Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88718 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
The only sound is the occasional clicking of my laptop keys, which is why, when I hear a loud wail, followed by that deep sexy timbre echoed through the wall, my entire body takes notice. They sound close, which means they’re in Milo’s bedroom again. I can picture them, Milo snuggled in one of those fuzzy animal towels with the hood attached, as Colton tries to wrestle a fresh diaper on him. Of course, Colton’s shirt is probably soaking wet too. Milo seems like the kind of kid who’d appreciate bath time.
Shaking my head, I try to push all thoughts of my landlord and the way his T-shirt would mold to his chest if it were wet—I bet it would be a magnificent sight—and finish up my work for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll comb the site one last time and send it to the customer for review. I know there will be changes, but I’d like to know if I’m on the right track.
Before I shut down my laptop for the night, I pull up my Facebook account. I have a few notifications, but most of them pertain to pages I follow, like authors and cute boutiques. My cursor hovers over the search bar, and before I stop myself, I type a name and click enter. Seven matches pop up with the name Colton Callahan, but it’s the first one that I find myself clicking.
The profile picture is of a slightly younger version of my landlord, with his arms around two others. Their hair is buzzed super short, and the trio sport wide grins and army green. Even though the picture is a few years old, I can see the resemblance in Milo and even Chase. The Callahans must have strong genes.
I scroll down, scanning his page. He hasn’t posted recently, but there are a few tags. More army pictures, usually featuring the same small group of guys, and more recently, All Fit Gym. They took to social media to promote his hiring, as well as push a few of the classes he’s starting. I end up checking out the descriptions of each one, noting one particular I wouldn’t mind checking into. It’s a self-defense class for women, as well as one-on-one personal defense lessons, which includes kickboxing and karate introductions.
Redirecting my browser to the All Fit website, I can see why Gabby thinks an overhaul is necessary. Their current site is plain and lacks any recent news. All of those classes they’re starting with Colton should be promoted on their website, with a direct link to sign up. A blog might also be a great addition to their site, where trainers and coaches can make weekly posts to engage their audience. Eating healthy, time management at the gym, personalized workouts, and classes. All things they could promote to their targeted audience.
My wheels are still spinning as I close out of their site and exit social media. A quick scan of my online bank account reveals a dangerously low amount of money, and even though I anticipated that number, it’s still alarmingly shocking. After paying first and last month’s rent, as well as my moving expenses and covering the purchases I made today at the store, I’m in desperate need of a little incoming cash. Hopefully, I can finish up this site and get paid sooner, rather than later, and then move on to the next one waiting in the wings. My business is successful, but the recent move took a hit to my finances.
After logging out, I notice the email icon lit up, so I hop over to check it out. I always get excited when I see a contact via my website because I know it’s someone looking for my services. If I’m lucky, they’ll sign on for a design soon, so I can get my checking account back up to where I prefer to keep it.
The message fills my screen, and my blood runs cold. My eyes fill with tears as I look at the seven words written, each one of them a reminder of the truth I’m running from. A truth that has followed me halfway across the United States. One that will continue to haunt my dreams, leaving me looking over my shoulder.
Contact: iwillfindyou@gmail.com
Message: You can run, but you can’t hide.
With a shaky hand, I log out of my email and shut down the laptop. I turn off my new lamp, a sliver of light from the streetlight outside filters through the blinds and dances across the floor. I snuggle under the blanket for warmth. A chill sweeps through my body, though it has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
He doesn’t know where I am.
I know it.
If he did, he’d already be here.
I’m safe.
I just wish I believed it.
A voice filters through the wall, steady and sure. Even though tears soak my pillow, I smile. Colton is singing again to his son. My heartbeat starts to slow, and my body starts to relax, as I reach out and grasp that little sliver of comfort he doesn’t even realize he’s providing.