The Sweetest Obsession (Dark Hearts of Redhaven Book 2)

I shouldn’t feel as guilty as I do for leaving the medical center.

I tell myself it’s only because I’d get in the way.

Yes, I may be a trained nurse, but without being on staff at the Redhaven MC I’d just be a liability if someone needed to get in there to provide my mother with emergency care.

She’s the reason I became a hospice nurse, but when it’s your own mother…

Sometimes, there’s not much you can do.

Thankfully, it only took a few minutes to sort out an incorrect date on her DNR. Several more minutes for me to process the fact that my mother signed a flipping DNR without telling me.

Then there was nothing else to do but sit back at her bedside with her thin hand in mine and silently beg her to wake up, to come back to life, to be the same vibrant woman I still see in my mind, clear as day.

She wouldn’t want this for me.

Stuck here in limbo, pining for her health, waiting for death like it’s my own life ending too.

Although Grant told me Mom was fighting and she promised me she was fine on the phone, the attending nurse said she sleeps a lot. She didn’t bat an eye the whole time I was there with my fingers tangled in hers.

But it’s fine.

…it’s not fine.

Mom hasn’t been fine for a long time, and I almost wanted to yell at her for hiding her deteriorating condition.

For making it hit that much harder when I finally got to see her for myself.

I didn’t try to wake her, no, not even to hear her voice.

Not when rest is exactly what she needs to heal and fight on.

So I came back home and started tidying up the house on top of trying to call Ros again. It takes six texts and two voicemails, but she finally calls me back.

Holy hell.

It’s like she doesn’t hear me at all from whatever strange planet she’s on when I try to tell her how Mom’s doing.

That’s not my sister on the line.

There’s something wrong.

She’s giggling too much, slurring her words.

Then there’s a male voice in the background before she shushes him and ignores me when I ask who he is.

“Ros?” I ask, trying to force down my bubbling frustration—and fear. On top of Mom being gravely ill, I’m worried to death that there’s something awful going on with my sister. “When are you coming home tonight?”

“Tonight? Oh, Ophie, I don’t know. Still have to do inventory at the shop,” she says matter-of-factly. It comes out forced like a blatant excuse. “You need something?”

“Um, yeah, to see my sister? Ros, I’ve been back here for two days and you haven’t dropped in for more than five minutes. What’s going on with you?”

“It’s just… busy. Calm down,” she says defensively—and I catch Background Guy muttering again, even if I can’t make out his words. “You remember how tourist season gets, right? Everybody wants their beeswax candles and scented soaps, and when that’s over we get the online rush for the holidays when their people back home find out where they bought it from. Just chill, Sis. I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now. If you really want to see me, you could come help clean up the back room for storage. Packing and postal runs and all that organizing takes time. I mean, you’d know if you’d been here all these years…”

Ouch.

Guilt rips through me.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I deserved that.” I sigh. “I’ll stop by the shop once I’m done here, okay? Let me know if you need help with the back orders.”

“Sure,” she says, but she already sounds distracted again. Like she’s checking out, pulling the phone away. “Later, Ophie.”

“Ros—”

Too late.

I stare down at my screen, the phone blanking with a disconnected call, then sigh and push my face into my palm.

“Dammit, Ros.”

I curl up on the sofa and spend a few hours surfing job sites, looking for work. I think I’m just in denial right now because all the listings I apply for are in Miami.

Part of me thinks this is all a temporary hiccup, I guess.

Mom will miraculously get better.

I’ll blow in and fix whatever’s up with Ros.

Then I’ll escape Redhaven’s dreary orbit a second time before it swallows me up the same way it did Ethan and so many others.

Before I start thinking of this place as home again and get way too attached to certain people when I should know better by now.

Especially big, gruff, emotionally stunted people.

By the time I’m done with a few halfhearted job apps, I hear the rumble of a garbage truck pulling away from the curb. Considering how stuffy the HOA is around here—especially since it’s run by Lucia Arrendell—it’s best to get the cans in from the curb ASAP. I wouldn’t put it past some busybody to report it if they’re out there for more than two hours.

The joys of small-town pettiness and boredom.

Just another reason to get out of here without looking back.

I unglue myself from the sofa and step outside, shivering in my jeans, t-shirt, and sandals as the chilly afternoon makes the sunny sky a lie.

Ugh, I really need to go shopping and buy a proper coat.

As soon as I get done lugging the garbage cans inside, I rake a few leaves.

I’m by the curb when I almost slam into a tall figure on a jog. He materializes out of nowhere, blocking my path.

My breaths stop cold as I peel back in shock.

I’ve never seen this man before in my life.

He’s tall, gaunt, older, with a deeply seamed face and hollow eyes burning with a crazed intensity. His grey hair looks deranged, twisted like a bird’s nest, and in his tailcoat he looks like an Addams Family extra, pale and shadow-eyed.

Gasping, I step back, bumping into the trash cans behind me.

“Who are y—”

“You’re next,” he hisses—and he lunges, grabbing at my arms.

“Hey—stop!”

Strange, bony fingers dig into me.

He’s nearly shaking me, making my teeth rattle as he drags me closer, staring at me wildly.

“You have to stay away.” His voice cracks. “You… you have to stay away or you’re next!”

“Let me go!” I scream, shoving at him, but he won’t relent. He just keeps pulling. “Hey—hey! Get your hands off me right now.”

I summon my sternest nurse voice, the kind you only use when the rare disgruntled patient starts blaming you for everything wrong in their life, or the leering old men who think nothing of asking for a hand job.

But the creeper only holds on tighter, bruising pain grinding into my forearms, the meanest grip I’ve ever felt from another human being laying hands on me.

He jerks me in so close we’re almost nose to nose, staring into me like he’s trying to devour my soul.

One look at his eyes tells me he’s not well.

A storm of mental distress, already on the verge of breaking, if he isn’t broken already.

He might do anything.

And it’s a lot harder to defuse a mental health crisis when they’re grabbing and shaking you apart.

My heart snarls in fury and panic.

“Mister, please. Let go of me right now,” I grind out before my courage fails.

“You’ll die,” he whispers. “Get any closer and you’ll be the next to—”

Holy shit, enough!

“Let. GO!” I screech—and I reach for the rake behind me, grasping it and swinging it around with all my strength like a baseball bat.

The rake slams into his side with more of a punch than I figured this flimsy thing could pack.

His grip loosens as he stumbles away, banging himself into the yard waste bin I pulled out for the leaves and tipping it over. As he windmills backward the big bin joins him.

The clatter and tumble and banging noise matches the chaotic beating of my heart.

Now’s my chance.

I sprint for the door like there’s a rabid coyote on my heels.

I still hear him behind me as he staggers up again.

Dress shoes slapping the driveway, panting breaths, but I have a head start.

I bolt up the front steps and fling myself through the front door.

Then I slam it shut in his face before frantically twisting the lock, pushing myself against it for support, trying to just breathe.

Breathe.

I’m bowed over with my hands braced on my thighs, gasping for air that rips at my throat and lungs.

There’s a terrible second of silence.

I think he’s gone.

Until he slaps his hands against the door so hard and abruptly I almost black out.

“Leave it! Don’t go near them!” he roars. “You’re next—you’re next!”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” I shout back. “Go away, you fucking creep! I’m calling the cops!”

Oh, God.

There’s another slamming sound against the door, making it rattle in the frame. I need help right now.

I back away, staring at the frosted inset at the top of the door. Just past the half-moon of glass I can still make out his silhouette.

Phone in hand, I’m panic dialing 9-1-1 when the silhouette flicks away.

He reappears at the window once, his freakishly tall shape so murky past the curtains, but only for a second.

Soon, it’s gone again.

I hold still, frozen by fear until I throw myself at the window and fling the curtains open.

I can’t see anyone now.

Not even his weird, lanky frame running away.

He’s just gone like he never existed.

What the hell? Was he dangerous or was this some kind of sick early Halloween prank by a demented tourist?

But he didn’t look like a vacationer at all. Not dressed up like that. Not with the insanity swirling in his eyes.

And his words…

You’re next, you’re next.

You’ll die.

That feels more like a threat.

Still shaking, I retreat from the window, never taking my eyes off the empty front walk and driveway. There’s nothing out there but the green waste bin as I fumble with my phone.

The dispatcher picks up immediately, thank gawd—and it’s so weird to recognize Mallory Cross’ voice on the other end, this sweet lady who’s worked there for years.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Mal?” I choke out, my throat hurting from the adrenaline rush. “It’s… it’s Ophelia Sanderson. Listen, someone just attacked me at my mom’s place and… and they made death threats against me. I’ve never seen him before, I just—”

“Oh, honey—honey, calm down, and let’s take it slow. Start at the beginning.”

So I do, trying to jam every little detail I can into a two-minute panic call.

“Got it,” Mallory says, clucking her tongue. “Sit tight and make sure all the doors are locked. I’m sending a patrol car right over.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, hanging up the phone.

Then I wrap my arms around myself tight and curl up on the sofa to wait.

You know it’s bad when I’m hoping for him.

I actually want them to send Grant Faircross.

How can I settle for anyone else than the only man who’s ever made me feel safe?