking me over. I hadn’t changed out of my work clothes, not seeing the point, but it didn’t seem to matter to him. The way he looked at me suggested I could have been wearing sweats and his eyes still would have devoured me, as though they could see beneath the clothing to the rest of my body.
I shivered at the thought, but stepped aside to let him in. He did so immediately and asked me, “Where’s the asshole?”
I shook my head. “He…he left already. He’s gone.”
Maxwell frowned, looking over his broad, muscled shoulder at me. “But he’ll be back, right?”
Swallowing heavily, I nodded. “Probably.” Definitely.
“Then I’ll wait. I’m gonna beat his face in so he understands that he can’t just fuck with people’s lives like this.”
Finally, I noticed how tense he was. How on the verge of losing control he was. It was almost frightening—he was livid, his hands clenched tightly into fists—but there was also this sense of odd comfort about it. He would keep me safe from Ben. And he could, too.
Shoving the thought aside, I forced myself to shake my head. “No. Don’t. He’ll just go to the cops, tell them you’re the problem, then they’ll take one look at his face and think he’s telling the truth. Then he’ll come back and…” I shook my head. I didn’t want to finish the sentence, because I knew it wasn’t going to end well for me. “Just leave it alone.”
I saw the muscles in Maxwell’s jaw twitch. He didn’t look happy about it. In fact, he looked livid, furious, and for a moment I thought for sure he was going to tell me he didn’t let little girls tell him what to do. For a moment, I thought he was going to be Ben.
Then he let out a breath and seemed to will his body to relax. When he looked back at me, he still looked mad, but the gaze he settled me with was full of tenderness. And something else.
“Can we…can we just get out of here or something?” I asked hesitantly.
He offered me a slow smile, then nodded. “Yeah. I know a good place.”
I didn’t even consider that I’d just more or less asked him for a date or the fact that it was one of the most natural things in the world for me to do.