Page 153 of Where We Stay

I make my way back upstairs and pick up my phone. The messages are still there, waiting for me like proof that the last five years of my life meant nothing to him.

He was supposed to be gone.

He was supposed to stay gone.

I have to get the fuck out of here.

The thought comes so quickly it barely feels like mine. Pack a bag. Get in the Kombi. Drive. Don’t tell anyone where I’m going.

My eyes dart around the room as I decide what I could pack quickly. Clothes. Toiletries. Cash. Passport.

The same fucking checklist.

The same one I promised myself I’d never need again.

I grip the edge of the dresser until it bites into my palms, forcing myself to breathe.

No.

This is my home.

Hartwell is my home.

I’m not letting him take another one from me.

A knock sounds at the front door, and every muscle in my body locks.

Then—

“Blair?”

Dean.

My knees nearly give out beneath me.

I take one last look at the messages before locking my phone and heading downstairs. When I open the door, Dean is standing on my porch holding a bouquet of sunflowers.

This man.

His smile disappears the moment he sees me. “What happened?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Blair.”

“I’m fine.”

Lie number two.

His gaze moves over my face before drifting past me into the house, like he’s checking for whatever has frightened me.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says.

Close enough.

“I’m just tired.”

“You were fine when we spoke an hour ago.”