The camera flashes over to a man standing in front of the high school. I recognize his last name; I think his older son went to school with me. He must have a younger kid in school now.
“It’s disheartening, for sure, to know that someone who works so closely with our kids could possibly be involved in this,” the man says. “He should definitely be kept off of school grounds. I don’t want him around my kids, that’s for sure.”
I don’t know why, but this itty bitty pang of guilt goes through me. I pull on a sweatshirt and head downstairs.
I’ve memorized almost every detail about the inside of the police station at this point, which is something I thought I’d never say.
They have these metal chairs with the scratchiest fabric I’ve ever touched stretched across them. There’s one on the very end of the row that doesn’t match the others, and it really bothers me.
There’s a small section of four desks directly across from the sitting area, but I only ever see one woman, Rochel, at her desk when we come. She answers all the phones and is the assistant to Detective Robinson.
The wall behind us is lined with offices, which, again, are normally empty whenever we come. I suspect the detectives who work in them aren’t able to spend a ton of time behind a desk.
Finally, Detective Robinson’s door opens.
“Hi, folks,” he says, “thanks for coming back in.” My dad’s face lightens a little bit when he sees Detective Robinson. So far, he’s the only person throughout all of this who has really dug deep for us. He’s our main advocate. He takes every detail seriously.
We sit down across from his desk in his cramped office as he sits down and folds his hands on his desk.
“I have some questions concerning Willa,” he says, opening a folder. “Can you tell me, again, what she was wearing that night?”
My parents’ eyes both find me immediately. I swallow.
“She was wearing gray Tilden High sweatpants and a purple Tilden sweatshirt,” I say. She had a matching purple headband in her hair.”
Detective Robinson nods. He lifts up a piece of paper and slides out a plastic bag. In it, is a purple headband. Willa’s purple headband. My mom gasps. My dad’s eyebrows knit together again. And I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“Where did you find this?” Mom asks, her chin quivering.
“One of our patrols picked it up just outside of Stone Creek Park,” Detective Robinson says. “It was located in a wooded area. Our search team has deployed, but nothing has come up yet.”
Mom keeps gasping, clutching her hands to her chest as she stares down at it.
“It’s important to keep your head up and your eyes open, guys,” Detective Robinson says. “I know it’s hard. But this has been examined,” he says, lifting the plastic bag, “and we’re hoping to get the results back soon. Just keep your eyes peeled for her. Keep the faith.”
My parents stand up and shake Detective Robinson’s hand. I nod in his direction, but my hands are so clammy that I don’t even offer him one.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he says. “We think it might be a good time for you to speak to the press, if you are comfortable. It might be a good time to ask for the public’s help, get more people involved. Would any of you be okay with that?”
Mom looks to Dad, who looks at the ground. We all wait a beat, and then I step forward.
“I will,” I say. Detective Robinson waits for my parents to nod in approval then excuses himself to call some contacts. We wait on the scratchy seats again, then he returns a few minutes later.
A man is following him, and I can see he has some sort of Tilden Police badge on.
“This is Connor Maynes, our public relations specialist,” Detective Robinson says. I nod.
“Hi there,” Connor says. “We have a few news crews gathering out on the steps right now. So, what we want to do is really let the public know what you’ve been dealing with. Really let them see how tough it’s been. Show them how bad you want Willa home,” he says. I grow inexplicably angry.
“We do want her home,” I say. This isn’t some fucking game.
“Right, right, of course. Time to let them know,” he says with this weird smile that makes me want to throttle him into the desks behind us. A few more minutes pass, and Connor walks us out to the front door. I can see what looks like ten news crews standing on the steps, reporters with microphones in hand, cameras all set up and ready. I swallow. This is for you, Willa.
Connor walks us outside and leads us to the podium. He says a few brief words about the “devastated Mills family” and introduces me.
I step up to the podium, my parents at my sides. I take a breath and look up.
“My sister, Willa, has been missing for over forty days. Forty days without her. Forty days since I watched her walk into that grocery store and never come back out of the front door. We haven’t given up, and we’re asking you not to, either. If you see anything, remember anything from that night, please contact the Tilden Police Department. Our family is asking—begging—for your help,” I say. I can barely see from all the bright lights in my eyes. “If you have my sister,” I say, staring directly into the lens of one of the cameras, “please just bring her home to us.”
I step back slightly, and a wave of reporters’ hands go up. Connor steps over and nods to me, taking my place at the podium to field them, most of which he answers with, “I’m not at liberty to share that information at this time.”
We ride home in complete silence.
Who knew that a simple purple headband could bring such a feeling of impending doom.
My parents have been asleep for a few hours now, but I know I won’t be sleeping tonight. I’m sitting on the porch, staring up at the sky, freezing my ass off. Looking for a goddamn answer. Tilden is asleep right now. People are moving on with their lives while I’m stuck on this fucking treadmill of not knowing shit.
But as I’m staring up, something catches my eye. A small, slender figure is making its way down the sidewalk. Its pace quickens, and I push myself up to my feet. This is weird.
It’s hooded, wearing dark clothes.
But it’s short and thin.
Like a teenaged girl.
Like my sister.
I hold my breath and take a step down. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out her curls from under her hood, or the point of her nose, the tiny mole on her left cheek. Anything to let me know it’s her.
“Willa?” I whisper. The figure stops at our front walk. She reaches up and tugs off her hood, and my stomach sinks.
It’s not Willa.
“You,” the girl says, her eyes narrowed in the dim streetlight.
“Can I...can I help you?” I ask.
The girl snorts.
“You could have helped me a few weeks ago by keeping your goddamn mouth shut,” she says. I widen my eyes.
I know who she is.
She’s his daughter.
“Excuse me?”
“You could have kept your mouth shut before you went and destroyed an innocent man,” she says. I swallow. “Fuck you, Wyatt Mills.”
For a moment, I almost felt guilty. But now, I’m just more angry.
I take a step closer to her, but to my surprise, she doesn’t even flinch.
“Careful, Miss Porter. Those are some fightin’ words.”
I see her eyes flare with anger.
“I know your family is hurting,” she says, “and if I could, I’d bring Willa back for your parents. But you. You’ve destroyed a whole other family, and you don’t even realize it. So, call my words what you want, but trust me when I say I’ve never meant something more.”
Then, I watch as Maryn Porter turns around and walks back down the street, disappearing into the dark.
12
Wyatt
I feel like I’m in middle school, getting rejected for the third time by Luna Davis when I asked her to the eighth grade formal.
I’m lying in my hotel bed, a grown-a
ss man, feeling completely left for dead by a girl five years my junior, technically my subordinate at work, who I just slept with...again.
At first, the whole “I hate you” thing felt like a game. It was one I wanted to play. I wanted to hear her say it while I was inside of her, coaxing that lie from her lips. But now, I want to change her mind. I want her to stop saying it. And I want her to keep winding up in my bed. When she left my room tonight, I felt guilty, like I’d done something to purposefully hurt her. I know I didn’t; I explicitly told her that I wouldn’t be making the moves until she made it clear that she wanted me to.
I think her jumping my bones counted as her making it clear.
So, why I’m sitting here like a giant pussy now that she’s gone is beyond me. It was that look in her eyes, I think. That look that told me that there’s at least a part of her that really does hate me.
The next morning, I wake up groggily at the crack of dawn to head down to the hotel gym before our meeting today. I’ve got to run it out.
I hop on the treadmill, wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of basketball shorts. J. Cole is blasting through my headphones—entirely too loud, I know—as I start picking up the speed. But I almost fly off the damn end of it when I see her walking ahead of me down toward the yoga room.
I cut my run insanely short, hopping off and pretending like I’m going to take a leak. I make my way into the yoga room when I see her in the corner, legs spread in front of her as she bends toward them to stretch.
The silhouette of her body in those tight leggings and tight, tight little tank top make me hard behind my shorts. Unbelievable. I just fucking had her mere hours ago. My dick is a traitor.
I pause for a moment, watching her steady her breathing as she stretches. Then, I make my way over to her and nudge her foot with mine.
“Didn’t know you worked out,” I say, which is a fucking lie. I’ve seen her naked. You don’t get those abs and that ass from sitting around eating Nutella all day.
She doesn’t say anything, just rolls her eyes and closes them again.
“If you don’t mind,” she says, “I’m trying to control my breathing, get centered.” Then her big blue eyes flash open and find me. “Trying not to tear off anyone’s head today.”
I can’t help but smile. She’s so damn feisty. Just as I’m about to take a seat next to her, she pushes herself to her feet. Her bare arms and chest are glistening in sweat, and I lick my lips at the sight of her.
She rolls up the yoga mat and tucks it under her arm then turns toward the door. I follow her down the long entry to the gym and out the door into the main lobby of the hotel. We get on the elevator, and she knows I’m here, but she’s acting totally unfazed.
“Are we going to talk about last night?” I ask, leaning up against the wall of the elevator.
“Nope,” she says, pushing the button again like it’s suddenly going to propel the elevator into turbo speed.
“Maryn,” I say, giving her a look. She doesn’t respond. I take a step closer to her, letting our arms graze each other. She looks down at them. Finally, we reach her floor, and I escort her off. I follow her down the hall to her room as she digs her keycard out of her gym bag.
She turns to me slowly, looking up at me before she puts it in to open the door. She takes a step closer to me, her eyes studying every inch of my face, and suddenly, I feel really self-conscious.
“In a minute, I’m going to go into that room,” she says. “I’m going to take off these leggings, and this tank, and my panties and sports bra. I’m going to get into the shower, let the steaming hot water drip down my body.”
I feel my whole body tightening under her breath. Tell me more, Miss Porter. Or better yet, let me see.
She steps closer so that her lips are inches from my ears.
“I’m going to run my hands all over my skin, down, down, down,” she whispers, and now I feel like my legs are made of rubber. “And while I touch myself, I’m going to imagine you’re gone off the face of the planet, never to be heard from again. And that’s what’s going to get me off.”
She turns on her heel, opens the door, and slams it in my face. I stand there for a moment in the hallway, dumbfounded, my jaw to the floor. I moan and drop my head to her door. I spin around to walk toward the elevator, and a smile comes over my face.
She knows what she just did to me. She doesn’t want to catch the fish, but she sure as hell doesn’t want him off the hook yet.
A few hours pass, and I’m finally able to push Maryn out of my mind for a little bit as I study my slides again, reading them off to Rex in the lobby of Landry’s headquarters. He’s nodding in approval, clapping his big ol’ hands, giving me a few pointers. The elevator dings, and off steps Maryn in a perfectly fitted business suit. Her hair is pulled back partially, but not all the way, since I know for a fact she has a hickey behind her left ear.
Rex smiles and waves her over, and she sits down and pulls out her laptop.
“How was your first night in Chicago?” Rex asks her. She clears her throat. Her eyes dart to me for half a second, then she turns and smiles at Rex.
“To be honest, it was a little bit mediocre,” she says. “I’m hoping to explore some tonight and do some sightseeing.” He smiles at her and begins giving her restaurant suggestions. She’s got her charm all the way turned up, and I can’t help but stifle a smile. Mediocre my ass. I have claw marks on my back and remnants of her on my bed that say differently.
Before I know it, the conference room door opens, and one of the executive assistants escorts us inside. She helps us set up the presentation and gets us some water, and suddenly, I’m feeling unusually nervous. I know we’ve got the deal, but this is the clincher. This is where I prove to them they haven’t wasted their time with us—or millions of dollars. The room starts filling with executives, a bunch of white men who are a bit thick around the middle. They each shake my hand and Rex’s, and nod in the direction of Maryn. But after the third or fourth one barely acknowledges her, she takes a step up with us, making herself known. She thrusts her hand out to them and hands a few of them her business card. Rex smiles down at her, proud at her gumption. And it gives me a little bit of confidence that I was feeling slipping away. I take notes from her demeanor and step forward, and then I begin.
I roll through my slides, presenting the rollout of our communications plan with them. I establish all contacts within our company. But as I get to the closing, I feel myself freeze up again. Rex tugs on his jacket in concern, his eyes narrowing on me. I look up sheepishly at Maryn.
Her eyes are wide. And I know she’s probably loving this. But this moment is big, a lot
more than the weird little game we’re playing. She nods at me.
“You got this,” she mouths, and suddenly, I’m a brand-new man. I clear my throat and deliver my last few lines. The room is silent for a minute before Don Cable, the CEO of Landry, claps his hands. The rest of the room follows his lead, and I feel the weight of ten elephants evaporate off my shoulders.
“This is beautiful,” Don says. “Absolutely perfect. We can’t wait to get started with you all.”
We all three shake their hands again, make small talk at the little reception they’ve prepared for us, and then Rex, Maryn and I head out.
It’s almost dinnertime by the time we leave, and I’m starving.
“Today was absolutely fabulous,” Rex says, waving down the driver he hired to pick us up. “I’ve got to get back to New York for a few other meetings early tomorrow. But you two should celebrate.” He flicks me his company credit card. “On me. Really. Enjoy it.”
He drops us at the hotel, and we say our goodbyes. And then Maryn Porter and I are standing awkwardly in our hotel lobby.
“So,” I say after a century, “you want to get some grub?”
“I’m starving,” she says, “but I don’t really need the company. I’m a working girl now. I can foot my own bill.”
She
turns on her heel, and there goes that goddamn smile on my lips again.
“Maryn,” I say, “come out with me.”
She turns slowly toward me. It can’t be this easy, can it?
Her eyes flick up to mine, and she gives me a slow, warm smile.
“No,” she says then gets on the elevator and swiftly closes the doors. I sigh and shake my head as I head back outside to get a cab.
I eat at a local bar that has shitty fries but decent beer prices. Since it’s dinner for one, I have my fair share. I take a cab back to the hotel and sleepily get into the elevator. I get to my room and turn the shower on, needing desperately to wash the day off of me. I strip down and pull the shower curtain back just as there’s a knock on my door. I freeze and wrap a towel around my waist. I look out the peephole, and I’m dumbstruck. It’s her.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I say, swinging the door open. Her eyes drop to my abs and slowly trail their way up my chest. She swallows, and I chuckle. “Want to come in?”
She crosses her arms over her chest.
“No,” she says. I lean up against the doorway.
“Well, I’m not gonna stand here in my towel,” I say. She taps her foot for a moment and bites the inside of her cheek. Then, she throws her hands into the air and grunts before pushing past me and coming inside. I smile and shut the door. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask.
She’s pacing my room, looking out over the city from the balcony window. Finally, she turns to me.
“I mean it with a whole piece of me when I tell you that I despise you. I’ve dreamt about fucking you up for years,” she says. I nod along, my eyebrows up. I’ve heard this spiel before. “So, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why sex with you is so fucking good.”
Okay, that I was not expecting. I drop my arms to my sides and wait for her to go on.
“I shouldn’t like it. I should want to continue staying as far away from you as I possibly can,” she says. “I was really hoping that when we did it again, it would lose its spark. Or that you’d go soft halfway through or something.”
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