SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) (23 page)

My body doesn't seem big enough to contain the myriad emotions running through me. Anger, frustration, and the desperate need to see Dade's face and to feel his arms around me all fight within my heart, causing it to ache violently.
 

I refuse to sob in front of West, so I choke it down and save it for my new life…the one in the fucking folder.

The rest of the trip is spent in silence until we pull up to my new house. The neighborhood consists of old houses and even older trees. I'd probably like the quaintness of it all if I didn't loathe the life this place represents.
 

West escorts me to the house along with a bag I recognize from the safe house I shared with Dade. I choke back one more sob.
 

"This is it," West says unnecessarily as he hands me the keys to my new house. "Since you haven't looked in the folder yet, and you should…soon…, I'll introduce myself to the owner of this house. Lauren Callahan, it's nice to meet you. Your car is in the garage. Your job starts in three days."

"So that's it?"

"The marshal assigned to you will be here tomorrow. In the mean time, we left directions to a grocery store on the table. Your bank accounts, stipend details, and debit card are in the folder along with your new social security number. From here on out, the decisions are yours, with the obvious exception."

"Right."

"You'll have everything you need. Good luck, Lauren."

Lauren. He can't just erase me, and he can't just erase Dade. What the hell am I supposed to do? Lauren Callahan? She doesn't exist! Shelby Keene isn't dead!

I watch West drive away as I hold the cold metal keys in my hands. I don't want to walk into the house. The front door stands as a portal to the life I don't want to accept, so I sink to the front step, refusing to cry.
 

Finally, after what seems like hours, I open the folder. On the first page, I see the vital statistics on one Lauren Elizabeth Callahan. I was born on November ninth in Michigan to Genevieve (Smith) Callahan and Don Callahan. My work history includes tech support after a two-year degree at a community college. How can I possibly make this me? I've barely grieved my real parents, and now my fictional ones are dead, too? One died of cancer, the other of heart failure from a congenital defect I was fortunate enough not to inherit. Jesus.
 

Only my medical history is the same.
 

I flip one more page and I see my job all laid out for me. Lauren Callahan, back on help-tickets for a no-name accounting firm in this fucking no-name town.
 

He wants me to grieve my old life? Bullshit. I'm going to get it back.
 

Desolation hits as I realize how difficult and time consuming such a trick would be. With no other choice in my immediate future, I key into my house and look around at the decor. Decent, basic furniture in neutral colors is arranged in an average display of utilitarian style. I have a couch and a chair facing a television.

Upon further inspection, I have a kitchen table which seats four and cupboards stacked sparsely with dishes and a few cooking supplies. My bedroom is made up with cheap sheets and more neutral colors. My guest room is empty completely. There's not a computer in sight.
 

Finally, I sink to Lauren's bed and cry.

I wake up with swollen eyes from too many hours of giving into my isolation and sadness. The devastation over my temporary loss of Dade is too strong for words. He's been the only stable force in my life during months of emotional turmoil. I literally wouldn't have survived without him, even before the hitman tried to kill me at that damn bar.
 

I never understood the concept of
'you complete me'
from that movie until I met Dade. And even though he irritated me from the first night I met him, the undercurrent of appreciation and attraction kept me with him. He guarded me patiently through my worst decisions and cared about me no matter how poorly I treated him or myself. By the time I finally realized what I had, he'd gotten so deep under my skin he was a part of me. The gaping hole in my life had been filling so subtly, easing the pain so slowly that I was never overwhelmed by him…simply
completed
by him.
 

Without him here…I can't imagine. I need him. There is no me without him anymore, and there sure as hell is no Lauren fucking Callahan. I shake my head at my new life and walk to my bathroom and find a linen closet with exactly one towel, one hand-towel, and one wash cloth, each in more neutral colors. My entire life is beige.
 

The shower doesn't help much, nor does the cold compress over my eyes afterward. I pull clothes from my bag and I can't even appreciate the comfortable cotton. What comfort can be had?

Two hours after I get up I hear a knock at the door. That would be the marshal. I'm tempted to not answer, but I'd probably be put in time-out or some damn thing.
 

"Miss Callahan," he greets with his badge at his hip. I scowl. "U.S. Marshal Damien Prentis."

I open the door wider for him and his plain clothes. I suppose a suit this early would draw interest from the neighbors. I'm supposed to be average and
beige
, right?

"How are you doing, this morning?" he asks with less formality.
 

I scowl again.
 

"Yeah," he nods. "I get that a lot."

My eyes roll of their own accord, and my voice refuses to utter the first words as Lauren Callahan. Walking into this house was difficult enough. Interacting with this marshal as Lauren is something I simply cannot do.
 

He makes himself at home, getting orange juice from my refrigerator and a cup from the cupboard. I suppose he set up everything in here. Of course he'd know where Lauren keeps her cups. I may move them and let them be Shelby's. I will hang onto myself until I can figure out a way to get to Dade.

"Miss Callahan," he begins again as I clench my jaw. "Please don't scowl at your name. Most people don't, and you're part of a new community. Any
off
behavior draws attention. Keeping anonymous is near impossible in our current technological, social-media world. No attention can be drawn. Shall we go over some ground rules?"

All I can do is stare.

"Coffee first, then."
 

Again he moves around my kitchen with ease. At this point, my house is more his than mine. I refuse to think of this as home. A few silent minutes later I'm sipping crappy coffee from a ten-dollar machine. I miss my single-cup brewer. How many little things will eat away at me before the gaping hole returns? What then? I have far too many questions and not a single damn answer.

"Lauren," he starts again.

"Shelby."

"Lauren. Absolutely you are Lauren," he says patiently. "Shelby's life is being mourned by your friends on the coast. Lauren lives here.
You
live here.
You. Lauren.
"

I won't argue with him. I may even answer to Lauren to appease him, but I'm still SHELBY KEENE,
Dade's Shelby.

I realize in this moment that the rest of my life doesn't much matter. I'll barely miss my old friends. I had no job, and my life was a shambles. I can even pretend my name is Lauren. What I
won't
do is be without Francis Dade Roarke.
 

I smirk to myself that I fell in love with a man named Francis.
 

"What was that smirk about, Miss Callahan?"

"You can stop using that name every time you speak," I say flatly. "I get it. I'll play nice."

He shakes his head at me patiently.
 

"We're not playing."

"I know," I let out an exasperated sigh. "But what about Dade? Marshal Roarke?"

"He's not part of this life," he explains rationally. "Accept your fresh start. I know your history and how difficult you made your life before. Don't repeat the pattern. You have stability and support here. Use them. Let go of the rest."

"How am I supposed to let go?" I ask through angry tears. "Why can't he come here?"

"Marshal Roarke has been reassigned to a new city and a new position. I don't know him personally, but his reputation speaks for him. His life is there as a US Marshal, as he should be."

No,
I want to scream.
His life is standing here!

I have no insecurities over Dade's love for me. His actions and his words prove the concept. How he made love to me so passionately shouts his love from within both of us. I complete him, too. He's reaching for me, too. I
know
this. But how will he find me? West will never tell him, and Marshal Prentis here is as straight as they come, obviously.

"Lauren, let's go over some ground rules. You are not permitted to have a Facebook account, or Twitter, or any other social media platform. The risk is too high. You should avoid double-selfies with the friends you make here."

"Fine." I don't plan on having any friends here anyway.
 

"As for computers, stick with your work machines. If you buy yourself a computer, get the bottom-of-the-line. Use it for email and to check movie times. No hacking."

"Fine."

"I'm serious, Lauren. People are already looking for you. They will have other hackers watching. You won't be safe if you go public, even through strings of code."

"I get it," I say with irritation.
And stop calling me Lauren.

He continues with his rules forever, it seems. I'm overwhelmed by all the security protocols I'll be living under for
the rest of my life
, according to Prentis. I can have absolutely no contact with my former life or I'll be arrested for my former felonies and lose my immunity deal. How the hell am I going to live under that threat and adjust to having this new life? Prison sounds easier, but I have no desire to live behind those bars, either.
 

Depression sinks in as Marshal Prentis keeps talking. I barely hear his words at this point.

"I know you're overwhelmed, Miss Callahan," he says as he pulls a folder out of his messenger bag. "Here is the list of protocols I've outlined so you can go over it again later. Keep this in the safe we installed in the back of your bedroom closet. The combination is written on the back page. Memorize it."

"Ok," I say, unable to argue with anything after that barrage of information.
 

"You need to shop today or tomorrow for your work clothes. Your stipend this month is higher to accommodate the extra expenses of getting started. The accounting firm you work for dresses business casual, much like your old job. Stay professional. We won't find you a new job."

He bids me goodbye with a promise to check in tomorrow by phone to answer any questions I have. I don't even thank him for coming by.

I spend the rest of my day making lists of what I need. I don't know how long I'll be here, but I know I need clothes and groceries at least. Well, Lauren does. What
I
need is Dade.
 

The next day I do all my shopping, wondering again how Dade will find me. I don't think I can even look for him without getting arrested.
 

A week passes me by as I move through my life as a zombie. I manage my game-face at work, but the process is exhausting. People have to say Lauren at least twice before I realize they're talking to me.
 

What keeps me going is knowing Dade is trying his hardest to get to me. He'll find a way.

Sadly, a month passes without him. I start answering to Lauren the first time the name is said. I still don't think of
Miss Callahan
as my name, but I'm becoming accustomed to hearing it. I do my best to hang onto Shelby while I'm home, but without my friends, my home, my computer, or the love of my life…

Another month passes, and still no Dade. Marshal Prentis checks in fewer times every week until he informs me he'll be contacting me once a month at random while he watches me from his office. He's glad I keep off of social media, and he's glad I'm doing my job as my new beige self. I keep my house beige, too, partially because my life has no color in my isolation anyway.
 

On my first monthly visit from Prentis, I ask about Dade.

"Lauren, don't," he says with a degree of compassion. "You need to move on."

"Bullshit!" I finally yell after months of biding my time. I can't stand this anymore. "Bull! Shit! What am I supposed to do? Just forget him? No! Why can't he be here?"

"I've explained this before," he says with waning patience. "No one from your past can be in contact. It's just not safe."

"What if I don't care anymore that I'm safe?" I ask in defeat. "What's the point?"

"The point is that you'll either be in jail or you'll be dead. Your survival instincts alone should deter you from either of those choices. Plus, we may still need you as a witness, and there are some very evil men you may help remove from society. You still have a noble purpose."

I grip the hair at the side of my head. "You still want to use me, and you don't give a shit about anything but that." I take a deep breath before I whisper, "Get out."