Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
STARLING
I wake up a little after midnight with an unsettled feeling stirring in my mid-section. I feel like I’m missing something…
Or have forgotten something…
After a beat, I remember falling asleep in Christian’s arms and sweep my hand out to the other side of the bed only to find it empty and the sheets cool to the touch.
He’s clearly been out of bed for a while…
Maybe I snore? Maybe he had a hard time sleeping with someone else in the bed and decided to head out to the couch?
Or maybe he got freaked out by how needy and clingy I’m being and decided he had to dip?
I’m about to get upset about that when I remember why I’m needy and clingy in the first place and my throat gets tight.
Kyle. He’s gone.
Maybe forever.
I might never cuddle with him on the couch or watch him zoom down the slide in the backyard or take him for a Sunday walk in the park wearing his favorite sparkly pink bow tie ever again. He might end up on someone’s dinner plate this Thanksgiving and it will be all my fault.
I got too careless, too trusting. I should have remembered that he’s a very smart animal, but he’s still an animal and a slave to his instincts. If he heard a sexy lady turkey gobbling in the field behind the house, he would have been biologically compelled to try to go to her. He has no awareness of how dangerous the wild can be for a bird who’s used to being treated like a pet.
Even when I first adopted him, Kyle was having a hard time making it on his own. The vet said his cognitive abilities could have been negatively affected by all the toxic grain, or he simply might have grown so accustomed to an easy meal that he’d forgotten how to forage. Either way, the end result was the same.
Kyle was failing to thrive. He’d dropped a lot of weight and had been on the losing end of at least one fight with a bigger, meaner turkey. He had ugly wounds on his neck and chest that I had to treat with salve for the entire first week I fostered him in the dorm.
The reason for the fighting, I later learned, was likely another male bird who was pissed about Kyle competing with him for mates, which didn’t surprise me for a second. Kyle is one horny customer. He practically pushed down the fence last spring, warbling his best mating song as he tried to get to the lady turkeys on the other side. If he encounters other turkeys while he’s out and about, he will try to score a girlfriend, and could end up getting killed for his trouble.
Basically, there’s nothing out there in the big bad world for him but death. I have to find him. I just have to. There’s not a moment to waste. There has to be something I can do to keep searching now, even if it is dark. Maybe I can troll Minnesota hunting websites and see where the locals are having luck with their turkey hunting this year.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and down to the floor, yipping in surprise as my foot brushes something soft and warm. Heart racing, I glance down to see two glowing eyes peering up at me in the dark.
“Bella?” I ask in a sleep-rough voice, earning myself a soft chirp from the creature at my feet.
My lips curving despite my Kyle-induced sadness and stress, I reach over and flip on the light, revealing a blinking little skunk. “Hey there, cutie. How did you get in here? I know I closed and locked the door.”
She snuffles something that could be an admission of super-secret skunk witchcraft powers—or allergies—and jumps up to brace her front paws on my shin.
“You want to come find Christian with me?” I collect her from the floor, adding in a whisper as I start toward the still closed and locked door—she really is a little Houdini. “He has to be here somewhere. He wouldn’t leave you behind.”
But a brief walkabout reveals he’s done just that. There’s no Christian in the guest room, the kitchen, or the living room, and a quick glance outside reveals his truck has vanished from the driveway.
Heart sinking into my stomach, I assure Bella, “He’ll be back. He adores you, even if he isn’t so sure about me,” but I’m not sure I believe it.
I mean, I know he cares about me as a friend, but he made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t interested in anything but a little wham, bam, see-you-later-and-we’ll-never-talk-about-the-whamming-again, thank you, ma’am. Leaning on him while I freak out about my pet running away and dragging him to my bed for an off-limits sleepover was never supposed to be in the cards.
I can’t blame him for running off, if that’s what’s happened, but it still hurts.
And reminds me of another McGuire who nearly screwed up his entire life by running away. Barrett bailed on my sister mere minutes after their first steamy encounter, hurting Wren so deeply that she ran away to Thailand for three months to lick her wounds. But somehow, they made it past the fallout from their mutual running and are now happily married.
Thinking of Wren, and how much I wish I could talk to my sister about what’s going on with Christian, I settle in at my desk in the living room and open my computer, Bella in my lap. I’m not planning to spill my guts about my potential On the Run McGuire or anything—Christian and I promised to keep this a secret from our families, and I’m not one to break a promise—but I figure an email to touch base can’t hurt.
Wren and I write each other emails all the time. We started the tradition when I went away to college, but we’ve kept it up since I came home. There’s just something about a letter that’s so different than texting or talking on the phone. Sometimes we send actual snail mail letters, too, with old photos or little sketches inside. It’s just a thoughtful, personalized way to show how much we care about each other.
Opening my email tab in my browser, I hit “compose” and prepare to start writing only for my laptop to blow up with text notifications.
“What the heck?” I mutter, idly stroking Bella’s back as I lean in to see what all the fuss is about.
It looks like I’ve received a slew of text messages from Nora about fifteen minutes ago, not long before midnight. Worry making the hair at the back of my neck stand on end, I open my messages app. Nora isn’t the type to send more than one or two texts at a time or to text after seven or eight p.m. Seven texts from her this late at night can only mean bad news.
NORA: I have no idea how to tell you this, Starling, but I think you deserve to know what’s happening as soon as possible. So you can get help from the police or whoever you’re supposed to contact in a situation like this. So I’m just going to spill the beans, okay?
Brace yourself? Please? For real?
The sex tape you made with Christian is on the internet. In a LOT of places on the internet. I came across a link to it on the town’s digital message board before one of the moderators took it down. But a quick internet search showed it in a lot more places. It’s basically everywhere, babe, and it’s obvious that it’s you and Chris, even though you’re in costume.
I’m so, so sorry!
I’m here for you. Anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.
And please know I don’t judge you for this AT ALL. I’ve only had a few serious boyfriends and even I have images and videos out there that would be prime revenge porn material in the wrong hands. You did nothing wrong, and you shouldn’t be embarrassed.
Call me if you want to talk, okay? Anytime.
I’ll keep my phone turned on and by the bed.
Oh, and if you need help finding a lawyer, let me know. I have a cousin who’s dating a high-powered divorce attorney in Minneapolis—super famous guy, total shark who wins all his cases. He doesn’t specialize in this kind of crime, but I’m sure he’ll know someone who does. I can get you a recommendation and we can go from there. Just know I’m here for you and want to help you get whoever did this thrown in jail. All the hugs!
I finish reading the texts and sit frozen in shock as my stomach bottoms out with a vengeance I’ve never experienced before.
It’s like I’m trapped on an elevator in free fall.
How could this have happened? How?!
Christian said he was the only one who had access to the footage and even he hadn’t watched it yet!
Is there a chance he was lying? That he did watch it and decided it would be fun to put a video of us having sex up online? Perhaps as revenge for all the embarrassing memes I posted of him during the summer?
As soon as the thought is through my head, however, I dismiss it. That isn’t Christian. He cares about me. He might not feel the way I feel about him, but he would never hurt me on purpose. And it’s not like this is good for his professional reputation, either. People are always harder on women in situations like this, but I’m sure it will be mortifying to him, too. It’s a horrible invasion of privacy that will likely haunt us both for years to come.
I don’t know much about revenge porn laws, but I know the penalties aren’t that severe, even when you can prove who leaked what. And can it really be considered “revenge porn” if neither Christian nor I put it up online in the first place?
I have no idea, but I have to tell Christian what’s happened.
Now.
Before I reach out to Nora or Wren or my mom for help.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, gorge rising in my throat at the thought of telling my mom that there’s footage of me having sex online.
Mom is the sweetest, but she’s a very private person and super awkward when it comes to sex. She’s never talked about it with me or Wren, not even to give us “the talk” when we were growing up. She left that to the school system’s sixth grade puberty assembly and the other kids on the playground. She hasn’t dated since my dad left when I was a baby, has zero spice vibe, and if it weren’t for the existence of Wren and myself, I would seriously doubt that she’s ever had sex.
Though, there’s at least a chance my sister and I were both miraculous conceptions. Mom prays a lot, too. She and God are nearly as tight as she and her friends down at the Catholic Ladies’ quilting circle.
The Catholic ladies who are going to break their tongues in half gossiping about what a nasty slut her daughter is and make the rest of my mother’s life in the community an exercise in mortification.
“Oh God, oh God,” I hear myself chanting beneath my breath, but I’m not sure if I’m praying or having a mental breakdown.
I’ve never been as keen on church as my mom—I prefer to worship the glory of creation with a long walk in nature with a furry or feathered friend—but right now, praying for a miracle might be my best bet.
Or I could change my name, alter my appearance, start speaking with a French accent, and move to Bangkok. Wren loved Thailand when she was there. I could disappear into the chaos of the city, wait until I’m so old no one will recognize me from the video, then move back home to live out my final years in peace.
But I’d miss Wren and Mom and my friends so much. Not to mention the nieces and nephews I hope to have someday soon, the job I love, and Kyle and Keanu and Christian.
“Christian is going to kill whoever did this,” I mumble, the words sending a prickle of worry shivering up my spine.
What if Christian already knows about the sex tape and has an idea who uploaded it to the web?
What if that’s why he ran off in the middle of night?
What if, even now, he’s on his way to avenge my honor and potentially end up ruining his life in the process? If he has an assault charge on his record, there’s no way he’ll be able to keep his job at a charity for battered women and children.
It might even get him fired from Furry Friends.
I glance down at Bella, to see her watching me with a worried expression, as if she’s read my mind. More likely, she can sense the stress-induced physiological changes going on in my body, but either way, I feel obligated to offer her comfort.
Scratching gently around the scruff of her neck, I assure her, “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re going to figure this out and make sure everyone stays safe. I won’t let your dad get in any more trouble than he’s in already.”
But ten minutes later—after numerous calls and texts to Christian go unanswered—I begin to think I’ve spoken too soon. I try one more time, leaving a voice message this time, “Hey, it’s me. I know about the sex tape. I’m thinking you must know, too, or you’d be here right now. If you do, don’t do anything rash okay? Come back to my place and let’s talk it through. We can figure this out. I know we can. We’ll just think of it as another public relations issue we have to sort out by the end of the business day. We’ve got this. I’ve got your back and I know you’ve got mine and we can make it through this without freaking out, okay?”
I hang up and occupy myself for a few minutes with getting dressed and putting together a snack bag for Bella, hoping I won’t need to use it.
But when I check my phone again, there’s still no response to my texts or any message from Christian, and I’m not about to leave Bella here alone to potentially Houdini herself out of the house while I’m out searching for him. I’ve already lost one precious pet; I’m not going to risk another.
So, I coax Bella into her crate with an almond treat, then secure the latch with some jewelry-making wire Wren left in the junk drawer when she moved out.
“All safe and secure,” I assure the skunk as I head out into the eerily quiet night.
It’s the witching hour, that time between when the night birds stop singing and the day birds pick up the slack. As I pull out of the driveway, the only sounds are the faint prickle of my tires on the pavement and Bella’s worried grunts from the back seat.
I want to promise her everything will be okay, but when a drive past Christian’s place reveals an empty driveway, the anxious feeling in my stomach gets even worse. If he’s not at home, there’s only one other place I imagine he’ll be, and it isn’t good. If bad things are going on at his shop, he definitely shouldn’t be there in the middle of the night, but that’s where I’d go if I were him.
I’d want to see if the nanny cam was still there and, if so, search the area around it for clues. So I’m not really surprised when I pull down the road leading to the shop and see Christian’s truck.
I am, however, surprised to see it parked on the side of the road a good half mile from the parking area. I’m also surprised to see the lights on in the back of the shop.
“This isn’t good,” I mumble as I pull in behind Christian’s truck and turn off my headlights.
The logical part of me insists I should call for backup and wait until it arrives before investigating further, but my gut is screaming that Christian is in trouble and there’s no time to waste.
I decide to split the difference. On impulse, I send out a few texts to the people most likely to help me out, deciding I’ll make amends later if I’m overreacting, then set my phone on silent and ease out of the car. At the last minute, I think to grab something to defend myself, but I’m a lover, not a fighter. The most threatening thing in my back seat is the workout bag I forgot to take inside last week and the no-doubt very stinky, sweaty clothes within.
But at least my arm and ankle weight bands give the bag a little heft…
I grab it and whisper to Bella, “I’ll be right back, sweetheart. Don’t be scared,” and gently shut the door.
I creep toward the shop, not knowing what I’m going to find there, but pretty certain it isn’t going to be good.