In fact, it seems everyone is trying to protect me. Without any contribution from me.

After the first week of mostly crying and refusing to eat or see anyone, I thought about Mrs. Walker. I wished I could be back in the bookstore, arranging new releases and hosting events. I realized that more than anything, that’s what I wanted. So I applied for a business degree program to my mother’s extreme excitement. It was online, but it was something. They tried to talk me into a university residency, but I couldn’t bear the thought of laying down a foundation anywhere but Wicked.

My parents would never let me go back, not with my trust fund money, which they still controlled until I finish college. So, I am stuck dreaming about the bookstore that will eventually be mine, and try as hard as I can not to dream about the man who I thought would be mine.

Coming back from a hot yoga class, I keep my eyes glued on my phone as I waltz in the front door. My face is still beet red, and my legs feel like Jell-O, but I can sense something is up when I find the front door open just a crack.

Assuming it’s just my mom home early from her shopping trip, I step into the living room and glance up from my phone. A clipped scream bolts out of my chest when my gaze lands on a man standing in the back corner of the living room.

His face is bulging with purple and black swelling around his lips and eyes, but the quaffed blond locks and familiar stance catches me off guard.

Hale.

“No,” I whisper. Glancing around, I realize that we’re alone. We’re alone, and he’s pointing a gun directly at me.

I want to pass out. The room sways and a bout of tunnel vision has me staggering, but I grip the back of the couch in my hand and wait. Questions swirl around in my mind. Is he here to steal from us? Kidnap me? Hurt me?

But most of all…who did this to his face?

I have a slight suspicion that refuses to be acknowledged. If Logan did this…then he’s fallen farther down than before.

“How did you get in here?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“You don’t think I grew up in a house just like this one? It takes one to know one, Sierra. You only set the alarm during the night. The door lock code is a birth year. These security measures only make you feel comfortable, but they don’t really protect you, do they?”

“What happened to your—”

“Your fucking boyfriend!” he barks at me, spit flying out of his swollen lips. “And he’s going to pay. He’ll pay for everything, then I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

Tears prick my eyes when his words hit me like knives. He wants to hurt Logan, and he won’t hesitate hurting me to do it.