Daylight, page 20
“Someone was leaving as we were coming in, and we hopped in the elevator with another bunch of Trick-or-Treaters,” Brooke smiles.
I didn’t immediately recognize them because Brooke has a short red wig on, while the one time I’ve seen a picture of her it was long and dark. I awkwardly wave to them and fist-bump the kid. “I like your costume, dude,” I smile.
She fills his bucket with candy, and we stand there and talk for a minute or two. Her husband doesn’t say much, just stands awkwardly while Elle and Brooke chat. He doesn’t remove his mask, so I’m unable to get a look at him. It’s kind of odd, but I chalk it up to the guy being socially awkward.
They leave and Elle and I decide to just fill the bucket of candy and leave it outside of the door, wanting to celebrate the rest of our evening together. We sit down on the couch and she grabs my hand to just hold it. “There was more that I wanted to say. I didn’t think that tonight would be the night,” I sigh.
“I know,” She smiles softly. “I kinda caught you off guard with that ring pop shtick, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I nod. “But, it made me realize something. I didn’t need to wait for a perfect moment, or anything. Every night with you is perfect. Grand gestures have never been your style.”
“You are so right on that,” she nods. “I think that everything about tonight was perfect.” She smiles endearingly, resting her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Alex.”
“I love you too, sunshine.” I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in close. We sit like that for a while, talking about our childhood wedding dreams. Once it reaches eight o’clock, she decides to go take a shower. I go grab the bowl of candy from the front porch, finding it empty.
I pick up the kitchen and take a moment to gather my thoughts.
If you told me this morning that this is how my dad would end, I would have laughed in your face. It doesn’t feel any different, and I don’t feel like our relationship has changed at all. Elle and I are solid. We’ve always been solid, even before we changed the dynamic of our relationship. I thought I would feel a lot more panicky over this. I’ve panicked over way less. It’s weird, the things my brain decides to freak out over. Clearly, this has been the right choice all along.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket while I’m unloading the dishwasher. Quinn’s name flashes on the caller ID, and more confused than anything, I answer it. “Hello?” I ask. She probably tried calling Elle first, but she’s in the shower.
“Is Elle around?” She asks. There’s a twinge of panic in her voice, something rare for someone as grounded as Quinn.
“She’s in the shower. What’s up?”
“What do you know about her new friend Brooke?” She asks.
“Um… not a whole lot. I just met her and her family tonight. They seemed fine. Why do you ask?” Confused, I wrack my brain on possible directions this could go.
“Well, she just friended me on Facebook. You know me, nosy to a flaw. Elle’s friends with her too, but I don’t think she went through her page like I did. Did you not see her husband at all tonight?” She asks.
“Well, he was here, but he had a costume on. An Ironman mask, I couldn’t see his face. He didn’t talk at all, either. I thought it was kind of weird.”
“She’s married to Jordan West,” Quinn says, her voice flat.
“Like Jordan from-”
“Yes, Jordan from college. She’s married to Elle’s ex-boyfriend.” Quinn says. “I’m not saying that there’s something going on… but Alex, this is so fucking weird. I was looking at her posts, and they used to live in New York City. I don’t need you to tell me I went in too far, I know I did, but I was looking at her pictures, and I think they literally lived on the same block as us. That’s what I’m sending to you right now.”
“Okay…” I trail off, a sinking feeling setting in my gut. “That could be just a weird ass coincidence, though.” If I say it out loud, maybe it makes it true.
She continues. “I noticed that they had moved to Chicago right around the same time as Elle did. Brooke posted about the U-Haul coming three days after we broke our lease. You know what else?”
“Don’t even fucking tell me.” I shake my head, my hand gripping the counter so hard my knuckles are turning white. I feel sick knowing what she’s about to say next. This is bad. This is so, very bad.
Thoughts start spiraling in my head. Every single discrepancy from the last several months flashes through my head, and I feel like I’m going to start crawling out of my skin.
“It wasn’t hard for me to find the address of the house they stayed at. It was a half-mile away from the one you guys were at, for the same duration of time you guys were in Naples,” Quinn says.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathe heavily, letting my head fall between my shoulders. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Alex, I need you to take a few deep breaths. I’m calling you to tell you because if Elle knew, she’d freak out. I need you to forward me Carrie’s information, and your lawyer’s information. This isn’t just a crazy ex-boyfriend. This is a full-fledged stalker,” she says, her voice suddenly bringing me back to Earth.
“Fuck. Fuck, you’re right. Yeah, I’ll text you the information. Quinn, should we be worried? I asked her to marry me tonight. There’s no way he didn’t see the engagement ring on her finger.”
“I’m- you did what?!” She exclaims. I feel like a jackass after I let it slip, but there’s no way to take it back.
“Please act surprised when Elle tells you. She wanted to tell you. Is this something I should be worried about, though?” I ask, panic seeping in.
“Just go set your security system. You guys are both home for the weekend. Tell her you want to have a movie marathon or something. Or hell, come out and see me for the weekend. Just don’t let her out of your sight. I’m sending over everything I have as soon as we get off the phone once you send me the information. Give me their personal numbers, I think this is urgent.”
“Without a doubt. You’re the best, Q.”
“Congrats on the engagement, Alex. I’ll keep you updated,” she says.
“Thanks. I’ll text Carrie and the lawyer both, let them know who you are, and give them a heads up,” I say.
“Perfect. Talk to you later,” she says, hanging up the phone.
I set the phone down on the counter and immediately I’m overrun with an overwhelming sense of panic. The first thing I do is set the security system, and then I forward Quinn the information she asked for as quickly as I can, and then I make sure all of the doors and windows are locked, even though we live on the fourth floor.
I shoot Carrie and our lawyer the same text, saying they are going to get a message from a friend of Elle and myself, and it is urgent. I head into the bedroom, shutting the door and locking it behind me. I jump at every notification on my phone, waiting to hear from Quinn, Carrie, or Greg, the lawyer.
How a day that started so perfectly can end so bitterly feels cruel, but for Elle’s sake, I’m going to put a smile on my face and let the people in charge handle it. That’s all I can do.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elle’s Point of View
The first thing I do when I wake up is call Quinn to tell her about what happened last night. I’m still in a bit of disbelief, I can’t believe that I’m actually engaged. After my relationship with Jordan, I never thought I’d date someone again, let alone get engaged to someone.
I wake up before Alex does, he was tossing and turning all night. While not totally unusual for him, he hasn’t been this restless in a while.
After my phone call with Quinn, I’m convinced there must be something in the air today. She seemed off, but I can’t put a finger on it. I’m sure she’s stressed, which is understandable. She’s coming up on her final quarterly report before she quits her job as an economist, so I know she’s been busy with work. She was very excited to hear about the engagement, though, and already accepted my informal request to be my maid of honor, with a formal request to follow.
I leisurely waltz around the kitchen, taking my time making a cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. I would make breakfast for the two of us, but I think that I will just do a nice dinner instead. Sitting with my coffee and oatmeal, Alex shouts my name from the bedroom, his voice panicked.
“In the kitchen?” I respond, confused. He races out to me, a look of relief overcoming his face upon seeing me sitting on the breakfast island. “What’s the matter?” I ask, popping a blueberry from my oatmeal into my mouth.
He shakes his head, letting it fall between his shoulders as he lets out a sigh. I cock an eyebrow up at him. “I just… it’s nothing. I had a bad dream. It’s really nothing,” he shakes his head, moving toward me. He wraps his arms around me tightly, resting his chin on my head. “How’d you sleep, sunshine?”
“Oh, fine,” I say. “You were holding onto me for dear life.” I laugh, turning my head to meet his gaze.
He tries to laugh, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Is everything okay, Alex?” I ask. He looks around the apartment, his eyes darting around as if the walls are going to jump out at him.
“I think we should stay in a hotel for the rest of the weekend. Somewhere nice, with a giant bathtub and killer room service,” he says.
“Okay…” I trail off, pulling away from his embrace. “Why?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Just to get out of the house, with you. Together,” he says nervously. I suspect there’s more to what he’s trying to tell me, based on the way I can feel his anxiety reverberating through the room.
“That would be kind of nice,” I nod slowly, going with it. “Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?”
Knowing him, I’ll get an explanation out of him soon. If not, I’ll force one out of him. Clearly, something has gone awry.
“Yeah. You start getting a bag packed, I’ll call in a reservation,” he smiles, brushing a soft kiss across my forehead. I nod and retreat to our bedroom.
I shoot Quinn a quick text before I start packing.
Any reason why Alex is freaking out and making us go stay in a hotel for the weekend? Is it bc we got engaged and I’m reading too far into the situation or is there something else going on here? Help!
I throw loungewear, sweats, pajamas, and a few oversized t-shirts into a backpack. Unsure of the purpose of this trip, I don’t know what to pack. I wait for Quinn’s response that never comes, so she’s no help in that department.
“I didn’t really know what to pack. Just threw in some sweats to lounge in,” I shrug.
“Perfect,” he nods. “Let me just throw some shit into a bag real quick. Can I have your phone?” He asks.
“Okay, Alex, what the hell?” I ask, certain that something isn’t right.
“Elle, Carrie, and Greg are meeting us at the hotel. Right now, I need you to give me your phone.” He sighs, a look of concern clouding his face. Something inside of me tells me not to fight him, and to listen. He takes both of our phones, powering them off completely, and puts them into our safe.
My stomach twists and I feel like something might truly be wrong now. The fear in his eyes, the way he woke up shouting for me this morning, and clutched onto me throughout the night… it all clicks into place. This can only be about the pictures. Carrie and the lawyer wouldn’t come all the way to Chicago for nothing, the situation has to be a lot worse than Alex is letting on.
I quit questioning his motives and just do what he says, obviously he knows what’s going on and I don’t, and I trust that he has a plan. After he quickly throws a few articles of his own clothing into a bag, along with our personal computers, into a backpack, we get into the car. He arms the house with the security system, and we leave without much time for a second thought.
He pulls out of the parking garage, and I feel compelled to ask for the second time, “What the hell is going on?”
He grips the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white. The GPS says we will reach our hotel in 57 minutes, making the ride all the longer if he decides to stay silent for it. At the stoplight, he turns his head, meeting my eyes. I silently plead with him, my eyes boring into his. “Please, Alex. What’s going on?” I ask again as the car accelerates.
“There isn’t a delicate way to say any of this,” he says softly.
“You better tell me now before we are with my boss and our lawyer, Alex. I know it can only be about one thing, so please tell me why the situation is so dire,” I plead. He glances over at me, and gives one nod of his head.
Not taking his eyes off the road, he continues down the street. “Last night when you were in the shower, Quinn called me. She found some interesting information regarding the potential identity of the person behind the photos. She didn’t want to worry you before confirming, so she called me to get Carrie and the lawyer’s contact information. I sent it over, and they were able to prove that the person in question is a credible threat,” he says, his jaw tense.
“Who is it?” I ask, relief washing over me knowing that the person behind the pictures is going to be held accountable.
“Elle, baby… there’s a lot we don’t know about the situation. I think for right now, we focus on keeping you safe. It doesn’t matter who took the pictures.” He shakes his head, grabbing his hand and entwining it with mine. He gives it a firm squeeze.
“But you know?” I ask.
He hesitates, but nods. I swallow hard, but nod my head in response. “Okay. Should I be worried?”
“We will have it figured out soon, sweetheart, trust me when I say that. Between Carrie and the lawyer, it’ll be resolved by the weekend.”
I hope he’s right. Alex seems pretty rattled, and I can’t begin to figure out why. If it was just some paparazzi creep, that wouldn’t call for this level of fear and anxiety from Alex. This almost feels personal.
Because it is personal.
“Oh, my god,” I whisper.
“What?” Alex asks alarmed, quickly glancing toward me.
“Brooke West. Her husband’s name is Jordan. I’ve never seen his face, and there’s gotta be a reason for that, right? Alex, it’s him, isn’t it?”
I was so excited at the prospect of a new friend, I ignored all of the blazing red flags that popped up along the way. Yesterday when he didn’t even introduce himself, he just sat awkwardly. Exactly where to find the apartment without me telling them what floor or unit we were. I should have known something wasn’t right. Brooke only told me good things about him, how he’s the best dad, the best husband. He just is ‘gone on business’ a lot.
In college, things between us ended badly. Not because we wanted different things in life, or went down different paths. He liked to hit me when things didn’t go his way, which was more often than not. When I finally had the courage to leave him, I told myself I was never going to risk getting into a relationship like that again. The pain— physical and emotional— was too much.
The first two months were bliss. We gave the relationship everything we had to give. The two years that followed were pure hell. The bruises, the blood, and the two broken ribs, it was enough to make me believe that I was undeserving of anything good. He had conditioned me into believing I deserved what he was doing to me, and even after we broke up, it was hard for me to believe that I would ever be in a place where I deserved to love, or be loved. The idea of ever giving that to someone again scared the shit out of me. I didn’t want to risk another relationship where it started out wonderfully but ended with me as a punching bag.
He looks at me again, a look of sadness and guilt taking over his face. “I wanted to wait until we got to the hotel,” he sighs.
“Alex, are you saying… is it Jordan?”
“Yes,” he nods. “He is married to your friend Brooke, and Elle, I think he’s been…” He swallows hard, the vein on his neck bulging out in anger. “I think he’s been watching you… us… for quite some time.”
“Oh, my god.” I shake my head, feeling bile rise in my throat. I swallow it down, not wanting to throw up in the car. Right now, there’s a very real possibility that I might.
We stay silent for the rest of the ride, and I watch as his eyes keep wandering to the rearview mirror. Eventually, I become curious about what he was looking at. There’s a black SUV riding our ass, and it immediately makes me uneasy. My palms get clammy in my lap, and the bile in my throat is ready to make an appearance at any moment.
He quits following the GPS, making a few sharp turns to try and lose the vehicle. No such luck. “Okay, what the fuck,” I mutter.
“I’m going to call the cops,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m not taking any fucking chances.”
I nod as he pulls his second phone, the one he only uses for private contacts, out of his pocket. It dawns on me that the problem must go as far as tracking or bugging phones since we left ours at home in the safe, and I immediately want to throw up again.
Alex calls, and the dispatcher is able to tap into our GPS. She tells us that we should get onto the interstate, informing us that gaining some speed and driving away will help while they dispatch the police. Given the situation of having a potential stalker, while we don’t know that’s who is chasing us, it’s hard to imagine it would be anyone else.
He floors it as soon as he pulls onto the freeway, and the black SUV lets off a bit but is still very obviously tailing us. We stay on the phone with the dispatcher and she tells us that the police are just a few minutes out yet. As we gain speed, the SUV begins to slow, putting a considerable amount of distance between us. The 911 operator says to just keep driving, don’t worry about the other car.
I can’t peel my eyes off of the rearview mirror but feel my heart rate decrease tenfold when I can no longer see the giant SUV in my view. We hear the sirens before we see them, and we begin to decrease our speed. The dispatcher says that the cops will want us to pull off on the shoulder to give a statement, and we oblige since if this is my ex-boyfriend, it will add on to the already mile-high list long of offenses for reasons to throw his ass into a jail cell.
