Not You Again!

Not You Again!
https://books2read.com/u/mdGRjX

Patricia Elliott

Prologue

He sat there, outside Emma Praught’s house, with his hands on the steering wheel as he stared at her. The tan curtains in her living room were pulled back, and he had a clear view of her and her daughter.
He could take her out right here, right now, if he wanted to. But no, he was going to wait. Torture her a little before making his final move. She deserved it. They all deserved it. Everything was going fine in his world until they botched it.
Looking down on the seat beside him, he let his fingers roam over his sniper rifle. It wouldn’t take much to lift it up, aim it, and fire, but where was the fun in that? He much preferred to watch them slowly come to the realization that someone was coming for them.
That’s what he’d done to his cheating ex-girlfriend, too. The thrill that had raced through him when he haunted her, stalked her, and finally tortured her to death was like a drug, and now his body was crying out for more, for another. He loved watching their eyes glaze over as their spirit left their body.
And his dad was none the wiser to his activities. Man, if he found out, his dad would throw a goddamn fit, and he’d really be up the creek without a paddle. While home, he played the duty-bound man, the ever-loving son. But he found that boring. Why would anyone decide to live that way?
He was born to be a hunter. Not of animals, of course, but humans. It just took his girlfriend screwing around on him to find his calling in life. He was going to make them all pay for their indiscretions and have fun while doing it.
And this time his prey was that damn woman and her daughter. There was nothing that could stand in his way and no one to save them. They were alone and vulnerable. His favorite type to hunt.
When they moved away from the window, he got out of his car and stretched out the kink in his back. He ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, then shoved a hat onto his head. As he walked across the street, he eyed the garden planted along the wall of the house.
Carefully making his way across the grass, keeping out of sight, he dragged his feet through her flower bed, crushing marigolds, sunflowers, and tulips in his wake. Grabbing a blue tulip, he quietly walked up the steps and left it on the front porch before disappearing back into his car.
Phase one of his plan was complete. Now he’d let her mull over that one for a while before making his next move. His phone vibrated on the passenger seat, and he looked at the caller I.D. It was his mom. He wanted to stay and watch Emma’s reaction, but he was being called elsewhere. And, like a good son, he’d be there for her.
He turned the engine on and pulled out onto the road. “I’m coming, Mom,” he said into the phone, before tossing it on the passenger seat.
Glancing out the rain covered window, he flicked on the wiper blades. The rain filled the air with ominous music as the smell of wet musty dust floated through the slightly-open window.
When he could no longer see her house, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He hated leaving a job incomplete, and he ached to return and do what he knew was right. But it couldn’t be rushed. When you rushed, you screwed up. He had to plan it right to the smallest detail or things would go belly-up. And he had no plans on being the one in the coffin anytime soon.
“Bye Emma. I hope you enjoy my calling card.” Flowers. They were right up a woman’s alley.
Chapter One

It was him.
As she walked into her bedroom, Emma Praught fumbled with her phone, catching it before it hit the ground. She turned it over and looked at the screen again, her stomach flip-flopping.
Out of every person in the world that could have messaged her on Facebook, it had to be him. They hadn’t really talked in over twenty years, but now his name sat there, staring at her, highlighted in bold in her private inbox—Devon Matthews
>I read about what happened. Are you okay?
Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t even know how to answer him. He was the last person she expected to hear from, let alone care about what she was going through.
After typing a few sentences and then deleting them without sending, she put the phone down. He was the man who had held her heart in high school before he walked away, not that it mattered these days. He was a part of her old life. One that didn’t exist anymore. All that mattered was making sure she and her daughter made it through this dreadful time together.
Another ding made her pick up the phone again.
>Please talk to me. Let me know you’re okay.
Emma paused before she replied.
>I’m as good as can be expected.
“Please don’t write back,” she mumbled, yet a part of her hoped he would. The most they’d ever said to each other over the years was happy birthday, and her heart would pitter patter whenever she saw his name. It drove her crazy.
She thought her feelings for him would disappear after she got married, but, instead, they haunted her like a poltergeist. And with everything that had happened recently, his messages were just making her feel worse. She hated her feelings for him, hated herself for not being able to let go.
Her phone chimed again, her verbal plea refused.
>My heart goes out to you. I just want you to know that you can talk to me anytime. You don’t have to be alone in this.
Alone? That was her word of the week. She couldn’t even gather herself enough to get groceries, and they were down to their last liter of milk. She’d stayed cooped up in her house, hugging his pillow and breathing in her husband’s Old Spice scent.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat, and an all too familiar pain stabbed her in the chest, digging itself deep within her bowels. Putting the phone down, she climbed into bed and pulled the sheets up to her chin, desperate to forget everything. But she couldn’t. Emma picked up their wedding photo and held it close to her chest. Nineteen years were gone, disappearing into oblivion in the blink of an eye.
As she ran her finger over the photo, a soft knock caught her attention.
“Come in.”
Her teary, red-eyed daughter, Skye, walked into the room and curled into a ball on the bed beside her. Emma wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, baby.”
She cried into her mother’s shoulder, hiccupping with each sob. “I didn’t even tell him I loved him before he left.”
“He knew you loved him, sweetheart,” she said, kissing the top of Skye’s head.
“I didn’t even hug him.”
Neither of them had hugged him. They’d been too busy disagreeing with each other over household chores. Emma had given him a quick kiss goodbye, but then went back to their argument about doing the dishes.
She’d wasted their last few minutes together, minutes they’d never get back. Ones she should have spent hugging him, kissing him, and wishing him a good day.
A lifetime full of regrets came crashing down on her. All their arguments over stupid petty things surfaced like a crashing wave. Things that shouldn’t have mattered took precedence over things that were actually important.
A heavy weight wrapped around her chest, threatening to pull her under. In silence, she cried out to God, praying that this was all just a bad dream. Maybe she would wake up in the morning and he’d be in the bed beside her, snoring.
“Did you want to sleep in my bed tonight, sweetie?” she asked her daughter.
Blowing her nose, Skye nodded. Emma pulled the sheets up around them both and held her tight. Her baby girl shouldn’t be going through this. She was much too young to be facing the sting of death. At fourteen years old, it was supposed to be all fun and boys, not death and gloom. Depression hung like a dark cloud over their lives.
Her phone dinged again in the dark. She picked it up and saw Devon’s message.
>Here’s my number; call me. It might help to hear a familiar voice.
She stared at the phone number. Did he really want her to call him? He was probably just trying to be nice and didn’t care one way or another. Shaking her head, she wrote a quick thank you and then put down the phone to cuddle with Skye, whose sobs had finally quietened down.
She hoped tomorrow would be a better day, but that was still up for debate. For now, maybe sleep would give her a break from life for a few hours.
***
“Aw, Mom, do I have to?” Skye complained.
“As much as it sucks, we both have to go.”
“Can’t we just pack up and go somewhere?”
Emma brushed the hair away from her daughter’s face and let her palms rest on her cheeks. “I’d love nothing more than for you and me to take off somewhere, but I can’t take any more vacation time until the summer.”
“I don’t mean a vacation, Mom. I want to leave this house, leave this town. I don’t want to be here anymore,” she said softly, tears glistening in her eyes.
Emma pulled Skye into a hug. “Oh, darling. I wish we could.”
The house was a constant reminder of some memory they’d had as a family. Every room carried its own depressive weight. She wanted to smile at the good times, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, not yet anyway.
“Let’s just do it,” Skye begged.
“I wish it were that easy, pumpkin.” She didn’t think she could handle a move, amidst all the estate crap she had to deal with—lawyers, funeral directors, insurance companies. She was so overwhelmed that her throat clogged just thinking about it all.
“I’ll do anything, please,” her daughter pleaded.
“We have to wait and see what the insurance company and the police decide.”
If they decided it was her husband’s fault, then she wouldn’t get anything from them and would be forced to pay for all the funeral expenses. She wanted to hide, to disappear, and not have to deal with the ramifications of what the future could hold.
Emma placed Skye’s lunch into a paper bag and held it out to her. “Here.”
Skye looked inside and rolled her eyes. “Ham again?”
“I know,” she said as she grabbed her own bag and coaxed her daughter out the front door. "I promise to go after work.”
“You said you were going shopping yesterday.”
Fighting to keep control, Emma waited until Skye moved aside and locked the door. “I know. I'm sorry.”
She’d been a failure as a mother lately, unable to do even the most basic of motherly duties, like grocery shopping. Glancing down, she saw the blue flower that once had graced her garden.
Crap. Did the neighbor’s dog get into the flower bed again? She looked over the railing and stared at the trampled flowers. Her heart sank, and an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. The garden was almost destroyed. Only a few flowers had survived the onslaught. Why couldn’t one thing from her husband remain untouched?
She climbed into the little Honda and turned the key. The engine sputtered, refusing to turn on. Please don’t do this. She tried again, and the result was not much better. With water pooling in her eyes, she placed her forehead against the steering wheel.
Her husband’s voice rang clearly in her head. “I think you need a new battery before it leaves you stranded somewhere.”
“Oh, Peter,” she murmured, her shoulders shaking as everything built up inside her all over again.
Skye wrapped her arms around Emma. “It’s okay, Mom. Please don’t cry.”
Her entire world was crashing down around her, and there was not a single darn thing she could do about it. She gave her daughter a quick hug, grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car.
A drop of rain landed on her glasses. Great! Even the heavens wanted to join in on her misery. They grabbed the umbrellas off the backseat and briskly walked toward the school.
Once there, Skye plunked herself down on a bench in the covered courtyard, crossing her arms. “I want to stay home.”
Turning away, Emma took a slow deep breath and then let it out. It was mornings like this that her patience was shot, and she didn’t want to get upset with her daughter. Life was hard enough already without them fighting.
After some encouraging words, Skye finally stood up and walked toward the door. Once her daughter was safely inside, Emma headed to the bus stop and sat on the bench.
Her phone dinged in her pocket, making her heart race. She knew it would be him. No one ever messaged her. Grabbing her phone, she looked at the screen. It was Devon.
>How are you doing this morning?
Groaning, she lifted her head toward the sky.
>Off to work.
>That’s good, but that doesn’t tell me how you’re doing.
He was a persistent son of a gun.
>Why do you want to know?
>Because I care about you.
Her breath hitched, and her hands shook as she tried to type back.
>You do?
>Did you think I stopped?
Emma bit her lip.
>Kind of.
>I never stopped caring about you.
A large vehicle drove by, making Emma’s light brown hair fly in her face. As she brushed the stray strand away, she looked up and noticed the bus. It was only about a half a block away. She stood up and waited behind an older gentleman who was standing close to the bus stop sign.
She had remained friends with Devon after they’d broken up, but that was mostly because they’d had mutual friends. That’s what she’d told herself anyway, but her heart had told her something different. It refused to let him go. Maybe that’s why she’d moved away after high school. She couldn’t stand to see him and not be with him.
Another message appeared.
>I still remember our last date.
Before she realized it, she found herself replying.
>You do?
>Yes. It was Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to take you out to dinner down where I worked. My boss helped me with my tie and ribbed me because I bought you fake flowers. I told him it was because you were allergic to real ones.
Her face warmed as she typed.
>I wore my black graduation dress.
>Yes. And afterward, we went for a walk and held hands.
Emma smiled at the memory.
>We’d broken up by then, but you still kept your promise to take me out and that meant the world to me.
>You were the one I wanted to spend the day with.
>I thought you did it out of obligation.
>I never did anything with you out of obligation.
Emma placed the phone on her lap and shook her head softly, unsure of how to respond as waves of guilt flowed through her like a fast-moving river. Here she was, talking to her ex-boyfriend about the past and her husband hadn't even been laid to rest yet.
>I gotta go.
She shoved the phone in the pocket of her windbreaker. Glancing out the window, she blinked rapidly. The bus was passing a tall multi-level concrete building with huge smokestacks on the roof. It looked like a factory of some sort. Why didn’t it look familiar? She took the same route to work every morning. She should remember it.
That’s when it suddenly dawned on her.
“Crap.”
She had missed her stop.
***
Devon rested his elbow on the armrest, placing his phone on his lap. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the turmoil going through her mind. His chest ached for her in more ways than one.
God, he needed to hear her voice to make sure she was okay. If she didn’t make use of his number, he’d pester Nicole and find out Emma’s address, surprise her in person. He may be twelve hours away, but that wasn’t going to stop him. She needed him, whether she realized it or not. And he wanted to be there for her in every way that counted, like he should have been all those years ago.
“Uh oh, I know that look. Who is she?” Adam asked, flicking on the left turn signal to change lanes. They were heading out to the work site to tend to a few trees that had fallen over in a recent storm.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“An ex-girlfriend.”
“Going to have to narrow it down, buddy. You’ve had like forty.”
Devon slugged Adam in the shoulder, causing him to swerve. Thankfully, the road was empty this morning.
“Hey, I’m trying to drive here. So, who’s the girl?” he asked, nodding toward the phone in Devon’s hand.
“My high school sweetheart,” he said with a lopsided smile.
“How many of those did you have?”
“She was it.”
Adam gave him an incredulous look. “That’s hard to believe. So, what happened? Did she dump you?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Me being a teenage ass, mostly.”
Adam smirked. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Oh, shut up.”
Devon turned and stared out the window as they drove along the flat plains of Alberta. There weren’t many things he regretted in his life, but the way he’d treated her filled him with remorse.
She was the sweetest, most angelic creature he’d ever had the pleasure of holding in his arms. He’d gone over it a hundred times and still had a hard time understanding his old frame of mind. How do you walk away from a girl like that?
When he had heard she’d got married shortly after high school, that had been it for him. He’d gone off the deep end and done a lot of stupid things. And if it hadn’t been for Leila, his ex-wife, he would have done a bunch more.
Even though they weren’t together now, he would always be grateful that Leila pulled him out of his slump. He felt bad that it had never worked out between them, especially as they had two kids together. But he couldn’t spend his life with her when his heart belonged to another.
There was nothing he could do to stop it, and it wasn’t because he didn’t try. He did. But the intensity that had scared him off as a teen was the same one that continued to draw him in Emma’s direction.
“Hey bud, snap out of it,” Adam said, waving his hand in front of Devon’s face. “We’re here.”
“Sorry.”
“Man, you still have it bad for her, don’t ya?”
Devon shrugged as he pulled out the chainsaw. “What about you? Who was your high school sweetheart?”
“Lisa.”
“Your wife?”
“Yep.”
He could still remember the look on her face when she finally had the chance to confront him. It still crushed him as much now as it did then, but he knew there was no way he could have given her what she deserved back then. However, that didn't make him feel any better for walking away from her.

He’d almost taken her back when they’d gone out for Valentine’s Day. She’d looked absolutely stunning, and he’d wanted to take her then and there. Why he didn’t? God only knows. One touch and she would have melted in his arms.
“Stupid.” he mumbled. “Stupid. Stupid.”
“What’s that?” Adam asked.
“Nothing.”
Adam shook his head. “Let’s get to work, and we’ll go out for a beer after.”
“Sounds good.”
They had a long day ahead of them and a beer would hit the spot once they were done. He knew something else that would hit the spot, but he didn’t think Emma would be game for the idea yet. Grinning, he put on his hard hat and closed the door to the vehicle.
Life was about to get very interesting, and he couldn’t wait to get the party started. One day she’d be in his arms again, and this time he wasn’t about to let go. She was going to be his forever.
But first, he had to get her to talk to him.
***
Mrs. Jackson folded her arms across her chest. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, my vehicle broke down. I had to take the bus.”
“I understand life has been hard for you lately, and I sympathize, but I have a business to run and everyone needs to do their part.” After saying that, her boss turned and walked away.
Emma pulled out her phone and messaged Devon.
>Thanks, bonehead, you made me late for work.
>How’d I do that?
>I missed my stop talking to you.
>Lol.
She tightened her grip on the cell phone as she contemplated throwing it across the room. The man was driving her insane already, and they had barely started talking again. She hated herself for the butterflies that flew around in her stomach when she received a text from him.
There was no controlling her body where he was concerned. Not even years of separation, nor being married, dulled her feelings for the man. She’d loved her husband, had given as much of herself to him as she could and put her all into their relationship. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Devon and that made her feel dirty.
When you got married you were supposed to forsake all others, but it was like he’d imprinted on her, and no matter how hard she scrubbed at his mark, she couldn’t get rid of it. And now that bothered her more than ever.
Why couldn’t she hate him, like any normal ex-girlfriend would? It would make things so much easier. But no, he had to keep his promise and take her out for dinner after they broke up, messing with her heart all over again.
She wasn’t sure whether to forgive him for that. Yet, because of that night, she couldn’t find it in her heart to hate him, despite the pain that had filled her after they separated for the last time. Emma groaned under her breath. Her stupid girly-crush daydreams were going to be the end of her.
She turned back to her phone.
>It’s not funny. I can’t afford to lose my job.
>You could stay with me.
>Ha-ha, very funny :p
>Can’t harm a guy for trying.
>Will you stop texting me, I’m trying to work.
>You texted me first.
Emma groaned again with half a smile and then paused in shock, her jaw dropping. Suddenly feeling nauseous, she fled to the bathroom, making it just in time to see the contents of her stomach make a reappearance in the toilet bowl.
Sliding to the bathroom floor, Emma wrapped her arms around her stomach as she wept. “Oh Peter, how could I have smiled so soon after losing you?” she asked, her voice breaking.
Why on earth had she come back to work so soon? She wasn’t ready to talk to people or to resume her normal life. And she definitely wasn’t ready to speak to a man who could turn her into an emotional mess with only a text message.
Looking down at the ring on her left hand, she made a pact with herself. She wasn’t going to answer any more of his messages, even if it killed her.