Chapter One - Ansley

“Mr. Ernest, put the newspaper away!”

The man pushing his late seventies looked at me over the top of his newspaper and dramatically licked his finger before turning the page. In his defense, hiring a fitness trainer was his wife’s idea.

For three months, he sat at the tricycle in the corner of the gym, reading his newspaper while I tried to encourage him to work out—obviously, with no luck.

The florescent lighting reflected off his balding head while his only movement, besides turning the paper, was to push up his tiny framed glasses on his crooked nose.

I leaned against the floor to ceiling mirror surrounding us and took a drink of my bottled water. At least his reluctant attitude gave me extra time to work out for myself.

“Dude is relentless,” Corey said.

Corey, another trainer leaned beside me, offering me one of his mini pretzels. I snagged one, laughing to myself at his choice in snacks. With three young kids at home, he brought the most nostalgic snacks to work.

“How are things going with Marcus?” he asked.

I sighed. I’d broken things off with Marcus, my recent ex, several days before and things hadn’t gone as planned. Marcus leaned more toward the obsessive side of life and threatened me.

“Not good. He’s been texting and calling nonstop. I’m going to change my number today after work.”

Corey frowned, running his palm over his five ’o clock shadow. Corey reminded me a bit of a skinny Seth Rogen but without the jokes.

“Be careful,” he said. “Marcus is a little—,”

“Psychotic?” I asked.

He shrugged his big shoulders. “Something like that, yeah.”

I leaned onto my right foot, looking down at my prosthetic leg compared to my normal one. I lost my leg in a car wreck that killed my grandmother when I was ten.

To be honest, it didn’t bother me much. Sure, I would prefer two legs, but people didn’t poke fun at me much, maybe it was my older brother threatening anyone who stared too long in school.

Being a tomboy growing up, I liked to think I was part cyborg and taunt the people in my class. It didn’t stop me from working out or playing sports. I owned it.

“Is that your dad?” Corey asked.

I glanced toward the door at my dad standing in the doorframe, head almost touching the top. Daddy was an active marine and looked like a life-size G.I Joe.

He spotted me quickly, his eyes shifted across the room as he walked toward me. I could tell by the grim look on his face that something was wrong.

I shoved from the wall and met him halfway, noticing my brother followed several feet behind him, dressed in his uniform—he followed in Daddy’s footsteps.

“We need to talk,” Daddy said in his deep Louisiana twang. “Come on outside.”

Something happened. I followed behind him, giving Mr. Ernest a finger that he ignored. My heart hammered against my chest. The only person I could imagine dying would be my mother’s mother that I hadn’t seen in years, and for some reason, I figured it was something else.

Daddy stopped underneath the black awning above the gym, and pressed his palm against the outside brick wall. I watched his handsome face, with crow’s feet surrounding his dark eyes and his jaw work underneath a five o’clock shadow.

“God, what is it?” I asked after a few awkward seconds of silence. “Spit it out.”

Daddy straightened and cleared his throat. I watched him bring a piece of paper from his pocket and hand it to me. I knew the handwriting instantly.

Marcus.

It was a definite threat.

Daddy tapped his finger against the paper. “What is this?”

“Looks like a threat,” I said, letting the paper fall with my palm toward my thigh.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t seem surprised. I assume this isn’t the first threat?”

I shrugged. “No. I broke it off a week ago and he hasn’t taken it well.”

My brother, Sammy, snorted. “I’d say. He said to watch your back, Ansley. You weren’t gonna tell us?”

I looked back into the gym at Mr. Ernest sitting on his bike. “Not unless I felt like I had to.”

Dad cursed beneath his breath. “A threat didn’t seem like an appropriate time to tell us? We went to the police but—,”

“You what?” I barked.

“Told you,” Sammy mumbled.

“Told him what?” I asked.

“That you’d freak out. You’re not some badass as you think you are. This guy threatened you, Ans.”

I ground my teeth. “Marcus isn’t going to kill me.”

“You don’t know that!” Sammy said, running his palm over his dark buzzed hair. He looked a lot like Daddy but with light blue eyes like Momma.

“Ugh, so what now? What did they say?”

“Unfortunately nothing,” he said. “You can file a restraining order but that won’t help. I’m sure he won’t care if you wave a paper in his face. So …” he glanced over at Sammy. “Why don’t you go back to work? When is your classes?”

I huffed and stared at myself in the glass of the window. Daddy had always been overprotective, even though this was more serious, I didn’t think Marcus would actually hurt me.

My brown hair blew in the growing wind, and brushed across my face. A replica of my mother that ditched us shortly after I was born stared back at me.

Hazel eyes with high cheekbones. It wasn’t that I felt ugly, but I felt like her. I wouldn’t be her … ever.

“I don’t have classes on Tuesday or Thursdays,” I said.

“Okay, come back to your apartment after work and we’ll talk,” Daddy said, bending down to kiss my cheek. I waited until they left before heading back inside.

Mr. Ernest’s bicycle sat empty.

I glanced at Corey standing by the dumbbells. “Where did he go?” I asked.

He pointed toward the lounge chairs in the lobby.

“Seriously, Mr. Ernest?” I asked. “At least pretend for your wife.”

***

Daddy’ F250 sat in the parking lot of my cheap apartment building. The rundown siding and broken staircase didn’t really bother me much, it was all I could afford and it would do until graduation.

I pulled out my key but stopped when I heard laughter from the inside. Someone was with them. Who? I groaned, and walked into my apartment.

The small kitchen opened up into a living room and balcony. Silence grew over the house, as I got closer. Daddy stood up from the loveseat in the corner. He always felt the need to claim it when he visited.

My brother sat in a lone chair pressed against the opposite wall.

I noticed the tip of a combat boot sticking out from the recliner facing away from me. I followed the camouflage leg up to a pair of thick thighs, and as the swivel recliner turned to me, I noticed a taunt stomach covered in a black t-shirt.

Dog tags hung around his neck and by the time I got to his face, I knew who sat in my chair. My childhood fantasies flashed in my brain and I prayed it didn’t show on my face.

I’d fawned over him for years in high school from the comfort of my room, while he and my brother played football in my back yard. Good Gracious, age played in his favor. He had the same deep-set, dark eyes, accompanying his distinct lips, settled cheeks, and cut jawline.

Madden James stood up slowly, his tall frame easily coming to a full six-four height. My bottom lip trembled a bit from that familiar rush of heat in my lower stomach.

It’d been years since I saw him last.

Why is he here?

He looked bigger than I remembered his piercing dark eyes steady and content on my face.

His dirty blond hair was buzzed from the military but I noticed it looked a bit grown out unlike my dad’s and brothers. I felt myself grow uncomfortable at his stare and the way his tongue ran across a full bottom lip.

That lip ring was definitely new.

“Ansley,” Daddy said. “You remember Madden?”

“Yeah,” I said carefully, leaning onto my good leg. “Why is he here?”

Daddy gave me a look that said don’t be rude.

Madden chuckled, and the deep octave settled against my skin like velvet. “I was invited,” he said.

“By who?” I asked, suddenly irritated at his presence. “This is my apartment.”

“Ansley,” Dad said. “Knock it off. We need to talk to you about this situation with Marcus.”

I raked my head for something to make sense. What did Madden James have to do with Marcus? “Come on over here and pop a squat,” Daddy said.

I didn’t budge. I needed to stand to keep myself grounded. Madden’s presence made me feel like a fifteen-year-old girl again and I didn’t like it at all.

He sighed. “We hired Madden to watch over you.”

Watch over me … I waited for anything to make sense or Daddy to elaborate. When he didn’t, I laughed. “You’re serious? I’m twenty-one, I don’t need a babysitter.”

Daddy pressed his lips into a thin line.

Having grown up with a prosthetic leg, I spent a lot of my time proving to my dad that I could do like other kids. Like Sammy. Like my friends. Especially growing up in a military family. We were proud, and I didn’t want to be the exception to that rule.

I thought those days were over and now here I am, trying to persuade my dad I didn’t need a babysitter.

“I can’t have a grown man follow me around? I have classes and a job. This isn’t going to work.”

“Yeah, it will,” Sammy said. “We already asked your professors and they are okay with it. Plus, Madden knows how to spot people, he was an interrogator.”

I waved my index finger around as if it wasn’t a big deal, even though I was secretly impressed.

The corner of Madden’s mouth pulled into a grin.

“It doesn’t matter,” Daddy said. “He is going to stay with you until this is over with. Your brother and I can’t leave work, and Madden was honored with a purple heart and was honorably discharged.”

“So basically you have everything already set up and ready to go, huh? You didn’t ask me? How do you think that makes me feel?”

Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “Safe.”

Tugging at the bottom of my shirt, I glared at him. “I have to use the bathroom, unless he’ll need to assist me with that, too.”

Dad narrowed his dark eyes. “Don’t be a smart ass, Ansley. This is for your own good.”

I glanced over at Madden, who lifted a dark brow at me. I didn’t see anything potentially good that would come out of this. My heart thumped wildly when his smile widened. Definitely nothing good.

I walked toward my room and dropped my gym bag. I pressed my palms against my eyes and took a deep breath.

Daddy’s heavy footsteps stopped at my door. “Baby Girl,” he said. “This isn’t up for debate. This person threatened you and I can’t risk the chance of him hurting you. I wish I could just knock this prick off, but I can’t. Madden will stay here—,”

“Here?” I asked. “With me? No! This is a one bedroom apartment—,”

“With a hideabed,” he replied.

Oh my God.

I closed my eyes knowing that I wouldn’t win this fight with him. Daddy walked over and bent down to kiss my forehead. “Baby, I love you and I just want him to stay until things die down.”

I breathed in deep and let it out slow. “Okay, Daddy.”

He nodded. “Your brother and I have to go. Madden will get with you on your schedule and the rules.”

“Rules, Dad, really?”

“Rules,” he said. “And don’t give him a hard time, Ansley Grace. You’re already a lot to handle.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I mumbled.

I followed him to the living room and waited awkwardly as Dad and Sammy spoke to Madden in the corner of the room. I never wanted to admit it but I had the biggest crush on Madden growing up. Him being six years older than me axed the idea of anything ever happening—not that he’d want me, but oh, how I wanted him.

When the door to my apartment shut, I felt nerves slither down my spine to my toes. Madden walked to the center of the kitchen, shoved his palms into his pants and stared at me.

“Look who’s all grown up,” he said, his deep southern twang hit my stomach. “It’s been a long time.”

Nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Yeah,” I said. “This is stupid, you know that, right?”

Madden didn’t look bothered. “Yeah, how so?”

I shrugged. “Marcus isn’t going to kill me. He’s possessive and angry but not a murderer.”

Madden shrugged and looked around my small dining room table and back to me. “Those can be signs of a murderer. Anger and aggressive. Why don’t you sit down and tell me about him?”

I took a seat across from him at the dining table. Madden opened a manila folder from the center of the table and took a pen from his pocket.

“His name is Marcus—,”

“I’ve done a complete background check on him,” he said. “I don’t need those details. I need his personality. His schedule. Does he know yours?”

I bit my bottom lip and began to gnaw on it.

Madden’s dark eyes flickered up to mine. “No need to be nervous, Legs. I’ve got you.”

“Did you just call me Legs?” I asked. I’d been around Madden for years and he’d never called me that. Hurt slammed me.

Madden read my face and realization hit him. “That’s not what I meant by that.”

“Yeah?” I asked, crossing my arms to keep myself together. “I’ve been made fun of before but never by someone close to my family.”

I stood up and he did followed to grab my elbow. Despite the situation, the rough feeling of his fingers sent me into a world wind. “Ansley,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I swear.”

“What else could that have meant?” I asked.

His fingers tightened for a brief second before releasing me. “Not that.”

He sat back down and furrowed his brow. “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he said. “Sit down. I’m sorry. Tell me about Marcus.”

I wanted to pry and force him to tell me what it meant but I didn’t. “Marcus knows everything about my life. He knows my class schedule, my work schedule, my softball schedule. Everything about me, he knows. I want to get my number changed today at the store, but besides that,” I shrugged, “I don’t know how we can avoid him.”

Madden leaned back in his chair and scratched underneath his chin. “Does he work?”

“No, his parents pay for his bills.”

“Sports?”

“No.”

Madden looked up at me. “What a guy. So, he basically has nothing to do besides school and every free moment will be turned toward you. What did you see in him?”

What kind of question was that? “What does that matter?”

Madden smirked. “It doesn’t, just curious that you saw something in this,” he gestured toward the folder, “that I didn’t.” He stood up. “Let’s go change your number. You’ll ride with me.”

He waited on me to grab my stuff and ushered me out of the door, keeping on my heels like a toddler. I felt the heat from his body behind me as I descended the stairs toward his pickup.

Something in the back of my mind screamed this wasn’t a good idea.