Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
How is this happening to me?
Long ago, I told myself I was done with women and relationships. It was just Colt and me.
Now, he won’t even speak to me.
“Shit,” Patton says. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, which is the truth. At least, partly. “I fucked up, of course. I know that. But where she’s gone or what her plan is now? No clue.”
“What about Colt? Doesn’t she talk to him?” Patton asks.
“He doesn’t know where she went, but even if he did, I don’t know if he’d tell me. I’m his favorite villain now.” I look down at the plate of food I’ve barely touched, not remotely hungry. Talking about this doesn’t feel useful like it’s supposed to. It just adds to the dead weight in my chest. “He’s pissed and I can’t blame him.”
“That’s because she was fucking good for you,” Dexter huffs.
“You’ve got no clue at all?” Patton presses. “No hint where she’d go if she’s mourning your dumbass?”
“I don’t know, Pat,” I snap. “She’s a runner. It’s part of her instinct. Hell, that’s how I met her. She wound up at Solitude after the wedding fell through with her bastard of a fiancé. For all I know, she could be back in Springfield. She must have a few friends there.”
Friends, yeah.
Plenty of folks she never wants to see again, too.
Aside from that? The world is a big fucking place and Winnie could be anywhere.
“What about her vehicle?” Dexter asks, opening his phone. “We can track down her plates, maybe. You know I’m in good with the cops.”
“Dex, no. She’s not a fucking missing person. She just decided she’s had enough of my bullshit,” I grumble. Dex has his police contacts, yes, but that’s too intrusive. “It’s not like there’s something wrong. It’s no crime to breakup and dash.”
“You know something’s wrong,” Patton says. “You’ve been glowering and scowling all evening. I know that’s like your signature move, but it’s worse than usual. Also, you always answer your emails except for the rare Colt emergency—or when you’re worried about her.”
Guilty.
Dexter’s face is unusually grim, even when he says nothing.
I don’t like it.
My brother must feel that same heavy shadow in his gut, the inexplicable sense that something’s off about this mess.
Or maybe he’s just picked up on my vibe.
That’s easy enough when he says, “We’ll find her, Arch.”
They stay all evening.
They’d never admit they’re there for moral support—and I wouldn’t let them—but deep down, having company that has my back makes me feel slightly less shitty.
It isn’t long before the crowd grows, too.
Junie shows up, and then Salem and little Arlo, who’s growing faster than Colt did at his age. Maybe it’s the weirdness of only finding out you have a new nephew after he’s older than a toddler.
Junie throws together a huge batch of that hybrid chicken parm with the stroganoff-like sauce for everyone. There’s no denying it goes down faster and easier than my pathetic fire pasta.
The women and Arlo lighten the atmosphere, letting me melt into the background while they talk and laugh and tease.
Fine.
As nice as this impromptu family gathering is, I can’t shake the stress drenching my bones.
Dexter keeps quietly making inquiries. Patton does his best to distract me, prodding Arlo to talk everyone’s ear off about his latest additions to their fancy aquarium. I don’t think they’ll ever have enough cuttlefish.
Still, all I can think about is her.
Winnie, crashed in a ditch somewhere, smoke billowing from her crumpled car.
Winnie, bleeding by the side of the road.
Winnie, captured and gagged by some mean-eyed fuck who likes to lure women into the trunk of his car, an easy target.
She’s a fighter, but she’s too gentle.
Her world isn’t violence and pain and aggression. She grew up sheltered with parents who didn’t give a damn what her world became.
The only fighting she knows how to do is with words.
The hours crawl by.
I do my best to focus on anything but Winnie’s fate. Salem smiling as she gently rests on Patton’s shoulder and Junie gazing adoringly at Dexter isn’t helping one bit.
Eventually, I get up and face the inevitable.
I grab my phone, hit Winnie’s contact, and listen as the call instantly disconnects.
What the hell? Did she block me?
I stare at the screen in disbelief, my last fucks to give about today slipping through my fingers.
It’s getting late. The stars peek through the thick clouds. There’s a full moon, or close to it, which I’m unreasonably grateful for. Not that it’s much light if there’s someone alone out there, desperate for help.
Not Winnie, I’m sure.
Considering the other reasons why her phone might shut off like that, I hope she blocked me out of spite.
“Do you want us to get out of your hair? Or can we help you find her?” Junie asks gently.
She swings her hair, and the movement reminds me of Winnie, too.