Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I stop typing again. Is that accurate? Am I really living my dreams?
As a musician, I am. Sure.
But in my personal life?
No, not at all.
With a long exhale, I delete that last sentence and begin again.
Time isn’t on my side here, so I’m pleading with you to say yes, as soon as possible. Please, Claudia. Do this favor for me and I’ll be eternally grateful.
Thanks in advance,
C-Bomb
Chapter 2
Aubrey
Present day, Seattle
Iwake up to my alarm to find two-year-old Raine snuggled up against me, fast asleep. That’s weird. Like clockwork, Claudia always grabs her baby girl out of my bed when she gets home from the hospital. That’s been our deal, ever since I showed up on Claudia’s doorstep over a year-and-a-half ago, feeling broken-hearted and bruised after my breakup with Trent: Claudia takes care of Raine, once she gets home from work in the wee hours, so I can get up early and head off to work in time for the breakfast rush.
With a yawn, I kiss the top of Raine’s soft, blonde curls and grab my phone from the nightstand. Claudia hasn’t dated since she broke up with Ricky about a year ago, but if that cute ER doctor she’s been drooling over finally made his move, I bet she went for it. If that happened, though, she’d surely text me to let me know the exciting news and also that she might not be home at the usual time.
Nope.
I’ve got nothing from Claudia.
Did she feel sick when she got home, and now she’s fast asleep on the cool tile floor of the bathroom? A tad worried, I slide out of bed, taking care not to wake the cling-on sleeping next to me, and tiptoe out of my bedroom. But there’s no Claudia in the bathroom as I pass by. Also, no Claudia in her bedroom. In fact, her bed is still neatly made.
My stomach tightens with concern, but I tell myself not to freak out—that I’ll surely find Claudia asleep on the couch. Claudia is sober these days—she went to rehab the minute she found out she was pregnant—so I wouldn’t normally jump straight to thinking Claudia might have gotten shitfaced and passed out on the couch. But in this moment, my brain can’t come up with any other logical explanations besides that cute ER doc or Claudia falling off the wagon.
My pulse pounding, I stride into the living room, but Claudia’s nowhere to be found. Not only that, her car keys aren’t in the dish by the door; her purse isn’t sitting on the kitchen counter; and there’s no jacket slung haphazardly onto the back of the blue chair.
Okay, I’m officially freaking out.
I look at the time on my phone.
5:12.
Claudia knows I’ve got to be at the restaurant at six, and that it takes me sixteen to eighteen minutes to walk there, depending on lights and weather. She’d never make me late for work, but I suppose there’s still twenty-five minutes for Claudia to walk through that door without doing that.
Suddenly, the location app on my phone pops into my head. I never think to look at it, since Claudia’s always at work or here, and my parents are always in their usual places in Prairie Springs. But I’m definitely thinking about it now.
I swipe into the app and press Claudia’s name . . . and gasp loudly at her location. Claudia is at the downtown Seattle police station. At least, her phone is.
Did Claudia lose her phone and someone brought it in? Or was Claudia the victim or witness to a crime last night? Please, God, don’t let it be that Claudia fell off the wagon and got herself arrested for drunk driving. If that’s the case, I never saw it coming. Yes, Claudia has been grieving her mother’s death; but as a general matter, she’s seemed happier than ever over the past year or so, ever since she ditched Ricky’s ass, and we fell into our happy, peaceful routine with Raine.
My breathing jagged, I smash the button to call Claudia. If she’s sitting in a jail cell, she won’t be able to pick up, obviously. But if—
“Hello?”
A chill shoots down my spine. That’s not Claudia’s sweet, kewpie-doll voice. That’s the voice of a man—a complete stranger.
“I’m calling for Claudia,” I manage to say, despite my somersaulting stomach. “This is her phone.”
“We’ve been waiting for someone to call, since the phone is locked. Who am I speaking with?”
Dread tightens its grip on my chest. “Aubrey Capshaw. I’m Claudia’s best friend and roommate. Who’s this?”
“Detective Howard of the Seattle PD.”
My heart stops. “Is Claudia hurt? Does she need bail money or an attorney?”
The man pauses. “Are you sitting down, Aubrey?”
I clutch my chest and squeak out my affirmative reply.
“Claudia was hit by a drunk driver while crossing the street after work last night. I’m sorry to inform you: she suffered catastrophic injuries and died at the scene.”