Chapter 63
sixty-three
JO
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Darren,” the frantic teenager says for the hundredth time. Darren sighs and lifts the gauze he has pressed to my head. The shattering of the glass from the buckshot left a cut right above my eye that won’t stop bleeding. Darren said it’s shallow, but head wounds like to bleed.
“I know, Martin. I still need to tell your dad,” Darren says a lot more calmly than I would.
“He’s going to kill me! I just got my hunting license last week!” Martin argues, like he didn’t trip with a loaded gun and shoot out two windows in Darren’s car. He’s lucky it missed both of us.
Darren sighs again, like he’s tired all the way down to his bones. “Hold this while I call his dad.” I press the clean gauze into the wound. It stings a little, but it doesn’t hurt like the amount of blood would imply.
Martin crosses his arms and sits on the side of the road like he’s more concerned about losing his ability to hunt than the damage he’s caused. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure in my choice not to have kids than at this very moment.
“How old do you have to be to get a hunting license?” I ask Darren when he sits back down beside me. We’re sitting in the open back of his SUV to avoid the glass on the seats.
“Sixteen in Maine.”
“That seems like a mistake,” I say, looking pointedly at Martin. I really shouldn’t be judging all teenagers based on one, but this particular one is allowed to handle a gun and probably shouldn’t be.
“He could get a hunting license, but still hasn’t passed his driver’s test, and he’s taken it three times,” Darren whispers. I snort. It’s not funny but is at the same time.
It’s not long before a large red pickup is pulling up behind the SUV. Darren stands and greets the man, shaking his hand and explaining what happened. Martin’s father and Darren exchange a few more words before he’s dragging his son by the back of his jacket and throwing him into the truck.
“Martha should be here any minute. She’ll take you to the bed-and-breakfast while I wait for a tow,” Darren says, checking the cut on my head, which must have finally stopped bleeding because he doesn’t replace the gauze. “If that’s still where you want to go.”
I take a deep breath and look up at the sky.
The sun is just starting to set, and I know the guys must have realized I was gone by now.
My plan had been to get to the bed-and-breakfast and then order a car to the nearest town with a bus stop.
Martin’s arrival really messed up that plan.
They’re both either on their way or have decided I’m not worth it. I don’t know which is worse.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Darren says when his phone rings.
He frowns at whatever he sees on the screen and steps away to answer.
I’m lost in thought about what the fuck I should be doing right now when Darren returns, holding his phone out to me.
“It’s for you,” he says, and the confusion on his face tells me it’s not Maverick or Ezra.
“Hello?”
“Jo. Where are you? The cameras are down and Ezra isn’t answering.”
“Gavin?” How the hell did Ezra’s dad get this number?
“Yes. Did you hear anything I just said?”
“How the hell did you know I was with Darren?” I ask, but I’m already moving. I use a spare shirt I found in my bag to get most of the glass off the driver’s seat.
“I didn’t. Darren and Martha were the only two people in your phone who aren’t the core group, and I know where all of them are except for you three. I called Darren first. Martha was next.” Great. I love knowing he hacked my phone so easily.
“Darren, I need your car,” I tell him, already buckling my seatbelt.
“Martha’s around the corner. Call her phone when you’re done with whatever you need to do.”
“Thank you,” I yell out the smashed remains of the window and peel out onto the road. “Can you track Ezra or Maverick’s phone?” I ask Gavin.
“Of course I can,” he says, sounding insulted.
I roll my eyes, knowing where his son got his attitude from.
“All three of your phones are showing the cliff house. Yet you’re not there, so I believe it’s safe to assume they aren’t either.
” Panic eats away at the hurt and anger I was feeling towards them.
“I’m ten minutes out.” Darren and I didn’t get that far before he pulled over to talk to me. Which he probably thought was safer than driving while having that conversation. I’d laugh at the irony if I had that ability right now.
“I know.” It takes more willpower than I knew I possessed to not hang up on this man.
I don’t think he gets enough human interaction.
I also don’t know what I’m walking into and might need him.
Unfortunately, that means him staying on the line and huffing about how long it takes the full ten minutes.
“I’m turning into the drive now.”
“Park there, cut the lights, and walk hidden in the trees.”
“No,” I say, stepping harder on the gas and gritting my teeth against the sounds Darren’s car is making when it hits all the bumps in the dirt.
“Jo! We need to do this strategically—”
I don’t let him finish before I’m hanging up the phone and shoving it into my pocket. If Ezra and Maverick are in danger or hurt, I’m not taking the time to walk over a mile up a dirt and snow-covered road.
I barely manage to stop the car in time and almost collide with the front porch. I throw it in park, grab the gun, and run into the house.
“Ezra! Maverick!” I shout, but there’s no response.
I click off the safety and hold the gun out in front of me with two hands, like Ezra taught me.
Checking every room tells me what I already knew.
They’re not here. I grab my phone from my bed and make my way back downstairs, keeping the gun securely in my hands.
I freeze in place when I see something on the kitchen island.
I didn’t notice it at first. It’s not a person, so my brain must have bypassed it.
Sitting on the island, leaning against the blue-flowered plant Ezra bought me for my birthday, is a Polaroid.
My eyes dart around, the gun held in front of me, but I’m the only one here.
In the picture are Ezra and Maverick. They both seem unconscious, with their hands, legs, and mouths bound with duct tape.
It looks like they’re lying in the bed of a truck.
When I pick up the Polaroid, I notice the stick in the plant with the name on it.
Forget-me-not.
I’m really fucking done with the irony today. I take Darren’s phone from my pocket and call Gavin back.
“Patrick has them. Tell me what to do.”