Or maybe not. Maybe he finally understood that I was finished. Europe wasn’t the first time I’d broken up with him. It was just the first time it had stuck.
And only because I didn’t consult him on the decision. I just left. It was hard to convince someone to stay if they weren’t there to manipulate.
My phone burned in my pocket. All of his unanswered Facebook messages felt extra heavy tonight.
“I flew straight to Amsterdam, Vann. What was he going to do? Hop on a plane and scour the city looking for me?”
For the first time in his life, Vann looked passionate about something. Not just serious. Not just involved, but zealous. “Yeah. That. Or the whole damn country. If you love a girl, if she’s the one, you don’t let an ocean stop you. You go after her. You don’t let her get away.”
My brother had been invaded by the body snatchers. It was the only explanation. Vann didn’t do commitment. I’d never seen him date someone for longer than a couple of months. He didn’t even take love seriously. He always said he was allergic to it. So, what was this?
“Where is this coming from?” I asked, shocked.
He looked out the window, avoiding my stare. “It’s not coming from anywhere. That’s just the way of it. You go hard after people you care about or you probably never cared about them to begin with.”
“Then you should probably stop dating nice girls. You’re not going to find Ms.-fly-across-the-world-to-get-her-back in your current pool of availables.”
He shrugged and checked his pockets for his wallet. “You never know, Vera. She might turn out to be the one.”
“You really think so?”
An amused smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “No, but she can be the one tonight.”
“You’re so gross.”
“And late. I have to go. You sure you’re okay on your own? Do you want me to send Dad over?”
“I’m fine. When Wyatt comes over for his break, I’ll ask him to walk me to my car later.”
“Alright sounds good. Lock the door behind me.”
I saluted him because that’s what little sisters did. He waved me off and headed out. I did as he asked and locked the door as soon as he stepped outside.
Oh, Vann. I didn’t get his relationship issues. I had tons of reasons to swear off men and dating.
But his history with girls was so boring.
Busy. But overall, uneventful.
A few people walked up to the truck, and I threw myself back into my work. I hadn’t been lying when I told Vann I’d ask Wyatt to walk me to my car later, even if I had to close up a little early. Killian might have been avoiding me, but I fully expected Wyatt at some point. He was like the stray puppy I’d accidentally adopted.
After I’d taken their money, I got to work, making tacos as quickly as possible and putting it in a box with sriracha esquites and a lemon wedge. I handed the boxes out the window, warning them that it might be a bit spicy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone step up to the order window, so I passed out some extra napkins and left them to enjoy their meals.
The side door of Lilou opened and captured my attention as I walked down the line of windows to the order side. My heart stilled in my chest, pausing just long enough for me to see it was someone taking out the trash—not Killian on break. Not that I was waiting to catch a glimpse of Killian or anything. Because I wasn’t.
I let go of a frozen breath, and my heartbeat normalized again. But only for a second.
“What a relief to find out you’re not dead.”
His voice stopped me cold. Too late. I stood just inches away from him, separated by the thin siding of my food truck.
Derrek.
Derrek Hanover. Executive chef. Adjunct professor at CAI. Ex-boyfriend. Nightmare.
I wasn’t a fan of horror movies. I could tolerate them, but they weren’t my favorite genre. That said, I had always watched them with a sort of elevated sense of self. I would imagine myself in the exact shoes of the heroine in whatever movie and know exactly what I would do differently to save myself from whatever horrific situation she’d gotten herself into.
For instance, I would never run up the stairs if a serial killer chased me around the house. I would fight like hell to run out the door. Or car keys. I would get them in the lock in plenty of time not to be murdered. I wouldn’t fumble around waiting to have my throat sliced. No simple task would stop me from survival.
And yet here I was, a psychopath just inches from me, and I’d taken the elevator to the top floor and thrown my keys down a well—probably the same well the girl from The Ring lived in.
Good lord, did I have a death wish?
“What are you doing here?” Again—I should have been dialing the police or running away or hiding. Instead, I was asking inane questions and allowing him space in my new life that had been constructed around the entire idea that he didn’t belong in it.
He ignored my question. The answer was obvious. “I thought something happened to you. I called the cops. I filed a missing person’s report. I didn’t know where the fuck you went, Vera. You just up and left. Who does that? Who just fucking leaves like that?”
“I—”
“Shut up,” he snarled. “You made me look like an asshole. Everyone wanted to know where you went and I had nothing to fucking say because I didn’t fucking know.”
His eyes burned, pinning me in place with the intensity behind them. But it was nothing like Killian’s, it wasn’t the slow, delicious burn that licked its way up my legs and swarmed in my belly. No, Derrek’s was nothing but searing fire that wanted to scorch me to ash, blaze through me until I was nothing but dust.
I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even breathe. Panic welled up inside me like an overflowing dam, spilling over my brittle walls of protection in a rush of total destruction.
His voice dropped, gentled. His gaze softened too. He stopped being the terrifying avenger and transformed into the master manipulator. “You could have told me you were unhappy, Vera. You could have talked to me. I would have listened. I would have changed. For you. If you would have just talked to me first, we could have figured everything out. I could have made everything better. For you.”
“How did you figure out I wasn’t missing?” I hadn’t intentionally misled him to believe that something had happened to me. But I also hadn’t done a whole lot to reassure him I was fine. When I said I just left, I meant it.
He went to work one day, and I packed up all that I could, took him off the one bank account I had and disappeared. I ran like the hounds of hell were chasing me.
And I didn’t stop running until Dad had called with the cancer news.
“Your dad returned my hundreds of calls. Apparently, you had enough time to let him know where you were going. He said you needed to ‘find yourself.’” He stepped closer to the window, wrapping his fingers around the ledge. I flinched at the sight of them, at the restrained strength that lay temporarily dormant inside them.