Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
My heart clenches inside my chest. So freaking thoughtful for the meal, and so damn considerate to send the message through our waitress, so he would still be following my wishes about keeping our distance. What would it be like being in a relationship with a man as caring as him, who puts my feelings and wants before his own?
I guess I’ll never know.
“Well that was sure sweet of your boss,” Mom says, grabbing her purse from the other side of Chaz, who still pulls out his wallet and tugs out a couple of bills to leave Bitsy a generous tip.
“Very kind,” Chaz agrees, and he scoots out of the booth as Mom stands.
“Yeah, he’s great,” I murmur softly, glancing toward the bar and the door that leads to the kitchen, now hoping to catch one last glimpse of Win before we leave, but he’s nowhere in sight as we head out the door.
I know something is wrong the minute we pull into my driveway.
My front door is wide open when we arrive, and I know damn well we closed and locked it before we left.
“What in the hell?” Chaz says low, unbuckling his seatbelt after putting the car in park but leaving the engine running. “Stay here,” he orders, and Mom reaches for his arm as he opens the driver side door.
“Honey, why don’t you call the police? What if someone is still inside?” she hisses quietly.
“I want to make sure it’s not one of the girls. What if they just ran in to grab something they forgot?” he prompts.
“Then Mike’s car would be here, Chaz. Don’t try to be a hero. Let us call the police,” I tell him, knowing he was a badass back in the day, but he’s getting a little older now, and I don’t want him to get hurt. For all we know, the person could still be in there, and they could have a weapon.
Finally, he sighs but nods, closing his door quietly and pulling out his phone. He dials 911, and when they answer, he tells the dispatcher, “We just pulled up to my daughter’s house, and the door is wide open. We’re sure we locked it before we left. There are no unidentified vehicles around.” He looks at me for confirmation, and when I look at the cars in my neighbors’ driveways, I shake my head to let him know none of them are unfamiliar. He gives them my address. “All right. We’ll stay outside. Thank you.”
They must tell him to stay on the line, because he doesn’t hang up.
It feels like forever, my heart rate frantic in my chest just sitting here, not knowing what happened inside my home. Did they take anything? Are we going to walk inside and my house is going to be cleaned out, no TVs, no laptop to do my schoolwork on, no CriCut to make the cute decorative signs that go on my wreath orders? Ten years of jewelry gifts I planned on selling as soon as I found the time. Surely they would’ve taken the mammoth-sized diamond ring Mike insisted I wear even though it got caught on everything.
Two patrol cars pull up without their sirens, when they pass by our car where we still sit inside, one of the policemen lifts a finger to his lips in a signal for us to stay put and quiet, and I see him and three other police officers draw their weapons before making their way up my front porch steps. They disappear inside, and that’s when Chaz hangs up with the dispatcher after telling them a quick thanks.
I don’t realize I’m trembling until my mom’s hand comes down on mine from where she sits in the front passenger seat. I glance away from the house to see she’s spun around in her seat so she can look at me.
“It’s going to be fine, baby. The girls are with Mike, and we’re safe with the policemen here. They’re going to check it all out, and everything will be okay,” she tells me calmly, and I nod, even as I feel like I want to scream there’s so much tension inside my body. And through all the anxiety, the one thing that keeps repeating over and over and over again is, I wish Winston was here. I need Winston.
What seems like hours later but is really only minutes, the officers return outside looking a lot more relaxed than they did going in, their weapons put away. One gestures that it’s safe to get out of the car, and I waste no time getting out of the back seat and rushing toward them.
“Is everything okay inside? Does it look like anything’s missing?” I’m still trembling and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Jameson. Are you the owner of the home?” he asks.