Chapter 12 #3
Thumbs hovering over the screen, I go blank. “What do I say? I don’t want to freak him out, but I need to know if she’s okay.”
“I would—”
“I’ll just ask him.” I talk over him, too eager to wait for a more formulated response.
“That works,” Boone agrees.
Me: Liv won’t respond to me, and I need to make sure she’s okay. Did she stay with you last night?
“That’s good, right? Because this psycho can’t be in two places at once, right?” I hold the phone up for Boone to read after hitting send.
“Yeah, that’s good, and look, he’s already replying.”
I jerk the phone back so I can see the screen.
Parker: Yeah, she’s still pissed, but she’s coming around. Give her another day, and she will be bugging you to come home again.
I heart his message then send a quick response, expressing how important it is for him to keep her safe, then I plead with him to have her call me as soon as she can.
“He said he would talk to her after work and get her to call.” I sag against the seat, feeling exhausted, and I’ve only been up for a few hours.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Boon suggests, and my stomach doesn’t revolt at the thought. It’s kind of scary how fast I’m adjusting to all this crap.
Boone
The restaurant is like countless others I’ve visited in small town USA. The floors are a black and white checkerboard pattern, and the booths outnumber the tables. There’s a low bar lined with permanently rooted stools along one wall, making if feel like a 50’s diner.
Most of the seats are empty save a few, but that’s not surprising considering the time. I doubt brunch is that popular here, especially this time of year on a weekday. That won’t be the case for long, though, with summer quickly approaching.
The woman behind the bar calls out, “Have a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll be along shortly,” barely looking in our direction.
I usher Harlyn to the back of the room, near the restrooms and kitchen door.
I don’t think we were followed here, but that doesn’t mean whoever’s been stalking her can’t find us.
When she slides into the booth, I crowd in close, forcing her to scoot toward the wall to accommodate me sitting next to her.
She makes a quiet shocked sound but doesn’t protest.
“I don’t want to be overheard,” I tell her, but that’s only one of the reasons my thigh is pressed up against hers.
She gave me a scare this morning, one I’m not eager to repeat, and while I have seven hundred things running through my mind, I’d be lying if I said figuring out how to keep her attached to my hip isn’t the first and most important.
“Do you have enough room?” She tries to squeeze closer to the wall, creating an extra inch or two, until her ass relaxes back on the bench. I lay my hand over her leg and notice when her breathing hitches.
“Unless you have a problem with me being this close, stop wiggling around.”
“I just don’t want you to hang off the edge.”
“I’m not, but even if I was, I could think of a million things more problematic, like that ketchup not being full or the crumb under my shoe.”
Harlyn picks up the nearly full ketchup bottle, tilting it left and right to show the fact that it’s only an inch or two from the top.
“And I don’t even use it,” I add as the waitress who told us to pick a seat reaches across the table and grabs a couple laminated menus from behind the condiment station to give us.
Her hand goes to her apron next. “Afternoon, I’m Barbara. Will anyone else be joining you?”
“No, just the two of us.”
“Alrighty, what can I get ya to drink?” Two sets of silverware wrapped in thin napkins land on the table next.
“Coffee, cream, and sugar please,” Harlyn replies.
“Same for me, and water.”
“Oh, may I have a water too?”
“The water is for you,” I tell her, pushing her menu a little closer. “Find something you want to eat.”
Her eyes are down on the table, but there’s a shy smile on her lips. I hope it means I’m not being too pushy, because the way I feel about her is even surprising me.
“I’ll give you a minute and grab your drinks. Be right back.”
I glance over the options. I need fuel. I’m not sure when I will have time to eat again, but the thought of greasy eggs and bacon with buttered toast just doesn’t sound appealing anymore.
“What are you getting?” Harlyn leans over, and her chin almost lands on my bicep.
“Maybe a sandwich. How about you?”
“I kind of want to try the strawberry stuffed French toast, but I should probably be good and have oatmeal.” The latter part of her sentence comes out dejected. The only time I eat oatmeal is at a continental breakfast, and while I don’t hate it, I get why she wouldn’t be excited for it.
Barbara is back as fast as she promised, so I take the choice out of her hands. “We’re going to have strawberry stuffed French toast, oatmeal with all the fixings on the side, and the egg sandwich, with bacon on wheat.”
“I can’t eat all that,” Harlyn whispers in my direction.
“I can.”
“Anything else?” Barbara doesn’t miss a beat.
“Not just now, thanks.” I dismiss her while Harlyn continues to mutter under her breath, something about being careful about what she says. I ignore her rambling, take the wrapper off the straw, and dunk it into the water before pushing it in front of her. “Drink.”
Her nose crinkles up. “When did you get so bossy?” she asks, but her lips wrap around the straw before I can answer.
“When you came running out your door and scared the shit out of me,” I tell her truthfully. Her face falls, and I instantly feel guilty, as if I’m blaming her.
“It scared me too. What am I going to do?” Her head falls back, and she sinks lower into the bench. The question seems more introspective than directed at me, but I answer her the best way I can without freaking her out.
“We’re going to find out who it is and put an end to it.”
“The police have had years to figure out who it is and haven’t.
I don’t even know if they will believe me.
The only proof I have that someone was even there was the fact that something was moved.
They will think I’m cracked out like I thought my sister was.
” She rolls her head to look in my direction.
While I can’t deny how beautiful she is, I can’t ignore the dark swaths under her eyes, or the other evidence of exhaustion marring her features. I hate what she’s had to deal with and that she had to do it alone, but that’s over now.
“It doesn’t matter if they believe you or not, Harlyn, because I do, and I’m not going to let anything else happen to you.” I make a promise I shouldn’t, but I’m helpless not to.
Her eyes search my face, making me wonder what she’s thinking, but I don’t have to wait long. “I wish I could be sorry for dragging you into this, but I can’t even pretend a little.”
I lean down. It would be so easy to kiss her, and I know she would let me—I can see it in the way she’s looking at me—but I don’t.
I need her to know my help doesn’t come with any strings, no matter how much I want them.
“If I haven’t made it perfectly clear, Harlyn, you didn’t drag me into anything, and the last thing I want is for you to be sorry. ”
Her eyes slip down to my lips, and I have to move back so I don’t say fuck it and seal my mouth to hers.
She’s scared and hurting, and I’m not going to take advantage of that, even if a part of me thinks it’s totally acceptable to use whatever means I can to make sure that, at the end of this, Harlyn Wade is mine.
“After we eat, we’ll talk about the next steps.” My voice is thick with more things than I care to admit. I take it as a good sign when she softly agrees.