Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’ve just seen. Jack, outside my window in the middle of a snowstorm. Jack, who I thought was safely at home. Jack, who now seems like a stranger.
I fumble for my phone, my fingers shaking so badly I can barely unlock it. Who do I call? The police? But what would I say? My boyfriend—or whatever he is— is standing outside my window? It sounds ridiculous, even to my own ears.
A soft tapping on the glass makes me jump. “Chloe?” Jack’s muffled voice comes through the window. “Chloe, I can explain. Please, let me in.”
His tone is gentle, pleading, so like the Jack I thought I knew. For a moment, I’m tempted to open the window, to let him explain. But the warning bells banging in my head are deafening.
“Go away, Jack,” I call out, hating how my voice quavers. “Go home!”
There’s a pause, then a heavy sigh. “Chloe, please. I wanted to make sure you were safe in the storm. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I back away from the window, my mind whirling. How long has this been going on? How many times has he been out there, watching me without my knowledge?
Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hand, making me yelp. It’s a text from Jack. I’m sorry. I’ll go. But please, can we talk first? There’s so much I need to tell you.
I stare at the message, torn between fear and a desperate desire to understand. Part of me wants to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this. But another part, a part that’s growing stronger by the minute, knows that something is very, very wrong.
I hear the crunch of snow as Jack moves away from the window. Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a wave of exhaustion. I sink onto the edge of my bed, my legs suddenly too weak to support me.
There’s a knock on the door. “Chloe. Please. Open up. Just for five minutes and then I’ll go.”
The rational part of my brain screams at me not to open it, but a small voice inside whispers that maybe, just maybe, there’s an explanation for all of this.
“Jack,” I call out, my voice trembling, “I need you to leave. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”
There’s a pause, then a soft thud against the door. Is he leaning his forehead against it? I can almost picture his pained expression.
“Chloe, please,” his voice is low, desperate sounding. “I know how this looks. But it’s not what you think. There’s so much you don’t know, so much I need to tell you.”
I stand there, frozen, torn between curiosity and fear. The silence stretches, broken only by the whistling wind outside.
“Five minutes,” I finally say, hating myself for giving in. “You have five minutes to explain, and then you leave. I mean it, Jack.”
I approach the door cautiously, my hand hovering over the lock. Taking a deep breath, I turn it and open the door just a crack, keeping the chain on.
Jack stands there, snow dusting his dark hair and shoulders. His face is a mix of relief and anxiety. “Thank you,” he breathes.
“Start talking,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging snowflakes. “God, where do I even begin?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jack
“It’s cold. Can you at least let me inside?” I ask, but Chloe doesn’t remove the chain. I can’t say I blame her. I sigh, realizing I’ll have to do this through the crack in the door. “Okay, look. I know this seems bad. Me outside your window, the groceries, all of it.”
“Tell me the truth. How long? How long have you been doing this?”
I consider lying, but I can’t. It’s time. It’s long overdue. “Two years. Ever since your parents’ death.”
She grips the doorframe, and her face goes white. “Two years? Two years what?”
“I’ve been here . . . watching.”
“For two years!”
“Yes, I . . .” I swallow hard. “Yes.”
“What! Standing outside my window? For two years?”
“Yes.
“Why? Why would you do this? None of this is making any sense.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that what I’m about to say will change everything. “I was one of the firefighters that attended to you and your family the night of the car accident. I was the one who pulled you from the wreckage,” I begin. “I held your hand as you slipped in and out of consciousness, promising you’d be okay. And when I found out later that your parents didn’t make it . . . I couldn’t get you out of my mind. It was Christmas, and I knew you’d be alone without them. I didn’t want you to have to be alone and sad and—”
Chloe’s eyes widen, a mix of shock and disbelief crossing her face. “What? No, that’s . . . that’s not possible. I don’t remember . . .”