by Lisa De Jong
“Want to grab breakfast before we head home?” Matt asks.
Looking out my window, I lose myself in thoughts of Jessica. I can’t shake her round green eyes, her long, tan legs, and the way her hips swayed when she walked towards her car.
“Sure, let’s grab breakfast.”
There is silence as Matt drives us the few miles back to our station. Pulling into the side parking lot, Matt rolls down his window and punches the code into the keypad that opens the security gate where we park our patrol cars. As he pulls into our assigned spot, I pop the laptop out of the docking station and open my door.
Matt hollers over the top of the patrol car. “Landon, let this one go.”
Two words I’ve never spoken before roll off my tongue. “I can’t.”
Chapter 29
Gabe
“Dude, are you even fucking listening to me?” Luke spits out.
“Shut the fuck up. Just spot me,” I respond. Working out used to be the one thing that would help me clear my mind, get my shit straight. Now, I can’t even focus on lifting the weights that are hovering over my head. I let them fall back onto the bench, and I grunt in frustration. Luke shakes his head at me and walks away. “What?” I yell out in frustration. Luke keeps walking towards the locker room, away from my outburst.
“Fuck!” I scream, soliciting head turns and dirty looks from the other gym members around me. I grab my water bottle and head to the locker room too. Jess has been gone for four days. Four fucking days and I still haven’t heard from her, not that I expected to, but I just want to know she’s safe. I need to know she’s happy. I need to know something about her, anything. I toss my water bottle at the row of lockers directly in front of me. The bottle bounces off and rolls around the floor.
Luke walks around the corner from the showers with his gym bag hanging off of his shoulder just as I’m entering. He looks me up and down as he quietly speaks. “Just go get her. Bring her home.”
I lower my eyes to the floor. “I can’t. She’s been gone four days, Luke. Only four days, and I don’t even know where she is.” Pushing past him, I move farther into the locker room and open my locker. Grabbing my gym bag and car keys, I punch the locker door closed, causing an obnoxious bang that echoes off the tile floors of the locker room. I make no effort at acknowledging anyone at the gym on my way out to my truck. I just want to get the hell out of here, and I just want to get my life back. I want Jess back.
Walking to my truck, I remember all of the promises we made to each other, all the plans we made for our future. I listened to everything she ever said, everything she mentioned she wanted. I was going to give her everything. She was my entire fucking world, she still is. I fear now that she is gone for good, and I will never get her back. I want to fucking kill someone, and I will, when I fucking find him. Just then my fist connects with the side window of my truck. That will be that motherfucker’s face when they find him.
Chapter 30
Jess
Monday morning comes all too soon. I’m still getting settled at the condo and unpacking boxes. The last boxes that Dad shipped arrived Saturday. I’ve found the grocery store and Target—the essentials, so I’m happy. Wearing capri-length black pants and a fitted black and white polka-dot blouse, I throw on a red chunky necklace, matching red earrings and bracelet, and red ballet flats. Since I know I’ll be on my feet all day, I opt for comfort and fashion. Pouring half a pot of coffee into my large travel mug, I stir in some creamer and screw on the lid. Grabbing my purse off the counter and a stack of paperwork and bills that I need to sort through, I head out the door and to the first day of my internship.
Using the badge Kevin gave me, I let myself through the main doors of WXZI and move quickly down the hall that leads to the newsroom in the back of the building that houses all of the cubicles and offices for the reporters and other staff. I’m fifteen minutes early. Figures; I’m always early. I hang my black sweater on the back of the chair that is at my desk and set my purse and coffee mug down. There are a few people in offices, but no one notices me.
Walking toward Kevin’s office, I see him hunched over his desk, reading a newspaper. I knock lightly on the doorframe of his door, causing him to startle and raise his head. “Hi, Jessica. Ready to work?”
“Ready,” I reply enthusiastically.
Kevin leads me out of his office, into the newsroom, walking past my desk and into another office that sits directly across the floor from his. “Jessica, this is Elaine Winters. Elaine is our daytime News Director, and you’ll be working primarily with her. Elaine, this is Jessica Harper, your newest intern.” I reach out to shake Elaine’s hand, and she stands up. She’s thin, as in looks like she hasn’t eaten in a year thin, and her hands are cold, bony, and frail. I’m afraid I’m going to crush her fingers if I squeeze too hard.
“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” She smiles politely.
“Thank you; it’s nice to meet you too,” I respond. Elaine is short. I mean everyone is short compared to me, but Elaine is really short. She maybe stands right at five feet.
“Well, then, let’s not pussy-foot around. Let’s get you set up so you can work!” Elaine exclaims. She may be small, but I can tell she’s fierce. I know I’m going to like her. I can’t help but smile as she’s shuffling papers around her desk and grabbing pens. I need good energy around me. Kevin shoots me an expression that says “good luck” and wanders out of her office.
“Tell me you like coffee, Jessica, or you can’t work for me,” Elaine jokingly says.
“Can’t live without it.”
“Good. Initiation starts now. We’re going down the road to my favorite little coffee shop. You’ve got a five-minute car ride to tell me everything I need to know about you. Go.”
Holy shit, this woman is nuts.
“Well, I’m nineteen years old.”
“Whoa, wait. What? Nineteen years old. Are you kidding me?”
“No, I…uh…completed almost two year’s worth of undergraduate classes while I was in high school. I didn’t even know I was so far ahead.”
She cuts me off mid-sentence. “So you’re an overachiever?”
“Not sure I’d say an overachiever, but maybe a maximizer; is that even a word?” I say, shrugging.
“Sounds like a vibrator. No, you’re an overachiever. I like you already, Jessie. Can I call you Jessie?”
“I prefer Jessica,” I say, almost afraid to correct her. Maybe I should just let her call me Jessie, except I fucking hate Jessie. Dad is the only one allowed to call me Jessie.
“Jessica it is.”
Before I even realize it, we’d gotten in her black BMW 350 and are racing through the side streets of Wilmington. I know I have about two minutes to tell her everything she needs to know about me, and I do the Cliffs Notes version, excluding why I left California and the man who will always have my heart. Pulling into the parking lot of a small, local coffee shop, Elaine turns the steering wheel sharp and squeezes into the tiniest of parking spots. This woman talks and drives like she’s on speed.
Before I can even exit Elaine’s car, I notice she is already speed walking to the front door of the coffee shop. “How do you like your coffee, Jessica?” she yells over her shoulder. I can hardly catch up to this ball of fire, and her legs are half my size.
“Black with room for some creamer,” I reply.
“Black, huh? Just how I like my car, my men, and my coffee,” she says without missing a beat. I burst out laughing. I retract my earlier thoughts; I’m not just going to like Elaine, I’m going to love this woman. Big.
I spend the rest of the day with some guy from IT. He’s been installing my computer for at least two hours, getting me access to printers, systems, and programs I’ll need for my internship. I’m starving, but I don’t know how much longer this dipshit is going to be, so I just sit here, watching him, like I have for the last two hours.
I’ve raided the supply closet and set myself up with notepads, pens, scisso
rs, a stapler, and an endless supply of sticky notes. I love sticky notes, as in have an obsession with sticky notes, all the sizes and colors. I catch myself, for the first time, feeling a little bit normal, a little less sad, and a small smile creeps across my face.
“What’cha smiling at?” I hear a strong Southern drawl. Turning in my chair, I find the cutest blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl smiling back at me. “I’m Lindsay, the other intern,” she clarifies. “I’ve been here just a few weeks. What’s your name?” Her accent is thick. I like it.
“I’m Jessica. Nice to meet you, Lindsay.”
“Got any lunch plans?” she asks.
“No, and I’m starving. What’s good to eat around here?” I ask, grabbing my purse off of my desk. Lindsay’s cube is directly next to mine, and she stops to grab her clutch and car keys.
“There is a small deli across the street. They have great salads and sandwiches. Or there’s Bar-B-Que.” She wrinkles her nose. I take it Bar-B-Que isn’t her thing.
“A salad sounds great,” I say, eliciting a smile from Lindsay.
“Well, then, let’s go.”
To say lunch was a whirlwind would be an understatement. Lindsay talked my ear off, but I actually enjoyed listening to her. She’s from here, born and raised. She went to college in Tennessee and graduated a semester early, this past December. She claims that Tennessee is where she got her Southern accent. Right. I love her spicy personality. She reminds me a lot of myself, not long ago. I want to be spicy again. I want to be fun and friendly and eager. We exchanged phone numbers, and I actually consider Lindsay to be my first friend in North Carolina.
I loved hearing all about her, but the best part was that I didn’t have to talk about myself. I was going to have to do enough of that Friday night when I meet with Dr. Peterson, my therapist, for the first time. My computer is finally all set up, and I have a phone now too. Glancing at the time, I shut down my computer and walk to Kevin’s office.
Looking up from his desk as I approach his door, Kevin gives me a warm smile. “So how was the first day?”
“It was really good.” I catch myself smiling again. “Everyone has been very welcoming. I can’t wait to get started tomorrow now that I have a computer and a phone.” I think about the stack of notes Elaine had left on my desk while Lindsay and I were at lunch. I have a lot of research to do tomorrow.
“I’m glad to hear it. Have a great night, and we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Offering a slight wave, I move back through the newsroom to head to Elaine’s office, but her light is already off. I remember our morning coffee and chuckle to myself. Grabbing my purse and keys, I would call my first day a success.
Chapter 31
Gabe
Restless doesn’t begin to describe me right now. With my hand in a cast, thanks to my shitty temper, I now have a broken driver’s side truck window and a broken right hand. Being a firefighter requires the use of two functioning hands, so I cannot work for the next five, maybe six, weeks. So now, I get to sit on my ass and think. Fucking perfect.
After having my window fixed, I find myself driving around Santa Ruiz endlessly. I don’t know where I’m going or why. I just drive. For the first time since she left, I might understand why she left. Everywhere I go, there is something to remind me of her. I wonder if that’s why she left, because she was assaulted with memories of us and her attack everywhere she went. Assault. That’s what fucking tore us apart. Everything was perfect until then.
Pulling into the firehouse, I park and spend the next few minutes just sitting in my truck. Time escapes me most days. I am numb to the world that is moving around me. I lock my truck door and walk into the bay, where I see the two fire trucks and the ambulance that our station uses.
Sitting down on the large leather sectional couch that is in the dayroom of the firehouse, I stare blankly at the TV that is looping infomercials over and over. The guys just left to go on a call, and Chief is in his office. Chief provides weekly updates on Jess’ case; he knows I’m still interested, even though I don’t ask. He communicates frequently with the detectives and has promised to tell me if there are any developments, but we’ve yet to hear anything. Beyond work and our infrequent talks, he doesn’t speak to me about her, and I don’t ask.
She’s been gone for six days, twelve hours, and thirty-seven minutes. I wonder if I’ll ever stop counting. At times, I feel like I’m losing my mind, and I question if I’ll ever be able to truly let her go as she asked me to do. I don’t even know why I’m here at the firehouse, since I can’t work. Grabbing my sweatshirt, I pull my truck keys out of the pocket of my hoodie and kick open the back door.
As I slip the keys into the ignition, I hear a soft knock on my driver’s side window. Luke is standing there and he motions for me to roll down my window. When I push the button, the window slowly falls, and Luke takes a step closer to the truck, resting his forearms on the door. “How’s the hand?”
“Sore,” I answer solemnly.
“Hey, uh, Dad called. He said you were thinking about looking at a house? You know you can stay with me for as long as you want.” Luke’s voice sounds almost hurt, as if my desire to move is because of him, which it’s not.
“Yeah. Dad found a great house down the road. Remember Old Man Johnson? It’s his old house, a foreclosure, and the price is a steal, so I’m going to make an offer on it. He said it needs a lot of work, but he’s willing to help me do it once my hand heals.” Luke looks at me intently, trying to read through the words I’m speaking.
He nods his head as he listens to me explain my reasoning, or better yet, excuses for buying this house. Luke knows why I’m trying to buy this damn house—because it’s what I was going to do for her. It was what I was trying to do for us. It was why I was busting my ass working sixty plus hours a week for the last few months, to save for the down payment. It’s why I fucking left her that night, and she ran alone. It’s my way of holding onto some piece of what I had and wanted with her.
“Let me know if you want any help, you know, working on the house,” he offers with a stiff smile.
“Thanks, man. Catch ya at home in the morning,” I say, shifting my truck into reverse and leaving the firehouse. Luke stands there with his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie and watches me pull out of the parking lot.
I’m edgy and irritable while looking at the house. I’m glad I came alone. My stomach is in knots as I walk from room to room, surveying the condition and what needs to be done. What kills me is that this house is perfect, would be perfect, if she were here. This bungalow is bigger than most on our street. It’s four bedrooms and two baths, with a huge kitchen and large living area. Every room I walk in, I envision what Jess would say or point out. I love this house, or maybe I’m in love with the idea of what this house should be.
Chapter 32
Landon
“Faster,” I tell myself. “Push harder.”
I run as fast as my legs will carry me. My lungs are burning, sweat is running down my face and into my eyes, making it hard to see, but I push myself hard these last few miles. I never enjoyed running until we started training in the police academy. I enjoy physical pain. Not excruciating pain, but I enjoy stretching my body and mind to their furthest limits.
Slowing to a walk, I wait for the rest of the group to catch up to me. I’ve been running with this group for about six months. Some people join the group to meet people; I joined so that I could push myself harder and run faster than all these assholes. I’m competitive and I hate losing.
Chuckling to myself, I realize the point of joining a running club is actually to run with other people, and yet I’ve left these people a half mile behind me. Pulling the Harley Davidson key from the chain around my neck, I insert the key and flip the switch. I push the starter, and turn the throttle, and let my Night Train roar to life. This motorcycle is my pride and joy. It’s black on black, and loud as hell with its Samson boneshaker exhaust pipes. Every woman
that sees my bike wets herself. I pull the throttle and spit gravel behind me as I take off toward home.
I park my baby in the garage and shut her off, hanging my helmet from the handlebars. My sister’s car is in the driveway. She must have just gotten home from work. Even though she’s my little sister, four years younger than I am, we get along fine. She’s been living with me since she graduated from college, but I’ve always taken care of her. Opening the door from the garage that leads into my kitchen, I hang my key on the hook that is on the wall next to the door and kick off my tennis shoes.
I shrug off my gray sleeveless shirt and bunch it into my hands as I walk to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Turning the shower on, I remove the rest of my clothes, tossing them into the black wicker hamper that stands at the corner of my bathroom and step into my tiled shower. I adjust the showerhead and place my head directly into the stream of warm water, washing away the dirt and sweat from my run. I grip the handle and adjust the water temperature so that it’s as hot as my skin can handle.
The water feels good and helps relax my tense muscles. Closing my eyes, my mind instantly wanders back to Jessica. It’s been six days since I met her, and I need to devise a plan to see her again, to talk to her, to make her mine. I shampoo my hair and finish my shower. After I dry off, I wrap a black towel around my waist, tucking in the corner so that it stays in place, low on my hips. Stepping into the walk-in closet that is attached to my master bathroom, I pull down a pair of black jeans and a gray button-down dress shirt. I layer a white t-shirt underneath and roll the sleeves.
I toss some gel in my short hair; the style is messy, and it takes me just a few minutes to get ready. I opt not to shave tonight, leaving my face a bit scruffy, as it’s been a full day since it’s seen a razor. I’m just going to dinner with my sister, and she doesn’t care that I haven’t shaved.