I don’t pick up the flowers. I open my front door and lock it behind me before pulling out my phone. I dial Rhett.
“A call? The date must have been epic!”
“I got white roses and a photo of Emma and me from tonight,” I blurt out as I toss the photo on my island.
“Wait. What?”
I explain what I found.
“We need to get security now,” he states. “Hold on, I’m adding Max to the call.”
“What?” Max whines.
“Grady got white roses and a photo of his date.”
“Huh?”
“The stalker,” Rhett says. I explain quickly to Max.
“Shit, dudes. We need real security. No more bullshit stuff. Like twenty-four-seven serious guys who could kill people with their bare hands.”
“I hate to agree, but, yeah, we do,” I admit.
“I’ll call Calvin and have him line up that Bryce guy’s firm immediately,” Rhett states. I hear him typing away and I know he’s sending a message to our manager.
“Grady. You need to call that cop we were talking to: Sergeant Kramer.”
“I know,” I sigh as I run a hand through my hair.
“Do it now and don’t touch anything else.”
“Yeah, will do, and be careful, guys. We all need to be watching our surroundings until we get security.”
They both agree, and I disconnect and call the officer.
“Sergeant Kramer,” he answers.
“Hey, this Grady Daniels.”
“Oh, hey, Grady. I’m sorry to say that I don’t have any more information to share with you on your case.”
“I’m not calling about that. I…had a delivery tonight.” I explain for the third time in fifteen minutes what happened.
“I’ll stop by and collect the photograph and call the flower shop. Did you get the name of it?” he asks.
I nod and give him the name of the flower shop.
“I’ll be there in thirty.” We hang up and I stare at the photo. How could I be so happy an hour ago and now I’m scared, not just for me, but for Emma?
I pace my kitchen as I wait. I have to tell her. I don’t know if she could be in danger. Fuck my life! The doorbell rings and I see on my video doorbell app that it’s the officer.
He has another man standing with him.
“Hi, Grady. This is Detective Benson,” Sergeant Kramer says when I answer the door.
I shake his hand and invite them inside.
“The photo’s on the island,” I motion to it, and they both step forward to examine it. “And there’s something else.”
Both men turn to me. “The quote…it matches other Shakespeare quotes that were sticky notes on my car back when I raced. Nothing ever happened, but my parents did beef up security. After my dad died, the notes stopped. The officers just figured it was a fan obsessed with our family and that they lost interest after Dad died and I stopped racing.”
“Do you have the police contact information for that case?” Detective Benson asks me.
I shrug. “I was a kid. My mom might.” I give him her number and curse. I’m going to have to call her to explain.
Kramer puts the photo in a plastic bag. “We’ll look into this and get back to you. Anything else strange happen?”
I shake my head. “Just the thing the other day at Rhett’s and now this.”
“It’s probably an unstable-fan situation. Do you have security beyond that video doorbell?” he asks.
“We’re getting some.”
“Good. You can never be too safe. Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else.”
I nod and show them out and then call my mom to explain. She justifiably freaks out and it takes me thirty more minutes to calm her down. I promise her that we are getting around-the-clock security and she finally relents and lets me stay at home after swearing she was sending a car to come get me.
As soon as I hang up, I pause contemplating what I’m about to do next. I have to call the one person that I’ve been dreading calling since I opened that damn envelope.
“Hey, you.” Emma’s cheerful voice nearly slays me.
“Hey,” I say slowly, searching for words.
“What’s wrong? You sound…off,” she states. The fact that she can denote my mood after one week is, well, baffling to me and also makes me want to protect her. And that’s when I decide that I need to do the one thing that I don’t want to do in order to keep her safe. I decide to give her a slightly limited version of the events that have transpired.
“Emma, listen, we need to talk.”
“About what?” Her voice is filled with hesitation and what I’m about to do kills me. I feel my heart shattering into a million pieces as I speak the words.
“This…we can’t see each other right now. I…the band…we have a stalker and it’s not safe. I’d rather we just stop seeing each other. I can’t handle a relationship right now with everything else going on.” I lie. I lie because even though we’ve just met, I know this woman will not leave my side just because of a stalker. So, if I’m going to protect her, I have to let her go.
“Grady, don’t be silly. I’m fine. Besides, stalkers are into famous people, and I’m not famous.”
“Emma, damn it! I can’t do this. I’m…sorry, OK? I wish I could. Stalker or no stalker, you deserve better. I’ll see you around.” And with that, I hang up and toss my phone on a chair before she can say another word. I let out a roar and pull on my hair as I slam my fist into the drywall of my kitchen, leaving an indentation on my wall and bruises on my knuckles, which is nothing compared to the fracture I just made in my heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Emma
What in the actual fuck just happened? Did Grady just break up with me before we were even officially dating? I fall back on my bed. I text the one person I know who will make me feel better.
Me: Men suck! I’ve decided to become a nun.
My phone rings with a video chat and I answer it.
“Whose balls do I need to rip off?”
I tell her what just happened.
“What in the actual fuck?” Kate questions.
“Right? I don’t get it. One second we are all lovey-dovey and planning date three and then he calls and dumps my ass.” I sigh. “Maybe my first impression was right. Maybe he’s just a giant, narcissistic asshole.”
“I’m sorry, Ems. That just sucks. I promise you though, there are good guys out there.”
“Right. I think you got the last eligible bachelor prince, so I’m screwed.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll find a guy. Plus, on the bright side, you can throw yourself into your project and school.”
I grunt. “I suppose. I just…I really liked him, Kate. And he was an amazing kisser. I can’t believe I was even contemplating sex with him on date three. I was such an idiot. Ugh. And Blythe, what will I say to her?”
“You aren’t an idiot. And Blythe will be pissed at her son for being an asshat. Hey, you should ask Will out again.”
“Maybe,” I grumble.
“We could make you a dating app profile and right-swipe some guys?” she suggests.