Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,5
me, I reach for it out of habit, checking to see who’s messaging me this late. I always keep my phone close by at night in case Layla needs me. I’m a light sleeper, so even the faint vibration of an incoming call or message is enough to wake me. If my sister needs me, I don’t want to miss it, no matter the time.
But it’s not from Layla.
When I see who’s messaging me, my body switches immediately to panic mode. Shit! It’s Brad Turner.
Brad: u awake?
I lay my phone back down on the nightstand, leaving him unread. I don’t know why he keeps messaging me. Surely he’s gotten the hint that I’m not interested. I was never interested in him. Besides, he knows I’m with Tyler.
When I hear the faint vibration again, I open the nightstand drawer and slip my phone inside and close it. I don’t want to spend another second thinking about Brad. I want him to go away.
As if he can sense my sudden unease, Tyler shifts against me. “You okay?” he murmurs sleepily.
“Yes,” I whisper.
But the truth is, I’m not okay. I’m the only one standing between Tyler and a possible prison sentence. If Brad decides to press charges against Tyler—assault charges—god, I can’t even bring myself to think about the consequences.
Brad knows this, and he won’t hesitate to use it against me to get what he wants.
Me.
* * *
The next morning, Tyler kisses my forehead before he leaves for work. “Bye, baby,” he whispers.
He smells faintly of cologne and mint toothpaste.
It’s still early—before sunrise—but he knows to wake me before he leaves for work. I need that from him—that little reminder he’s coming back.
“Have a good day,” I say as I stretch.
After he’s gone, I wrap my arms around Tyler’s pillow and breathe in his scent. Normally, I would go right back to sleep, but this morning Brad’s text message from last night nags at me.
I open the nightstand drawer and retrieve my phone only to find out he texted me a second time last night.
Brad: We need to talk. call me
No. Never.
After wasting a whole hour in bed, trying in vain to fall back to sleep, I resign myself to getting up. It beats lying here and worrying about things I can’t control. I pull on my PJ bottoms and head downstairs to the kitchen where I end up sitting at the table, scrolling through TikTok while I eat a toasted bagel with strawberry cream cheese and drink my coffee.
My phone rings, making me jump. When I see it’s Brad calling, I let the call go to voicemail. He calls again, almost immediately afterward, and I silence the ringer.
I feel hunted, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell Tyler that Brad’s harassing me. He’d lose his shit and go after Brad. But I don’t want to sit here and wait for him to call again. I feel trapped. The walls are closing in on me.
I need to get out of here.
After cleaning up the kitchen, I shower and dress in jeans and a T-shirt. It’s late June, and the weather is perfect for an outing.
I call Miguel Rodriquez. Ever since Tyler hired Miguel to be my temporary bodyguard, he and I have become good friends. He’s on medical leave at the moment, after being grazed in the left shoulder by a bullet from Roy Valdez’s gun. And even though Miguel’s no longer my bodyguard, we’ve kept in touch.
“Hey, Ian,” Miguel says. “Que pasa, bro?”
“Have you got plans today?”
“No, not really. I was just gonna tinker with my Mustang. Maybe take it in for an oil change, since I can’t do it myself right now. Why? Whad’ya have in mind?”
“I thought I’d go downtown today, maybe walk along the river or visit Millennium Park. Take some photos. Grab some lunch. You wanna come?”
“Sure,” he says. “I could use the exercise. I’ve been sitting on my butt too long. I’ll head over to your place. See you in about thirty minutes?”
“Perfect.” After I grab my camera, I lock up the townhouse and sit outside on the front stoop to wait for Miguel. I’m too antsy to sit inside.
I notice a black car in my peripheral vision, as it slows in front of my townhouse before pulling into my driveway. I glance over, expecting to see Miguel’s Mustang, but it’s an older model sedan with darkly-tinted windows. I can’t see who’s behind the wheel until the driver steps out of the vehicle.