by Zoe York
Catie pulled up a chair. “You know, I really hope your ex wanders back into town at some point so I can punch him in the face for whatever he taught you about asking people in your life for things. Or just, you know, talking shit out. Yes, I’m here to just listen to you talk about whatever you want to talk about. That’s what friends do.”
Isla squished up her face, forcing hot tears to stay the hell back. She had work to do. “We’re brainstorming how to take over the world, isn’t that right, Bailey?”
“It sure is.”
They were still working when Adam arrived an hour and a half later.
He looked sweaty, dishevelled, and tired. He also looked so good it made Isla’s chest ache, which only reminded her that every part of her body hurt.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked as he stepped inside.
Catie and Bailey immediately stood up, put on their parkas, grabbed their coffees, and made their goodbyes.
“I’m ready to go home,” Isla said, leaning into Adam’s warmth.
“Hot shower and bed for us both,” he murmured into her hair. “Together.”
On the short drive, she told him about leaning on Bailey. “And then Catie showed up, just to listen, and I felt really stupid for questioning them.”
“It’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help,” Adam said. “Owen reminded me of that, and it’s true. Sometimes it’s really hard—which makes it a sign of strength.”
“I’m scared of relying on others.”
“You’ve been hurt before. That makes sense.” He squeezed her hand through her gloves. “But you’re one of us now. And Pine Harbour loves nothing more than an opportunity to pitch in and help one of our own.”
“I’m trying to be soft and open to that.”
He winked at her. “I’d like to help you in the shower, for example. Can you be soft and open there, too?”
Heat swirled through her belly at the downright filthy way he said soft and open. She nodded wordlessly as he pulled into the driveway. She sure could.
Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it.
The next four days were an emotional rollercoaster on steroids, but at every turn, Adam and her new friends and even the broader community were there for moral support. She went to Mac’s to bake Frank some pies, and in the three hours she was in his kitchen in the lull between lunch and dinner, no fewer than fifteen people stopped to say hi through the pass-through window. When she left, the waitress gave her a mason jar stuffed with cash—a spontaneous collection from diners.
“I don’t need this,” Isla whispered, her throat tight.
“Oh, honey. We all need a pick-me-up, and nobody else is currently dealing with what I’m sure is quite the paperwork nightmare. Buy yourself something pretty with it.”
She went straight to Catie’s salon.
“It’s been months since I’ve done anything other than pull it back into a bun or a ponytail,” she said when it was her turn in the chair.
“Do you want to add any colour or highlights?”
Isla looked at the reflection of a very tired woman in the mirror. “Maybe something around the face?”
“Bold or subtle?”
That was easy. “Let’s go big. It’s time for a change.”
Two hours later, she headed home with a shorter set of waves, perfectly cropped just above her shoulders, and a thick shock of pale blond sweeping over her eyes. She couldn’t wait to try out a really smoky eye look with it, maybe pale pink lip gloss. If she squinted in the right light, she might look like Charlize Theron, and that would be a fun surprise for Adam. He was at work for the first time since the bakery flooded, but maybe she could swing by with some takeout from Mac’s.
Just to say hi.
Just to show off her new do.
Just to see him.
That was the most honest answer. She was so consumed with her plan, she almost missed noticing that the mailbox at the end of their lane had its flag up, indicating new mail. Backtracking, she opened the door on the box. Inside was a single letter.
She grabbed it, put down the flag, then continued to the house, her thoughts still consumed with the idea of surprising Adam at work. Maybe she should call him first, make sure he wasn’t busy. But would it be weird to make up a reason to drop by, when she really just wanted it to be a sweet, short surprise? Look at me, I’m pretty!
Once inside, she dropped the letter on the coffee table, then headed to her bedroom. She got halfway down the hall before something dragged her back, something awful and gross, something she had recognized about the letter but not really processed.
The letter wasn't postmarked.
It was addressed to Adam, but it wasn’t postmarked, and as soon as she took a second look at it, she recognized the handwriting. Adam’s name and their address was written in her ex-husband’s sharp, angular pen.
There was no return address, no external proof she was right about who had written it, but she dropped the envelope like it burned her skin.
He had been here, again. In her town, on her property.
And he’d written Adam a letter? This was his new game?
He’d found a new way to get under her skin, even after she had blocked him. He needed to leave her alone, and he really needed to leave Adam alone.
Part of her was terrified to see what was inside the envelope. Another part of her did not care. It’s not up to you, she reminded herself.
She could destroy it. Adam would never need to know. But what if Brett sent another one? What if he somehow found Adam’s phone number, or worse, called the fire department looking for him?
Pretending this hadn’t happened wasn’t an option.
She called Adam.
“I’m sorry to bother you at work.” Her voice shook, and she counted slowly in her head to try and stay calm as Adam excused himself from his co-workers.
“It’s fine,” he said when he found a quiet corner. “Do you need something?”
“Brett was here. He left a letter in the mailbox. It doesn’t have a stamp on it, so it was delivered in person.”
“What did it say?”
“It’s not addressed to me. I’m sure it’s his handwriting, though. It’s…he wrote it to you.”
“Do you want to open it?”
“I don’t want to touch it.” Even though Adam couldn’t see her, she took another step back from where the envelope lay on the floor. “I thought about destroying it, but whatever he wants, he could escalate this and contact you at work.”
Adam swore.
She swallowed hard. “At what point does it cross the line to stalking? This is unwanted attention, right? I want him to leave us alone.”
“I’m going to come home. Hold tight, okay? I’ll be right there. And if he shows up in the next five minutes, call 911.”
“I don’t need—”
“Maybe I need to see you,” he said urgently. “I’ll drive one of the station vehicles so I’ve got a radio and a siren. It’s okay.”
The next ten minutes crawled by as Isla paced back and forth in the living room, watching the laneway through the window. Hot, wild relief flooded over her as soon as the red support SUV pulled in.
Adam jogged up to the porch, burst through the door, and came to a sudden halt as she stepped into the foyer.
“Hey, your hair.” He grinned widely and touched the swoop over her eyes. “This is new. You look great. Wow, I like it.”
“Thanks.” She heard the wobble in her voice and hated it. “I was going to put on makeup and all that jazz, but then this happened.”
“You’re beautiful.” He raked his gaze over her hair once more, then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “Okay, show me this letter.”
She pointed to where it still lay on the floor.
“You really weren’t kidding about not wanting to touch it.” Adam picked it up and turned it over. “You’re sure it’s his handwriting?”
“Yes.”
He
nodded tightly, his jaw like granite. “All right.” He ripped into the envelope, then extracted a single piece of paper. It didn’t take him long to read it. His expression didn’t change as he glanced it over again, then folded it up. “Well, that’s bullshit. I don’t know if this crosses a legal line, but I think it’s worth reporting to the OPP.”
Her stomach sank. “What does it say?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. None of it is true.”
She pressed her hand to her chest, like that might actually keep her heart intact, but it had been fractured for a long time already. “None of what? What does he say?”
“Lies. He wrote a bunch of lies about you, to try and wound you and to get a rise out of me. Don’t ask me to show you. I don’t want to be a part of the pain he causes you.”
His radio squawked and he turned it down.
“Do you have to…”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t for me.”
“I don’t know what he wants. I dodged his calls for a while, and then he showed up, and I really thought that was the end of it.”
Adam crossed to the couch and sat down. He looked ferocious and oversized in his firefighting pants and boots. Isla crawled onto the cushion next to him and leaned her face against the back of the sofa.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He jerked back. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I…” She trailed off. “No, I guess I don’t. But I feel sorry. I feel like this is all my fault.”
“Any chance that comes from him?”
She laughed hollowly. “Every chance, yeah.”
“What did he do to you?” Adam leaned back in and stroked her cheek.
She puffed out her cheeks. “In hindsight? A lot of gaslighting. Manipulation. Belitting. Nothing I did was ever good enough, and everything I did was criticized. His expectations…Whew. They were a lot.”
“What did he expect of you?”
“Nothing I could ever deliver.” The words sounded hollow and insufficient, but the truth was barbed, heavy, and ugly. She’d buried it deep.
“Whatever it is,” Adam said with a firm intensity that quieted the worst of the voices in her head. “I don’t expect that of you. Whatever he wanted, I don’t want that. Tell me, and I won’t make the same mistake.”
“You’ve never…” She trailed off, because her voice was shaking, and she wouldn’t let fear dominate her. Swallowing hard, she pressed her hands firmly to her thighs, grounding herself, and tried again. “It’s ironic that I did this today.” She gestured at her hair. “I was never sexy enough. He wanted me to always wear makeup, as in, get dolled up after work, when I just wanted to put on jammies and veg on the couch. But not just be pretty.”
She could feel that she had all of Adam’s attention, and for the first time, the door on the lock box deep inside her swung open.
“He expected me to be seductive, instantly responsive. He didn’t want a wife, he wanted a sex doll. If I wasn’t in the mood, he would get mad.”
“How mad?” Two quiet words. But they reverberated with furious anger, none of it directed at her. Adam managed to keep his face gentle even as his voice sounded like he could rampage when he got outside.
“He never hit me. I told myself if he did, I would leave.”
“And he crossed the line one day?”
She gasped, that Adam thought her that brave. “No.” Her voice cracked as she admitted her biggest shame. “He left me. I didn’t leave him. I found out he was having an affair, that it wasn’t his first one, and instead of feeling shame or regret, he was annoyed that I made it a big drama. He moved out.”
Adam growled an apology and tugged her in for a hug. “I’ll never do any of that.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t deserve any of that. You deserved so much more.” He kissed her hair. “I’m going to talk to a cop I know. He’s never going to bother you again.”
“Should I have talked to him?” She winced at the idea. “He cut me out of his life completely for more than a year. I just assumed that he was being needy because I’d moved on.”
“That’s probably exactly why he reappeared. That he moved across the province to be closer to you, though…that’s suspect. And now this? He’s trying to control you.”
“You’re right.” She hugged Adam tight. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
In an alternate lifetime, maybe she would have fallen for Adam when they first met, and avoided all this heartache. It was hard for her to look back at the last five years and realize that the man she had loved so much had only barely tolerated her adoration. The memory of it had blurred and faded, but was still enough to make her stomach roil. Because she’d accepted that imbalance.
Never again.
The friendship she had with Adam was as far as she would ever let herself feel for a man. Even one who actually liked her, and made her feel sexy, and thought a new haircut was a really big deal.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After ensuring Isla was okay on her own—with the doors locked, and her having a plan to sleep securely tucked into his bed upstairs—Adam went back to work.
“Personal issue dealt with?” Richard asked when Adam walked back into the upstairs kitchen at the station.
“Yep.”
“Good.”
Adam’s phone vibrated. He glanced at it. It was a text back from Rafe Minelli.
Rafe: I’m around tonight. You want me to come to the station?
Adam: Yeah, if you don’t mind.
Rafe: Can it wait until after I put my kids to bed?
Adam: Sure thing. Thanks. I want to keep this quiet.
Richard watched him the whole time, but didn’t ask again.
The letter burned in Adam’s pocket. He was grateful they had a patient transfer callout shortly after he got back. It gave him something else to focus on until the dinner hour passed. At seven, his brother showed up for a night shift, and Owen must have smelled something in the air—did freaked-out younger brother have a specific scent?—because the first thing he did when he entered the building was come upstairs.
“Everything okay?”
He asked it in front of Adam’s team, which made Adam count to ten in his head before grabbing his brother’s arm and pulling him down the hall to the quiet room. “Who told you?”
Owen gave up the snitch immediately. “Richard.”
“What the fuck?” Adam made a fist and bounced it lightly off the wall.
“He said you had to go home and deal with something. Wanted to make sure I knew.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t share shit!”
“They’re called boundaries!” And in this case, it wasn’t even his own privacy he was protecting. “I’ll come and find you if I need you. Until then, eyes on your own paper.”
“All right.”
“And don’t interfere when I go back out there and tell Richard to keep team shit to himself, either.”
Owen raised his hands. “Far be it from me to get between you and Richard if you want to give him an excuse to kick your ass.”
“He could never.”
“Not physically.” Owen propped his hands on his hips. “A few years ago, maybe when you were overseas, there was a guy here who wasn’t a great fit on the team. Turned out, he had some shit going on at home. Ended up getting let go, and it was messy. I’d put good money on Richard being worried about you for your own good, and if you go beaking off to him to mind his own business, you’ll get a lesson in what happens when a team turns a blind eye to trouble. I’ve seen it myself in paramedics, too. PTSD—”
“It’s not that.” Adam scraped his hand along his jaw. “Fuck, sorry. I take that shit seriously, too. It’s Isla’s ex-husband. He’s stuck back into her, and he dropped off a letter at the house today—addressed to me, but designed to get to her. It was full of lies about her, shit that makes him sound obsessed, to be honest. I don’t like it. I’ve a
lready put a call in to Rafe. We’ll handle it.” He gestured in the direction of the kitchen. “I don’t want them to know, because it’s not about me.”
Owen’s face darkened with every word. “Where is he?”
“I’m going to let Rafe find the answer to that question.” Adam swallowed hard. “He’s in the Forces. A major, attached to the base in Meaford now.”
“Quite the coincidence. Didn’t they live in Pet before?” Eight hours away.
Adam nodded. “Yep.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry for her. Where is she now?”
“At home. She’s okay. She’ll call 911 at the first sign of a problem, and I’m hoping Rafe can locate him for me before she goes to sleep tonight. At least she doesn’t need to open the bakery early tomorrow.”
Owen’s radio burst to life on his chest, and they both paused so he could listen to the call. Then he pulled open the door. “Keep me posted,” he growled. “And sorry about the rest of it.”
In the grand scheme of everything, the small town lack of privacy was Adam’s least concern right now. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Then it was his radio that went off, Dispatch sending them as backup to a motor vehicle accident.
When they returned to the station, Rafe Minelli was waiting for him. “Is there a place we can talk?”
Adam turned to his team to explain something, but Richard waved him off. “Go. We’ll clean up the truck.”
The winter slush and road salt made that a harder task than in the summer, and as the rookie it was often Adam’s job. “I can—”
“We got this,” Denise said firmly. She caught his attention and held it. Then she nodded. “Go.”
He led Rafe upstairs to the quiet room, then pulled out the letter. But he didn’t hand it over right away. “First of all, I need you to know that what is in this letter is not true. I’m willing to answer any questions you have about it, but Isla did not read it, and I would prefer that she never know what her ex wrote in it. It’s meant to hurt her, and I would do anything to avoid that pain.”