Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I sighed. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I wish I knew.”
I then proceeded to verbal vomit on my poor friend, telling her all the details of the last few days. Well, not all the details—the incredible sex parts I kept to myself—but I told her everything that might be relevant.
“Do you think he got cold feet because you took him to Riley’s? Some men have ridiculous meet the family fears—they think that’s the last step before you drag them down the aisle.”
“I suppose it could be…although I don’t think that’s it. He never hesitated or showed any concern about going with me, and the first ten minutes or so after we arrived, he was fine.”
“What happened between the time you arrived and when he said he wasn’t feeling well and bolted?”
“Nothing, really. I’ve replayed it over and over in my head. We were sitting down in the living room looking at photo albums.”
I stared into space as I visualized the three of us—me, Riley, and Caine—sitting on the couch. Photos. Pigtails. Mom dying. Benny. It figured something would go wrong at the mere mention of that man. Then it dawned on me. Could Caine possibly be pissed because I’d lied about not having a stepfather? It was so insignificant; I couldn’t imagine that was it.
“Family photo albums? He bolted because he felt pressure.”
“But I didn’t pressure him. He had asked to see a picture of me when I was little.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She shrugged. “He’s a commitment-phobe.”
“I really don’t think that’s it.”
“Well, then maybe he was really sick? Maybe he went into your sister’s bathroom, got a bad case of the shits, and didn’t want to clog the toilet.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Do you really need to describe it like that?”
Ava shrugged. “Do you want me to justify him running out so you can pretend he doesn’t have commitment issues or not?”
Honestly, all I wanted was to get rid of this unsettled feeling. If Caine did have commitment issues and a visit to my sister gave him cold feet, I could deal with that. All I needed was honesty.
Caine
Fifteen years ago
This was the fourth stop she’d made to pick flowers on the side of the road on her ride home. Her life sounded like a clusterfuck of bad shit, yet she spotted the beauty in the middle of weeds and tall grass.
I stayed at least two blocks back, and she hadn’t seemed to notice me at all. Which reminded me, I also needed to have a heart to heart with my little lamb about being aware of her surroundings. Any psychopath could be tailing her.
Well…
It had to be a good two miles before she finally pulled into a driveway. The house was actually pretty nice. I’d envisioned a run-down trailer down at the end of a long dirt road, with sheets hung to conceal the windows and heavy brush camouflaging any sign of life—probably three or four rusted-out, non-functional cars on the lawn. But the driveway she pulled into was paved and led to a small but well-maintained Cape Cod-style house. The grass was mowed, open curtains framed the windows, and neighbors were outside nearby, going about their business. The single car in the driveway was a few years old and had one of those Jesus fish symbols on the back. Nothing like I’d expected.
I watched as the little girl disappeared around the side of the house and came back to the front door without her bike a minute later. Without hesitation, she walked inside.
I stayed there looking around for a good half hour after that. For the first time, I questioned whether maybe she was making things up. She could’ve had a vivid imagination. The seed of doubt was planted, but my gut told me she wasn’t telling a tall tale. I took one last look at the ordinary house and turned to head back home. At least I wouldn’t have to wait much to find out—so long as she showed with her sister tomorrow.
I waited six hours. At a little after one in the afternoon, I gave in to the fact that she wasn’t coming this morning. Before I’d followed her home yesterday, I’d had zero doubt something was going on. But now, after seeing an ordinary-looking house in a normal neighborhood, doubt had crept in. Then again, Ted Bundy looked pretty fucking normal, too. I groaned and stood from the back pew where I’d listened to three masses this morning as I watched the door. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew where I was heading.
Four blocks from her house, I realized I needed gas. Since I also needed to figure out a game plan, I made a pit stop at a full-service station with a mini mart and headed inside to pay the attendant. My hand was on the door handle when, from the corner of my eye, I saw something that caught my attention. Parked on the side of the station was a car that looked damn familiar—the same make and model as the one parked in the little girl’s driveway yesterday.