Chapter 27

Hailey

Christian has been busy at the hospital, and Addison and I have stuck close to home these past few days. Today has had a bit of excitement, but not the kind I wish for. Right on cue, my phone buzzes again, sending a shiver down my spine. Franklin . Another missed call, the fifth one today. He was arrested weeks ago, but now, it seems he’s out, released as a first-time offender. I’m supposed to call if he contacts me, but why? They can’t do anything unless he does something. I just want this to be over. Each voicemail is a verbal stone thrown harder than the last. He says he doesn’t care about the restraining order. He’s going to release the pictures.

I take a shuddering breath, my fingers trembling as they hover over my phone. I was so naive back then, so trusting. Too trusting. “Christian,” I say, turning toward where he’s buried in some medical journal, “What nights are you home this week?”

He glances up. “Tonight and tomorrow,” he replies. There’s concern in his voice, a silent question he doesn’t ask.

I turn away before he can probe further. I’m just going to get this over with myself. My fingers move across the keyboard, typing out a message to Franklin.

Me: I can meet you tonight. Let’s go to the bar where we first met.

The place where it all began, where I thought we were just two people who randomly met and fell in love. I believed he wanted the same things I did—security, commitment, a future. But it was all a lie.

Anyway, this will be a meeting in a public place. He can’t do anything too terrible with others around, and I need to find out what he wants, once and for all.

Almost instantly, his response buzzes back.

Franklin: I’ll be there in an hour.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I stare at the screen. Am I really doing this? My mind races through every possible outcome. If I confront him, will he give me what I need? Or will he just toy with me, like he always does? Could I provoke him into something big enough to land himself back in jail?

I get up and excuse myself, heading for my bedroom. After some rummaging in my closet, I stand before the mirror, tugging at the hem of a deep blue blouse that clings just enough to suggest a confidence I don’t feel. The jeans I slip into are comfortable, familiar, but my skin prickles with anxiety. I was so honest with Franklin once, so vulnerable. Told him what I wanted, what I needed. And he used it all against me. Every moment of weakness, every confession I thought was safe. I can’t stop thinking about how he’d smile, how he’d make me feel like I was finally being heard, only to twist my words later, make me doubt myself.

I was a fool to trust him. Never again.

With one final glance at my reflection, I grab my phone and send a quick message to Dana. My safety net. My backup plan.

Me: I’m meeting Franklin at the bar we used to go to. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call me, okay?

Dana: Are you sure you don’t want me there?

Me: No need to worry. It’s a public place. I’ll be fine.

I hope. I bite my lip, staring at her response. I should have told her more, explained why I’m going. But what would I even say? That I’m scared he’ll release the pictures? That I’m ashamed I let someone like Franklin have power over me for so long?

“I’ll be back shortly,” I tell Christian, already moving to the door.

“Are you meeting with Dana?” he asks, looking up from his medical journal.

I shake my head. “No, but I shouldn’t be long. And Addison should stay asleep.” I force a smile, hoping it hides the storm brewing inside me. Christian’s phone rings, and I wave goodbye quickly, not giving him a chance to ask more.

The summer evening still has sun in the air, and it’s warm outside as I walk to the bar. This is my favorite time of year. But I can’t distract myself. I need to get this thing with Franklin done and over with.

Inside, the bar is dim, the kind of place where bad decisions are made in the shadows. Franklin’s not here yet, thank God. I slide on to a stool at the bar in the middle of everything. This is hopefully a spot where he won’t become too evil. After ordering a drink, I try to calm my racing thoughts, but my mind won’t stop replaying every argument, every moment I let my guard down with him. How could I have been so naive? How did I let him manipulate me into thinking we were partners and give him all my money?

And now, here I am, waiting for him again, scared of what he might say, what he might show me. What if I’m still that weak girl who trusted the wrong man?

The bartender sets down my mojito, and Franklin walks in, his eyes scanning the room until they lock onto mine. My heart sinks. He thinks he has the upper hand. And the worst part? I’m terrified he might be right.

Franklin moves with a swagger, but there’s something off about it—too sharp, too deliberate. There’s a frantic energy radiating off him, like he’s barely keeping himself together. He slides in next to me at the bar, not bothering with any pleasantries, his fingers tapping erratically on the wood as his eyes dart around the room. “Where is it?”

I blink, trying to stay calm. “This is all I could find.” I push his tax file and the broken bottle opener at him. “There was a joint too, but I threw it away. I can’t have drugs in the house.”

“This isn’t what I want.” He leans in, his breath hot and sour. “Don’t play dumb,” he snaps. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t,” I say carefully, trying to gauge his mood. There’s a manic gleam in his eyes, something wild and unpredictable. His leg is bouncing, the constant motion making me nervous.

“You took it. I know you did!” His hand slams onto the bar top, causing me to jump. His voice rises again, drawing the attention of a few people nearby. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, my heart racing. “I haven’t taken anything from you.”

Franklin laughs, a sharp, humorless sound. “Oh, come on. You always thought you were smarter than me, but guess what? You’re not. You’ve never been.” His hands are trembling now, the erratic tapping getting faster. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think I don’t see you, plotting against me?”

I stare at him, unsure how to respond. The man sitting next to me is a far cry from the controlled, manipulative Franklin I once knew. He’s unraveling, his paranoia spilling out of his pores.

He suddenly grabs his phone, shoving it in my face. “You see this?” he snarls, scrolling through the images at a dizzying pace. “I’ve got everything I need to ruin you. Everything.” His finger jabs at the screen with such force, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. “You thought you could hide from me? Think again.”

I realize I’m looking at a picture of someone I don’t recognize. It’s not me. “Franklin, you’re not making any sense,” I say. But inside, I’m panicking. He’s not just angry. He’s spiraling out of control, and I have no idea what he’s going to do next.

His eyes flicker with a dark light, and suddenly, he’s laughing again. “Oh, I’m making sense, all right. Perfect sense. You think you can steal from me? You don’t know what’s coming.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. “I’ll destroy everything you’ve built, Hailey. Everything. I’ll make sure everyone knows just what kind of person you really are.”

He slams his hand on the bar top again, the noise echoing through the tavern. People are staring now, but Franklin doesn’t seem to care. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated. “You’re nothing.”

For a moment, I’m frozen. He’s unraveling so fast, I can barely keep up. I’ve seen Franklin angry before, but this? This is something else. This is desperation. Chaos. And I know, without a doubt, that he’s on the edge of something dangerous.

“Find it,” he seethes, his breath hot on my skin. “You have forty-eight hours, or everyone will see just how much of a—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he grabs the front of my blouse, fabric tearing beneath his fingers.

I gasp, the sound lost in the sudden commotion. The bartender steps in, her bar gun aimed.

“Enough!” She sprays Franklin squarely, the stream of water a clear command. “Get out of my bar, now!”

He reels back, the shock of the cold water breaking through his fury. With a final glare, he stumbles back, leaving the remnants of my dignity soaked and scattered on the floor.

The bartender’s voice slices through the tension. “I’m calling the cops.”

Franklin’s eyes narrow, fixed on me with a sinister glint. “Tick-tock,” he hisses, pointing a finger. Then he wheels around and marches out the door.

My heart is racing. What does he mean? This meeting was pointless. I still have no idea what he’s searching for.

The bartender shakes her head and turns to me. “I’ve already called the cops,” she says quietly, wiping her hands on a towel. “They’re on their way. You should sit tight.”

I nod, but my mind is racing, heart still pounding from the confrontation. My hands tremble. I’ve never seen him acting like that. What could be going on?

The door swings open a few minutes later, and two police officers walk in, their presence commanding attention. My stomach churns as they approach, the relief I thought I’d feel elusive. What do I even tell them? That I’m scared of a man I used to trust with everything? That I don’t know how far Franklin will go to hurt me?

The officers approach the bartender, and they talk for a few minutes before she points them to me.

“We understand you had a confrontation with a guy who got a little aggressive.”

I nod.

“Do you have any identification on you?”

I pull my driver’s license from my purse. One of them jots the information down.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

My hands tighten around the edge of the stool, my knuckles white. I try to speak, but the words get stuck in my throat. The whole scene replays in my mind—Franklin’s rage, his wild threats, the way he grabbed me, the way he… I shudder, and it’s like I can still feel his hands on me.

“I have a restraining order against him, but he kept calling. So, I—I said I’d meet him here,” I finally manage, my voice trembling. “I thought I could…reason with him. But he’s not… He’s not the same anymore. He’s dangerous. He grabbed me. He threatened me.”

“Take your time,” the first officer says gently. “You’re doing fine.”

I look down at my hands. “He has pictures of me—private ones. He’s threatening to release them if I don’t give him what he wants. But I don’t know what he wants.” My voice cracks, and I feel a wave of panic rising in my chest.

The officer’s brow furrows, and he exchanges a glance with his partner. “Did he say anything specific that makes you think he’s a threat to your safety?”

I swallowing hard. “He said he would destroy everything. I’ve never seen him like that before. He was completely out of control.”

“Has he hurt you before?” the second officer asks.

I shake my head. “Not physically, no. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to…get under my skin. He used to promise me we’d be together forever. He got me to give him the money from my grandmother’s insurance policy, and then he just stopped working.”

“Why the restraining order?”

“We don’t live together anymore, and he keeps saying I have something of his. But he won’t tell me what it is. He’s harassing me. I’ve looked, and I can’t find anything. I gave him back everything I’ve found that belonged to him. But he keeps threatening to release those pictures of me…” I look around the bar, and everyone is listening. Of course, they are.

The officer picks up the folder and looks through the old tax forms. “Where is the restraining order?”

“It was filed with this officer.” I pull out the business card Christian gave me.

“You should have called us once he made contact.” The second officer lowers his voice, stepping closer.

“We’ll need to know if he tries to contact you again. And we recommend filing for an emergency protective order. It’ll reinforce your current restraining order.”

My mind swirls. Another protective order? More paperwork. But will it really stop him? Will anything stop him?

“I don’t know what to do,” I admit quietly.

The officer nods. “You did the right thing by talking to us. We’ll do everything we can to make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

For a second, I sit there, trying to let their words comfort me. But the fear still lingers. Franklin’s face flashes in front of me again—the anger, the chaos. The way he looked at me, like he was ready to destroy everything.

I take a deep breath. The officers are still talking, but their voices blur together as the weight of the situation bears down on me. This is real. This is happening. And I have no idea what comes next. “Thank you,” I manage to say, my voice almost lost in the noise of the bar around us. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“We’re here to help,” the officer says, giving me a reassuring nod. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. We’ll keep an eye on things.”

I nod again, my head spinning. “Okay. I will.”

“Can we give you a lift home?”

I stand up straight. “No, I, uh… I can walk.”

“Given he might be waiting for you, I think we should give you a ride home.”

Of course. If Franklin is out there, I should let them take me home. I thank the bartender and leave her cash for my drink. It’s not nearly enough for the trouble I caused.

The drive home in the back of the police car is embarrassing. At least the lights and sirens aren’t going, but I’m still locked in behind the protective glass. I can’t believe this. They pull to a stop in front of Christian’s townhouse, and it seems like everyone is stopping to watch.

Before I even get out of the backseat, Christian’s figure emerges from the front door. He rushes over, his eyes searching mine for answers.

“Let’s go inside,” I murmur.

With a nod, Christian ushers me back toward the safety of our walls. Once the door closes behind us, shutting out the curious eyes, Christian rounds on me, his frustration palpable. “What happened?”

I tell him everything—the calls, meeting Franklin, and the bartender stepping in.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to see him? You could have been hurt!”

I flinch, not from his tone, but from the truth in his words. “I thought… I thought I could handle it. I didn’t want you caught up in my mess,” I confess, feeling tears threatening to spill over. “This is all my fault.”

Christian steps closer, the anger melting from his face. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into the solid warmth of his chest. “Your mess is my mess,” he says, his voice a gentle rumble against the top of my head. “We’re in this together, remember?”