For me, Target runs are better done alone. Every time I go with Faye, she takes it upon herself to stop by every department. One time she browsed nearly every shelf and rack to declare what was and was not cute—even down to the bathroom and kitchen cleaners. Then she stopped by the electronics to ask one of the techs about a new device they had on display. So yes, going alone is always better because typically, I’m in and out.
Now, I’m shopping with Caz, and he is ten times worse than Faye. His hyperawareness is making me anxious, and he’s hardly paying attention to the clothes I select for him. Every time I ask if he likes something, he simply nods and glances at it before returning his attention to his surroundings. It’s come to the point where I’m selecting clothes I think he’ll like just so we can get the hell out of here.
I’ve never seen anyone so paranoid in public the way he is, and I’m sure others are noticing because mothers with children are pushing their red carts with haste to get past him. Every single male is being glared down. Even some of the employees have looked at him strangely. They’re probably assuming he’s up to no good. Because that’s the thing about Caz. He doesn’t look away when you lock eyes with him. He stares and stares and stares until the other person gives up and puts their attention elsewhere.
To a normal earthling, it’s intimidating and unnerving, and he’s doing it right now to a poor employee who’s placing clothes on a hanger next to one of the racks.
I smack Caz’s arm, my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder, and give him a stern eye.
“What?” He frowns, dropping his eyes to me.
“Stop staring at people like you want to rip their heads off,” I hiss away from the phone.
“He was staring at me first.”
“He doesn’t mean you any harm. He just works here. Jesus.”
Lou Ann’s voice comes through the phone again. “How many days do you plan on taking off?” she asks. I called her when we came to the men’s department. If I’m skipping town, I know she’ll be contacting me and wanting to meet so we can plan the next event.
“I think just a week,” I tell her. “Things are really crazy right now.”
“Why do you sound out of breath?” she asks around a mouthful of something. “Are you working out?”
“I sound out of breath?” I dump a pack of T-shirts into the red cart. If I do, it’s because I’m trying to focus on our conversation while also keeping an eye on my murderous mate. “Well, like I said, things are crazy. Will you be okay with me taking a week…maybe even two?”
“Two?” she exclaims. “Willow, I like to think that I’m pretty understanding, but this is unusual for you. Should I be worried? Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, no! I just…I need some time, Lou Ann. This is more for my mental health than anything, really.” I know that’ll get her. Lou Ann had a panic attack several months before hiring me. Apparently, she’d agreed to help with an event that was on a tight budget and had given her a short time frame to organize things. She couldn’t handle the workload alone and was extremely stressed, hardly sleeping, and completely overwhelmed by it all. When she realized how much she had to tackle, she broke down in the bathroom of the event. Since then, she’s hired a therapist to discuss the issue with. She takes mental health very seriously, and I feel bad for using that as a cop out…but it’s also true. Being with Caz, despite the dangers, has improved my mental health significantly. I don’t think about harming myself or wallowing in bed anymore. I have a reason to keep moving—a reason to live—and that’s because of him and our Tether.
“Sure, all right.” Lou Ann chomps some more from her end. “But when you feel better, we really have to get planning. You’re my best asset. I can’t do this without you. We also have to send the attendees those invites for RSVPs.” By we she means me.
“Right. I’ll do that.” I watch Caz walk toward a mannequin. He studies it a moment, eyeing it up and down, then grabs the whole mannequin off the stand to set it on the floor. He takes the black trench coat off of it, then slips his arms into the jacket. The same employee who was staring moments ago has his focus on Caz again with a look of pure shock on his face. When he stops what he’s doing to walk in Caz’s direction, my heart sinks.
Oh God. “Thanks so much, Lou Ann. I’ll email you soon.” I hang up before she can speak again and rush toward Caz.
“—that you like it, but you can’t take the display clothes off the mannequins, dude.” The employee is speaking to Caz with a deep frown. His name tag says Jake.
“You’re the man who was staring at me,” Caz says, bridging the gap between them, and Jake flinches. “Why are you watching me?”
“Caz. No.” I press a hand to his chest while putting my attention on Jake. “I’m really sorry—he’s not from around here. All of this is very new to him.”
Jake looks Caz up and down with a continued frown. “Yeah, clearly,” he scoffs. “Can you at least put the jacket back on the mannequin? I literally dressed it today.”
“Nah, I think I’ll keep it.” Caz studies the sleeves of the coat. “Nice quality. Fits me well. Black material. It’s mine now.”
“Dude! It doesn’t even have a price tag!” Jake argues, his face reddening. “Just put it back!”
Caz’s brows dip. “Jake, I suggest you run along before I shove a bullet up your—”
“All right, let’s go. Take the coat off,” I insist, already tugging at the sleeve. “We’ll find another one. With a price tag.”
Caz grimaces at Jake while I pull the hem of the sleeve. Jake, to my surprise, doesn’t back down, but in his world, he’s privileged and safe. He doesn’t know that Caz really will shove a bullet up his…whatever he was going to say.
I place the jacket on the mannequin’s shoulders, smile at Jake, then hook my arm through Caz’s so I can lead him away.
“Can you please try to behave?”
“Behave? I didn’t do anything wrong, Willow. That man was the one staring at me like I had two heads.”
I sigh as I stop in front of a row of coats. “Look—here’s a whole rack of coats. You don’t have to take the one off the mannequin.”
Caz studies the coats with an inclined brow. “I don’t understand why it’s up there if it’s not for taking.”
“That one is just for display, so that if a person likes it, they can come back here to find one on the rack to take home.”
“In Vakeeli, if it’s on display, we just request it and they give it to us.”
“Well, unfortunately for you, this is not Vakeeli.”
He still appears confused, but he doesn’t argue. He reaches for one of the coats, slides into it, then fixes the lapels and the collar. “I’ll take this one.”
I release an unsteady breath. “Okay, so I got you a few shirts, and you might have to try these pants on because I don’t know your size, but they look like they can fit.”
I lead him to the dressing room and have him try all the clothes on, and fortunately, they do fit. The pants are a little loose around the waist, but that’s nothing a belt can’t fix. When I find a decent belt, we head to checkout, and relief sinks in when I realize we’ll be going back home. This man cannot be in public for long.
“Can you watch the cart while I use the bathroom?” I ask before we leave.
Caz looks from me to the cart. “Surely, no one will take it while I’m here.”
Oh, Lord. I refrain from rolling my eyes and enter the bathroom as Caz stands guard by the cart like his life depends on it. When I walk back out, I catch someone across the way and my heart sinks to my stomach. I freeze, focusing on the man in the navy-blue tracksuit. His curly hair is disheveled beneath a black cap, his lips pinched together tightly. Garrett.
My eyes shift to Caz, who has his back to me so he can’t see me. However, I believe he senses my panic because his head turns a fraction, and his gaze is over his shoulder to find me.
“Willow?” Caz calls, turning fully to face me.
I look from Caz to Garrett again, who is looking Caz up and down, then he shakes his head and leaves the store. Caz studies me a moment, then turns again to figure out what I’ve been staring at. When he doesn’t see anything, he marches my way.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“I—I’m fine. Let’s go.” I grab his hand and rush for the cart. The sooner we pack and get our shit together to see Phil Patterson, the less I’ll have to deal with Garrett and his weird ass stalking. I really need to call the police or file a report. If Faye saw him last night, and he’s here today, he’s definitely stalking me. But why? All because I don’t want to be with him anymore? He’s so damn childish and ridiculous.
I leave the store, surveilling my surroundings. I don’t see Garrett or his car anywhere nearby, so I hustle to my car with Caz. I dump the items in the backseat as Caz climbs into the passenger, and when I’m behind the wheel, I start the engine and leave the parking lot.
“I just need to make one more stop,” I murmur, checking the rearview mirror. No familiar cars are following me that I can see. That’s good.
“You sure you’re all right?” I look to my right, and Caz is eyeing me suspiciously.
I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You look worried. And I feel it too. What did you see in that shop?”
I contemplate telling him the truth. But then I remember what he said at the apartment. If he sees Garrett, he’ll kill him. If I tell him Garrett is possibly stalking me, he’ll find him and kill him. Oddly enough, I have no doubt Caz will find a way to do it. One thing I will never do is underestimate him. I refuse to let him get into trouble in my world. It’s my turn to protect him now, so I say, “All good. You hungry?”
He still stares. “Not really.”
“Kay.” I turn up the music, and Frank Ocean sings about getting lost. I turn onto a single-laned street, following the directions my GPS provides that lead me to the nearest ATM. Caz watches my phone as it sits on the dashboard on a phone stand, in a perpetual state of awe as the arrow of the GPS guides us.
“I still don’t understand that thing,” he mumbles. When I’m at a red light, I show him how I made it work. He seems to grasp some of the concept, but not entirely because one of his brows puckers with confusion.
When I park and collect my wallet from my purse, I say, “Wait here.”
I don’t wait for Caz to speak as I hop out and run to the machine, shoving my card into the slot, and entering my PIN. I peer around at the cars passing by and the vacant lots of nearby buildings. No one around. Just us.
I take out some cash, and as I stuff the money into my wallet, headlights flash in my direction. A navy car pulls into the vacant lot with us, and for a split second it just sits there. Through the window I see the silhouette of a hat and curly hair beneath. Oh my God, that’s Garrett’s car. The tires of the car screech, and my mouth goes bone dry as the vehicle accelerates toward us.
