Maybe I’ll never see him again.
I’m panicked for the space of a few heartbeats, then I’m consumed by anger.
How dare this guy—who I barely spent a few months with, who I never even screwed—pull this petty, territorial, caveman bullshit.
I step back across the threshold of the open door, grab the shotgun propped up against the wall in the corner, and stand facing Chris with the barrel of the rifle gripped in my left hand, the buttstock resting on the floor.
I say firmly, “This is private property. My property. I’ve already asked you to leave, but you haven’t. So not only are you harassing me and scaring me, you’re trespassing. And considering our past relationship, your obsession with my neighbor, and your history of stalkerish behavior with the constant drive-bys—which I’m sure your bo
