I Have an Invisible Stalker (Guardians #1)

Chapter 22

Olivia's POV

I'm still gazing into Samuel's caramel eyes, while my heart fights against the confinement of my rib cage. An unknown force is nudging me to lean back down and mold my body against Samuel's, but before I can do anything, Samuel moves. He lifts his upper body and captures my lips in another kiss.

This time the kiss isn't just a single brush of our lips. This time Samuel moves his lips against mine and without thinking I do the same. A heat I have never felt before flushes over my body, while my head begins to spin.

"Olivia?" Mom's voice comes from right outside my bedroom.

Before I can register what's going on, Samuel tears his lips off mine and pushes me off him. I land on my back beside him while facing the ceiling with my eyes wide open. Did we just—

Before I can finish the thought, Mom opens the door. "What are you doing?"

It takes me a second to realize that the only thing Mom can see is me lying on the bed. She has no idea that there is a guy lying right beside me.

"Why do you look like you've just been through a heavy make-out session? Never mind, I don't want to know. Just come to the kitchen and keep Anya company while I cook."

Without another word, she disappears down the hallway, and I turn my eyes back to the ceiling. Samuel's accelerated breaths match the rhythm of my own, while one question keeps playing inside my mind.

What were we thinking?

*

I stand by Ramona's side and wait for her to lock the café. Because my six hours with Samuel expired yesterday, I'm for once in the company of only humans.

"We all make mistakes, you know?" Ramona turns to face me once she finishes locking up.

"What?" I blink at her. "Where did that come from?"

"It's for the look in your eyes. I know you're still troubled about the customer from before."

"I am? Since when?"

"There's no need to pretend with me." Ramona's sad smile is illuminated by the single light coming from the streetlamp on our right. "I know you're still beating yourself for the order you got wrong and the way the sullen old man yelled at you. So, I'm telling you it's okay."

"I didn't get the order wrong," I repeat for the tenth time. "He ordered an Americano, but when I brought him the coffee he claimed he ordered an Espresso. If anyone made a mistake, it's him."

"But it still couldn't have been nice to be yelled at." Ramona pats me on my upper arm. "And I want you to know that if you do make a mistake with an order in the future, it's okay. It's part of our human nature."

"That's not true." I shake my head. "You obviously haven't made any, otherwise, you wouldn't look as happy as you do now."

"Don't be absurd." Ramona laughs. "Being happy has nothing to do with mucking things up. I've made my fair share of mistakes, but that has never stopped me from embracing my life."

I stare at her not believing the words that are leaving her mouth. To make a mistake and still be happy?

"It's pretty late." Ramona looks around the dark street surrounding us. "Do you want me to give you a ride home?"

"I'm not going home yet."

"I keep forgetting what it's like to be young and have the energy left to keep going even after a long day of work." Ramona chuckles.

"It's not for fun. I'm going back to the intersection. I want to see if the darkness will help trigger my memories. After all, it was night at the time of the accident."

"Just don't do anything dangerous. I'd hate to have that cop's son breathing down my neck because you were hurt."

"Cop's son? You mean Nick?" I lean my head to the side, wondering what's going on in the old head of hers. "Why would he care?"

"Oh child, you have a lot to learn about men," Ramona says. "Well, I hope you'll find what you're searching for."

"Me too." I nod and then wave at her. "I'll see you tomorrow."

With a wave in return, Ramona heads down the dark street, while I remain rooted to my spot for another moment. I take one last deep breath and then turn in the opposite direction. This time I'm sure that because of the darkness and the fact that I will be standing in the middle of the road, I will be able to remember the night of the accident.

By now the path from the café to the intersection is already imprinted inside my brain, so I don't need to pay attention to where I'm going. Today, however, an unexplainable tingle at the back of my neck refuses to allow me to relax. No matter how many times I snap my head around, I never find anyone either following me or with their eyes trained on me, though. Nothing but fellow late-night pedestrians going on about their lives.

When I reach the intersection, I position myself at the edge of the sidewalk and take a deep breath. Now is my chance. I have to step onto the road and wait until a car approaches me so that it will be like it probably was on the night of the accident.

Seconds tick by yet I'm still standing on the sidewalk. I lower my eyes to my feet, but still nothing. They refuse to move.

Suddenly Ramona's words about everyone making mistakes flood my mind. They are followed by Mom's and Samuel's claim that the accident had been my fault. Can it be that it was all a mistake?

The bright lights of an approaching car jerk me back to the present. The vehicle is still a hundred yards away, which tells me I have more than enough time to step onto the road. Before I can order my feet to move though, a set of hands pushes against my back. I lose my balance and fall onto the road, right into the car's path. I land on my hands and knees in the middle of the road, yet instead of the bright lights of the approaching vehicle, my vision is filled with another sight.

The dark street in front of me is a blurry mess as I hurry down the sidewalk. An invisible force is wrapped around my rib cage and making it almost impossible for me to breathe. Yet despite the deep ache, I keep hurrying along the street and glancing behind my back every other step.

I'm just about to take another look back when my familiar ringtone slashes the surrounding silence. I realize I'm clutching my phone in my left hand, so I begin to lift it to my face. Before I can see the caller ID, a bright light from my left side consumes my vision. I have just enough time to take in two bright headlights when a car's front slams into me and I go flying through the air.

The car screeches to a stop, while I hit the hard asphalt back first. A burning ache explodes all over the back and left side of my body. I gasp out in pain, yet my mouth refuses to open. It hurts!

The thunderstorm of pain is interrupted by the sound of an opening car door and a set of hurried footsteps. The person—the driver—is nearing me. Yet before he appears in my vision, everything disappears.

I am once again on my knees in the middle of the road, while a car comes to a squealing stop ten feet away from me. The only difference from the memory is the fact that this time the car is quick enough to stop.

The screeching of the tires is followed by the sound of opening car doors, but all I can see are the two bright headlights aimed at me.

"Stop!" a man shouts.

"No! You go help her," another deep male voice orders. "I'll go after him."

The sound of running footsteps follows the shouts, but instead of toward me, they move away from me. I'm just about to turn in the direction of the footsteps when another voice fills my ears.

"Hey, you okay?" One of the two men kneels onto the asphalt next to me.

It takes my startled brain a second to realize that I know him. "Nick?"

***

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                - E