Chapter Text
I don’t want to be here.
I can’t believe I’m even thinking that, because my house is my favorite place in the world. I’m a homebody to the core. I could spend almost every night in this particular West Village brownstone and be perfectly happy.
But right now, sitting on the couch where I’ve spent countless perfect, laid-back days, I’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Even with my favorite person ever sitting right next to me.
I get up and pace another lap around the living room.
Allie watches me from the couch.
”You don’t have to act like you’re waiting for a prison sentence,” she says.
I come to a halt and turn to face her, throwing my hands out in exasperation. ”I kind of am, aren’t I?”
”Okay, drama queen,” she laughs. ”You know, most girls would be pretty excited to have a giant ex hockey player move in with them.”
”Well, I’m not.”
I stay rigid where I’m standing in the middle of the room. My body is tense and I can feel myself biting at my bottom lip until it hurts.
Allie’s smile fades. ”Hey,” she says. ”Come here.”
I reluctantly walk back over to her and flop down on the couch. She turns toward me, waiting for me to look at her before she speaks.
”I know you hate this.” Her voice is soft now, her face serious. She isn’t teasing me anymore. ”I know you don’t want to have a stranger in your space.”
”I have security.”
”Yes,” she nods. ”At events. But that’s not enough anymore.”
I close my eyes, resisting the admission that she’s right.
”I want you to be safe,” she continues. ”And you know I would happily move in with you and go to bat for you against literally any creep. For real. God help them.”
A chuckle slips out of me and she smiles, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
”But I can only do so much. And this scares me, Hannah.”
The look on her face is heartbreaking. Guilt twists through me, jagged and painful. I hate that she’s affected by this.
Her gaze drifts to my phone on the coffee table and mine follows.
The first text had been easy enough to ignore.
Loved your show tonight, after a small concert I’d played at the Bowery Ballroom. That was all it said. It was creepy that a fan got a hold of my number, sure, but I figured it was a one-off thing.
It wasn’t. The messages kept coming.
You looked pretty in that dress today.
Saw you on GMA. I liked your hair better before.
You look tired. You’re working too hard.
Even after I blocked the number, the texts kept coming from different sources. Soon enough, there was an edge to them that wasn’t there before.
You can’t keep ignoring me.
I need to talk to you.
And eventually, there was the photo.
It was taken at Dexter’s house in Brooklyn. We were in his back yard, gathered around the fire pit. I was laughing. Allie was next to me.
I’m glad you’re having fun.
The picture was grainy, but it was unmistakably me. The worst part was that I had no idea how he had been able to take it. Did he use a lens? Was he actually in the back yard? Did he follow me there?
How did he get that close?
After that, my security firm went into overdrive. This was an unacceptable breach and measures had to be taken. My security detail needed to be enhanced.
I was getting a bodyguard.
The irony seemed to be lost on everyone but me. A stranger had managed to get close enough to take intimate pictures of me in what was supposed to be a private setting, and now another stranger was moving into my house as a solution to this problem.
It didn’t seem to matter that I hated it. It was happening, whether I liked it or not. The one thing I had managed to negotiate was that I wasn’t moving out of my home. The firm wanted me in a safe house, temporarily. To ”eliminate as many risks as possible.”
I told them I’m not going anywhere. If I’m going to be living with a stranger, I want to at least be on my own turf. Even if that does mean I’ve had to agree to having my home turned upside down and inside out while the firm installed new alarm systems, mapped every room and set up cameras at every entry point.
I sink back against the cushions and give Allie one final, defeated look.
”I’m not getting out of this.”
”Sorry, honeybun.” Her smile is rueful. ”You’re going to have to let someone help you for once.”
The words poke at me uncomfortably.
People trying to help me usually end up paying a price.
I sigh. ”They won’t let me leave the house.”
”Babe.” Allie reaches out and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. ”You barely leave the house as it is.”
”Excuse me,” I glare at her. ”I do plenty of stuff.”
”Contractual obligations don’t count. I love you, but you’re a hermit.” I huff, which makes her laugh. ”Seriously, when was the last time you hung out with anyone besides me or Dexter?
”I don’t want to hang out with anyone else,” I say, which is true. The fewer people involved in my life, the better. ”And I’m a hermit by choice. Not because someone is telling me what I can and can’t do.”
”I know.” Her voice goes soft again. ”So we’ll talk to them. Find ways to make it work.”
She squeezes my hand one more time. I remain unconvinced, but I love her for trying to make me feel better.
Before either of us can say anything else, the intercom buzzes. I tense up all over again.
”Want me to get it?” she asks.
I hesitate for a second. ”No, it’s okay. Let’s get it over with.”
Allie trails behind me down the narrow stairs into the foyer, which is one of my favorite rooms in the house. It’s late morning and the spring sunshine always looks especially beautiful in here this time of day, painting the blue wallpaper in golden light. It feels unnecessarily pretty given the meeting that’s about to take place.
When I open the door, I’m met with Paul Donovan, the mid-to-late-forties operations manager who’s been sending a flurry of security people in and out of my house for the past week. He’s wearing Aviators and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. I think the Aviators might be attached to his face.
The man standing next to him is taller, broader and younger. Dark, curly hair. No sunglasses. Hazel eyes.
”Good morning,” Donovan says.
I just move to the side to let them in. Once inside, he introduces us.
”Ms. Wells,” he says with a nod, surprising me by removing the sunglasses. ”This is Garrett Graham. Graham, Hannah Wells.”
He extends his hand. ”Nice to meet you.”
I shake it and nod.
I don’t have time to process anything because Donovan wastes no time moving into the dining room, where he immediately conjures a laptop, a notebook and, for some reason, three different phones. I frown at how comfortably he sets up shop at my dining table, but I don’t say anything.
”So,” Donovan says as we take our seats. He’s already ticking off bullet points in his notebook and my gaze falls to the pen in his hand and the discreet, black lettering on it. Northbridge Security. ”We’ve got most of the set-up finished by now. All we need to do today is dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Any issues with the camera installation yesterday?”
He looks up at me from the notebook.
”No.”
Like he wouldn’t already know if there had been. I guess I should appreciate the politeness.
”Good. I’ll be doing a final check of all the updates today to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
”Great.” My voice comes out rough, like I haven’t used it in a while.
There’s a quiet beat as Donovan jots something down on the page. I squirm in my seat and look over at the man sitting next to him. To my surprise, he isn’t scanning the room or looking for the cameras by the windows. He’s watching me.
Donovan finally puts the pen down and clasps his hands.
”You won’t notice our work here, for the most part. You’ll have two agents monitoring the security systems, but they’ll be doing most of their work remotely, under my supervision. They’ll also be making contingency plans for any public appearances, coordinating with venues, establishing secure routes of transportation.”
I swallow.
Donovan continues.
”Graham will be your close protection officer.”
I glance over at him again. He’s still and quiet.
”He’ll be overseeing your day-to-day activities and accompanying you wherever you need to go. And he’ll be stationed here at the residence,” Donovan adds.
Living with me, in other words.
”’Overseeing my activities?’” I ask. ”What does that mean?”
”It means he’ll assess the risks involved in your daily life and make adjustments.” Donovan pauses. ”You’re going to have to limit unnecessary movements.”
I bristle. ”You mean I can’t go anywhere.”
Allie reaches for me under the table and strokes the back of my hand with her thumb. Donovan just looks at me for a second, like he’s figuring out how to talk to a child. It only adds to my annoyance.
”We need to eliminate risks,” he says.
”We’re going to try to keep as much of your routine intact as possible.”
I look over at Graham, who has now joined the conversation. Some of the tension in my body releases as I turn his sentence over in my mind.
”We have your schedule, but we’ll need you to fill us in on your daily routines,” Donovan continues, picking his pen back up and looking at me expectantly. ”Anything in particular we should know about?”
”Um,” I begin. ”There’s not that much. I go out for coffee. And I run most mornings. Sometimes I have the studio, but I’m not working on anything right now. It’s on Fifth, near Union Square. And I have dinner with Allie.”
I look over at Allie, who smiles at me. I like my life small, but laying it out like this makes it sound boring even though it’s not.
Donovan takes some quick notes.
”Alright. You two can work out the details later. Do you have any questions for us right now?”
I look around at all the equipment this man has already spread out on my table and it occurs to me that unlike him, the person who is about to move in here hasn’t brought anything with him. I look at Graham again, as if he might have an overnight bag sitting right next to him that I’ve failed to notice so far, but there’s nothing. Just him.
I realize Donovan is still expecting an answer from me.
I shake my head.
”In that case, I’m going to have a look at the updates and walk Graham through them.”
”Go ahead,” I nod noncommittally.
I watch them make their way back to the foyer and feel myself deflate once they’re out of earshot.
”You know your way around,” I sigh.
Allie rests her hand on my knee.
”Proud of you.” She gives me a reassuring smile that I return halfheartedly. ”Want me to make us some tea?”
”Please.”
She disappears down the hall into the kitchen and I’m left alone in the dining room. I look around the room, at all the evidence of the life I’ve built in this house. The rug I bought by accident when Allie and I went to an auction for fun. The charcoal sketches on the wall that Dexter drew for me. The piano my parents bought for me when I signed with my label.
My gaze lands on the upper right corner of the windows, where a camera with a little red light is staring down at me. My stomach clenches. The reaction is visceral and immediate, and it’s followed by a thought.
Maybe I’m not just annoyed, and powerless, and angry.
Maybe I’m scared.
And the security is a reminder of why.