Chapter 18

Peyton

When I woke up, it was later than usual. I knew that because the sun wasn't blinding the fuck out of me. A quick glance at the clock said it was close to noon.

I sat up quickly, a little too quickly when I suddenly felt lightheaded. And then nauseous. I frowned because I rarely got sick, and I hadn't been anywhere except the steakhouse since graduation. Where the fuck did I pick up a bug?

"Coffee," I grunted. "I need coffee." But first, I needed a shower to wash away the scent of Rocky.

Again.

He came to me again last night, and like a horny idiot, I let him fuck me. Again. When was I going learn? Apparently, never.

But this time, it was worse. Because this time he stayed with me all night. This time he held me, brushed his fingers through my hair until I fell asleep cocooned and safe in his arms. He stayed with me all night, I felt him leave at one point and my half-asleep ass cracked an eye to see that the sun was up when he'd padded out and left for his daily duties.

He'd stayed with me all night, and I was already into him but now my heart was trying to pitter-patter itself into something more, and I tried desperately to shut it down.

Rocky was a dangerous, dangerous man for me.

I was completely and totally obsessed with him, but I was still nothing more than his dirty little secret. My heart warmed every time I thought of him, and I thought of him often. I wanted his attention, wanted him comfortable and happy, found myself catering to him like I'd never done for a man before, and for some reason—for some reason Nolan's last words to me kept ringing in my mind. The ones that said I was perfectly capable of love, if I found the right man.

I don't know why those words kept popping up in my mind.

But every morning after Rocky left, I washed away his scent and made a new pot of coffee as if that alone could erase the feel of him on my skin, the taste of him on my tongue. But nothing ever rid me of thoughts of him.

This morning, however, the scent of coffee made my stomach do belly flops and I emptied my stomach into the sink. Dammit, I couldn't even have coffee.

Before I could think about why, my phone buzzed on the countertop and I snatched it up without even thinking. Slate had taken what he could from my phone before returning it, and everything was now just a waiting game. I glanced down at the screen, immediately happy I'd already tossed my cookies because the message made me ill.

You can't hide from me forever. We belong together.

I flung the phone across the counter, angry and terrified that this asshole, whoever he was, made me feel so fucking helpless. So powerless. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never, ever let myself feel that way again, and I worked hard to make sure I never did. Until now. Now I was running away from one man and hiding out with another, and the worst part? They both wanted the same thing.

My body.

Tears streamed down my cheeks faster than I could swipe them away and I curled into a ball right there on the kitchen floor, holding my legs and rocking back and forth until I drifted into a fitful sleep. My dreams were plagued with me running from one man or another, searching for something I never found. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the hell was going on in my mind.

"Peyton, wake up, sweetheart."

A big hand gently tapped my face and my eyes shot open and all I could see was Rocky's hazel eyes. I smacked at his hands and shoved him away. "I'm awake," I mumbled, and when I couldn't push him away, I slid away to put more distance between us. "You can stop staring at me like that, I'm fine."

His dark brows dipped in concern. "People who are fine don't fall sleep on the kitchen floor, Peyton."

I shrugged off his totally sane argument. "I cleaned, it so I know it's clean." I got to my feet and put the island counter between us. "Maybe I'm just a weirdo who likes sleeping in dumb places. You don't need to worry about me."

"Yeah, well, it's too fucking bad because I am worried. It's the middle of the day and it looks like you passed out on the floor."

"Maybe it's because I don't have shit to do!" The words were so loud they echoed in the kitchen, and I ran a hand through my curls, forcing myself to stop yelling. Damn, maybe being locked away was getting to me even more than I realized. "I can't go to work and put everyone there at risk. I can't go out for a run because some sicko might see me and kill me. I can't do anything because there's a killer out there, and now I can't even fucking sleep. Maybe I ought to just go back to my life and take my chances." At this point, staying here was starting to feel as dangerous as running into whoever had killed Chloe.

"Don't fucking say that," he growled at me. "I won't let anyone get to you."

Yeah, except you."At this point, it doesn't fucking matter."

He stepped around the counter and reached out to me, frowning when I stepped away. "Dammit, Peyton."

"No." I very nearly stomped my foot, but managed to stop myself from that entirely childish gesture. "You don't want me, and I can't afford to let you break my heart again. You want the truth? I fell asleep on the floor crying, because I got another fucking message from some weirdo claiming that we belong together, and you know what that made me think? It made me think about you."

His brows lowered, but he didn't make another move towards me, instead holding onto the counter as if holding himself back. "Me?"

"Yes, you. This weirdo, murdering stranger messaged to say that we belong together—the man who apparently tried to kill me thinks that we should be a couple now, and all I could think about was the fact that the only man I actually want, is the only man who doesn't want me back. D'you know how pathetic that is?"

"Peyton…" Rocky swayed forward as if he was about to move towards me, but his fingers tightened on the counter, and he stayed where he was.

"I have plenty of men who want my body, that doesn't mean anything," I continued before he could say anything else, because it was all building up inside me and I couldn't keep it in anymore. "If anything, I think I'm starting to fucking resent that. Some unknown creep, some guy who might be a stranger or might secretly be a friend, is texting me threatening messages about how he and I belong together. But no one knows me well enough to want my heart, so what does that mean?"

Rocky blinked at me, looking confused, and honestly, I was probably ranting and making no sense right now, but I couldn't stop the way my brain was rushing around and this anger, this rage inside me at my helplessness kept bubbling up and up through me. I couldn't stop the flow of mixed-up words coming out of me.

"Nobody fucking wants me, nobody ever has. It's so stupid that I care about that, because fuck everyone, fuck the whole world for not wanting me. I've dealt with that all my life, I should be fucking used to it by now. I have Lisa, but just like Aunt Myra, who knows how long that will last? I don't need anyone. And I hate myself for wanting you, when you don't want me back."

Rocky's lips thinned, and his hand curled into a fist on the counter. "I do want you, Peyton."

"You don't, Rocky. Not in any way that matters. You don't want me enough to risk hurting your son. That fucking sucks, but I've accepted it, okay? But this back and forth? I can't do it." I turned, and once more, like the frightened little girl I tried so hard not to be, I ran.

I ran to my room and hid, because in the end, that's all I've ever been.

A scared little girl with nowhere to go and no one reliable to turn to.