When You Start to Miss Me: A Romantic Suspense (Wildflower Romance Book 3)

by Stacy Claflin

  I struggle against him, tears blurring my vision. If anything, getting Belen out of this house was the best thing I ever did. My parents are furious they aren’t allowed to see him due to the accusations against them. Maybe he’ll have a chance at a normal life, away from all this dysfunction.

  “Are you willing to make the call yet?” He shoves me against the door again, this time making me hit my head.

  I shake my head and kick toward him.

  Dad calls me a string of profane names before yanking me back. He turns to Mom. “Open that door.”

  Desperation claws at me. I struggle harder against him.

  He squeezes so hard, his nails draw blood.

  I cry out again, but all that earns me is more name-calling.

  Mom opens the closet, and Dad shoves me inside. The door slams shut, nearly on my foot. I pull it out of the way just in time. Darkness surrounds me, except for the little light coming from underneath the door.

  I leap up and twist the knob. As usual, it won’t budge. I bang on the door.

  Something scrapes on the wood floor outside the door, then it bangs against the door. Now the knob will turn but the door won’t open. It hits something outside, blocking me in.

  Thud, thud!

  “Let me out!” I hit the wood so hard it hurts. “Open the door!”

  I pound and scream until my throat feels raw and my hands are throbbing. Gasping for air, I slump to the ground. Images of similar events run through my mind. I try to shove them away, but I’m so exhausted.

  As my breathing returns closer to normal, I notice one thing. There isn’t any conversation on the other side. No noise at all. Nothing.

  Banging and yelling isn’t doing me any good. I can’t wear them down until they finally release me. They’re probably upstairs arguing. Or they left to be with their lovers. Or a million other possibilities.

  I wipe sweat from my forehead before it falls into my eyes. I’ve got to figure out what to do, how to get out of here. This will be the last time I ever listen to them, ever come back here.

  If I get out. They’ve nearly killed me before, and this time they might actually go through with it.

  They started to get in my head. Sent me back to feeling like a helpless kid who couldn’t fight back. That was when I texted Lincoln.

  My heart leaps at the thought of him. The words he texted me take my breath away. I don’t have my phone now—my dad stomped on it and threw it in the garbage. I’d lost the will to go on, but Linc’s words got through to me.

  I do have something to live for—him. Our love is the best thing I’ve ever experienced, and it’s only at the beginning. If I can get away from my parents and start to believe I’m even partially as amazing as he thinks I am, then I might have a chance at a good life. But it’ll involve the hardest decision I’ve ever had to face. I’ll have to walk away from my parents. And probably Holden, unless he can stop making harmful decisions. And I want to see Belen. He might need me. No, he does. My brothers do need me. Maybe even Linc. If I were to die, it would ruin him. He’s already lost too much. I can’t add to that.

  And all of that doesn’t even consider my friends. They love me too.

  My parents are wrong about me. I do have value. People need and appreciate me.

  Tears mist my eyes. I blink them away and rise.

  I need to find a way out of here. First, the closet. Then, the house. After that, I’ll be free of my parents forever, no matter how it hurts me financially. If I can’t finish college, then so be it. Or if I have to work for a while and then do my last year down the line, it’ll just take me longer to get my degree. I don’t need them.

  I grab the knob and turn. Hold my breath and wait. Push. The door just bangs against whatever they put in front of it. I push again and again.

  It gives, moves slightly.

  My heart leaps into my throat. If I keep at this, I can get free.

  Or my parents will find me. But it’s a risk I have to take.

  I have too much to live for.

  They made their choice, and I have to walk away from them.

  The door opens slightly more. Sweat beads all over me, trailing down my back, my face, my chest, everywhere. The tiny closet is getting hotter by the moment. And whatever’s in front of the door is heavy. It’s going to take forever to get the door open enough for me to squeeze through.

  I stop fighting it. Press my mouth and nose to the small opening. Breathe cooler, fresher air. Wipe perspiration from my face. Rub my aching arms.

  Before I’m ready, I go back to pushing and shoving. Hangers whack me as I move around. Other items on the floor push against my legs. The air starts to feel like a sauna.

  Bit by bit the door budges open more. I’m able to drink in more fresh air. My muscles are crying out for a break.

  Finally, the space widens. It’s enough for me to stick an arm through. I feel around to figure out what piece of furniture they used to lock me in. I think it’s Dad’s recliner. That thing weighs a ton.

  I take a few more deep breaths before I keep pushing. It won’t take much more. I have enough momentum now.

  Just need a few more inches.

  I shove and strain, opening the gap slightly. Then slightly more.

  It won’t be long before my parents are back. I need to be gone by then.

  Gasping for air, I take another break. Listen. The house is still quiet.

  Did my parents leave?

  I hope so, in order to make my getaway, yet the thought of such cruelty breaks my heart. But I can’t let them get to me. They don’t get to win this time. Or ever again. Not with me.

  I continue fighting the door and the recliner, now pushing more against the open space than the door itself. My shoulder can almost get through the crack.

  Almost.

  I grunt and strain, pushing as hard as I can, breathing in both hot and fresh air. My muscles burn and protest, but they can rest later. Once I’m out and far away.

  The hardwood scrapes as the door gives a full inch.

  I freeze in place, my breath hitches.

  Can I get through?

  It’s going to be tight, but maybe. Or I could be better off giving another push for a bigger gap.

  Conversation sounds, maybe from upstairs. They could be heading my way.

  If they get down here before I escape, all of this was for nothing.

  My heart races, my throat dries.

  No time!

  I stick my arm out the gap and finagle my shoulder through. The wood from the frame and the door scrapes against my head, then my chest. I cringe, hold my breath. Suck in my stomach as if that’ll help. Press my palms against the door, trying to move it even slightly.

  Give up. Squeeze my way through the gap. Scrape my arms, bruise my back. Gasp in fresh air.

  I’m halfway out.

  Thud.

  That was upstairs.

  I maneuver out, ignoring the pain of more bruising and scraping. Those wounds will heal faster than the emotional ones my parents have given me over the years.

  The front door. It’s only ten feet away.

  I leap toward it.

  “Stop!” Dad bellows.

  My heart sinks. I glance back.

  He looms at the top of the stairs.

  With a gun.

  My knees wobble, I stumble.

  He races down the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I turn away from him and run for the door.

  His feet thunder down the stairs.

  I’m almost there.

  “I said stop!”

  My hands reach for the knob.

  Bang!

  A bullet flies past my head, and a framed photo next to the door explodes in a shattering of glass barely two feet from me.

  My ears ring.

  “That’s your last warning!”

  Good. I don’t want another one.

  I reach for the knob. Twist.

  The door opens toward me.
r />   I scramble around it.

  Bang!

  That bullet explodes right next to my head.

  My heart nearly gives out, and the ringing in my ears is so intense it hurts.

  I stumble over my feet as I make my way outside. Nearly trip over a step as I race toward the yard.

  Glass shatters behind me as another bullet whizzes past, stopping in a tree trunk. Bark flies out.

  My own father is actually trying to kill me.

  I can’t think about that now.

  Where’s my car?

  Not in the driveway where I parked it.

  They moved it so I can’t get away.

  Or to hide the evidence that I was here?

  I race down the sidewalk. Just have to get away.

  More glass shatters. My dad shouts.

  “Help!” I wave my arms, hoping the movement will capture the attention of every doorbell camera on the block. “Help me!”

  I run in the direction of Lincoln’s house. It may be clear across the neighborhood, but it’s safety.

  Maybe he’s even there.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lincoln

  As I return to my neighborhood, the emergency lights and sirens are impossible to miss.

  They’re coming from the direction of Malia’s family home.

  My heart sinks, my stomach lurches.

  Did she really end her life?

  I pull over and leap out of the car just in time to vomit in someone’s rosebush. Then I fall to the ground, gasping for air.

  Maybe the lights and sirens have nothing to do with her. Could be a complete coincidence.

  And maybe the sky isn’t blue.

  I need to man up and find out. Push past my fears and drive over to the emergency and find out what’s going on.

  I struggle to my feet and get into my car. Gasp for air.

  My phone is ringing.

  It’s Jaiden.

  I accept the call. “What?”

  He speaks so fast I can’t make out a single word.

  “You’re going to have to slow down. What did you say?”

  “She’s gone!”

  The words are like a knife to my heart.

  “What?”

  “Her dad just called me and said she’s gone!”

  I collapse onto the driver’s seat. “What do you mean by gone?”

  “I don’t know! That’s all the bastard said before hanging up!”

  Somehow, I find the resolve to sit up and clutch the steering wheel. “I’m heading over there now. There are sirens everywhere.”

  “What? You’re over there?”

  “I’m a few blocks away.” I start the engine and peel away from the curb.

  “He was serious?” Jaiden yells in my ear.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you when I find out what’s going on.” I end the call and toss my phone on the passenger seat.

  When I turn down their road, the emergency vehicles are the first things I see. There are fire trucks, police cruisers, and an ambulance. Then I notice the yellow tape and crowds of people gathered around in front of the Devereaux house.

  My heart sinks.

  Someone taps on my window. A cop.

  I roll down the window. “Yes, Officer?”

  “You need to leave. This is an active investigation.”

  “That’s my girlfriend’s house!”

  He points to it. “That one?”

  “Yes! What’s going on? I’ve been trying to get ahold of her.”

  “Like I said, it’s an active investigation. You’ll need to turn around.”

  “What about all those people?”

  “You need to leave.” He struts over toward the scene.

  My heart hammers.

  No way I’m leaving. But to make sure that guy stays off my back, I turn around and park around the corner.

  My phone rings. Jaiden.

  I accept the call as I step into the night. “I don’t know anything yet.”

  “Are the cops at her parents’ house?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to find out why.”

  “Did they say someone died?” His voice cracks.

  “I was just told to leave. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “You’d better let me know what you find out.” The call ends.

  I take a deep breath and march toward the scene, looking all around for clues. Not that I have any idea what I’d find. Everything is centered around the house.

  I join the crowd of gawking neighbors and try to blend in. The last thing I want is for her parents to recognize me and make a scene. Everyone is talking about what happened.

  “I heard three gunshots!”

  “She was screaming down the street.”

  “My doorbell cam shows her limping on the sidewalk.”

  “I’m next door and heard yelling from their house often. I should’ve called it in instead of ignoring it.”

  Gunshots? Limping? Does that mean she got away? Was she shot?

  I want to shake someone and demand answers. Instead, I look around past the tape. The emergency vehicles are blocking most everything.

  There are no cops in sight. None of the gawkers are paying any attention to me.

  This is my chance.

  I duck underneath the tape and run in between the largest vehicles. It’s an overwhelming flurry of lights and activity.

  “Lincoln!”

  I spin around, my heart in my throat, to see Malia standing outside an ambulance with two medics. Barely have time to comprehend the sight before she runs over and envelops me in an embrace. My arms wrap around her in response. I tighten my hold, never wanting to let go. “Are you okay?”

  She clings to me. “I’m going to be.”

  “What happened? I thought you … What was your last text about?” My voice wavers. I whisper in her ear, not wanting anyone else to hear. “I really thought you wanted to end everything.”

  Malia rests her head against mine. “For a brief moment, I did. But then I came to my senses. Your words kept running through my head. I realized I had something to live for.” She pulls away and looks into my eyes. “You saved me.”

  I try to find my voice, but it fails me.

  “My parents convinced me I was worthless, they brought me back to my lowest point. But then you texted me. You said all those things to me and broke through. Even though my dad destroyed my phone, he couldn’t take away what I’d already read. You love me, you believe in me.”

  I pull her close again, not wanting her to see me lose it. Tears threaten, and I fight them. They win and fall to my face. I sniffle. “Why’d you go there? I thought you weren’t ever going back.”

  “I wasn’t going to, but my parents were texting me. Telling me lies about my brothers to bring me home, to make me feel guilty.”

  “What happened? People said they heard gunshots.”

  Her grip around me loosens. “My dad shot at me. I don’t know if he was actually trying to kill me or just scare me. He—” She shakes and sniffles.

  I rub her back. “I’m here. Everything’s okay now. You don’t ever have to see him again.” I know that doesn’t actually make anything better. Nothing can change the fact that her parents have treated her so badly or that her dad shot a gun at her.

  One of the medics comes over and taps Malia’s shoulder. “We need to take you to the hospital now.”

  She steps back and grabs my hand. “I can’t leave?”

  “I’m sorry, no.” The woman gives her a sympathetic glance. “You need to have a doctor look you over. A few of those cuts might require stitches and your leg likely needs an X-ray.”

  Malia clings to me. “Can he come with me?”

  The medic nods. “He can ride with you or meet you there. If he drives, you have a ride back when you’re released.”

  Malia glances over at the house and frowns. “I’m never coming back here again.”

  “That’s fine, but either way, you’ll need to come back to the veh
icle with us.”

  Malia turns to me and pleads with her eyes. “You’ll come with me?”

  “Whatever you want. I can meet you there so we can leave faster.”

  “I want you with me.” Tears shine in her eyes.

  How can I say no to that? I squeeze her hand. “No problem. I’m sure someone can give us a ride back to my parents’ house. My mom or Jaiden or someone.”

  “Thank you!”

  I kiss her cheek. “Anything for you.”

  As we walk over to the ambulance, I notice her limp. My heart breaks for her, but I keep a brave face. While she’s distracted with the medic’s questions, I send Jaiden a quick text to update him on the situation.

  On the ride over, the medics look over wounds. She has an unusually high amount of scars that I never noticed before.

  The medic examining her leg asks, “Do you have previous breaks?”

  “Yeah. I was a clumsy kid.”

  I lift a brow.

  She chews on her lower lip. “At least, that’s what I was always told. My dad kicked me down the stairs once, then told me what a klutz I was. That kind of thing.”

  A shadowed expression crosses the medic’s face. “I see. And was that normal?”

  Malia just nods.

  Anger boils in my gut. How could her family do that to her? Her own flesh and blood? They’re supposed to take care of each other, not cause harm.

  The medic asks a few more questions, and Malia explains what life was like for her growing up with her parents.

  “What happened to them?” I ask. “Did they get arrested?”

  Both Malia and the medic nod.

  I hope this time, he can’t buy his way out. I’ll find a lawyer who will make sure they remain in jail, and I’ll borrow money from my parents if I have to. They can’t get away with this any longer. And they won’t, if I have anything to say about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Malia

  The corners of my mouth twitch as I glance over at Linc. He’s trying not to smile too, as we stare at the back of the elevator.

  The doors open and someone steps inside.

  Lincoln glances over at the newcomer and nods. “Hey, there.”

  “Hi.” She stands next to me, facing the back of the elevator along with us.