Maybe Travis was really gone. Or maybe he’d never been more than a shadow in my mind; a figment of my imagination. The result of too much time spent leading anger management courses.
But I had a good idea where Colt would be when my latch pretended to catch.
The cemetery gate finally came into view and showed its old teeth as we slipped through.
If danger came tonight, it would meet me with open hands.
12
BLAIR
Heat ticked twicein the radiator before it settled, as if the house had decided to listen with me.
I paced my way back and forth down the front hall because standing motionless made my skin feel too tight.
The wallpaper wore old water stains as if someone had removed paintings and left ghosts in their place, and the worn-down runner in the hallway tried to hush my footsteps but failed because the wood floors refused to stop creaking.
My mind raced with flashes of the graveyard scene as it replayed in my head. Travis was furious with me, and I didn’t need to guess about what. He blamed me for the initial safety hold on his file and all of his subsequent problems.
What I couldn’t wrap my head around was how he’d been so cavalier with his freedom. To stalk me, to threaten me. Those were parole violations, which were tickets back to prison for a long time.
I checked the doorbell feed again.
I’d installed it earlier in the day, not wanting a repeat night of seeing an open door when I entered my kitchen. The porch sat inside my phone’s frame in a small circle of raindrops andflickering light. The cracked rail leaned toward the hedges as if it meant to confide in them a secret.
No one on the steps, nothing to see.
I told myself it meant no one was there but it didn’t explain why my breath halted.
Colt had walked me home from the cathedral. He hadn’t asked to come in.
I hadn’t invited him.
That was the story I planned to tell myself as the night crept on. The truth was a quieter thing, and I wasn’t ready to hear it yet.
I could feel him at the edges of my block the way a person knew when a storm was brewing nearby.
I checked the back door. Sometimes ritual felt like control if I forced myself hard enough to believe it.
The latch did its usual trick; it kissed the strike and pretended to hold. I guided it into the best version of closed and let it lie to me once more. The house’s walls sighed as if it appreciated the effort.
My phone buzzed and my heart skipped a beat. I rushed over to find a cheerful message from the doorbell camera company about a new product I should buy.
I put the phone down and went back to pacing. The couch still sagged and the plaster on the mantel showed the house shifted under bad weather. And bad decisions.
That’s when the knock came.
Knuckles flat on wood with the confidence of a man who believes all doors should open for him. My phone lit up and I saw a hooded shoulder and a jaw I knew too well from a parking lot.
Travis.
He leaned toward the lens as my porch light washed over him. I rushed over to the front door. My palm quickly found the chain, and I slid it into place.
“You’re on camera,” I said, steeling myself. “Why are you here?”
“Counselor,” he said.
Travis smiled as if the word tasted good in his mouth. Rain clung to his lashes, and it softened nothing.
