Chapter Twenty-Seven Goldie #2
He didn’t even have to finish that sentence before I thought of the answer. Yes. It’s always going to be yes. Even if it’s a pipe dream.
“As an aside,” I say, using his phrasing from earlier today and grinning in the face of my nerves, “I really like how I’m still alive in all your scenarios.”
He smirks and puts his glasses back in place as he opens the door. “Manifestation, baby. I learned it from this girl who used to only say Brad Pitt’s name when we fucked.”
We walk inside and grab the nearest table before he goes to the counter and orders himself coffee. I can’t even think about drinking anything. When he comes back, we sit in silence, just waiting.
And waiting.
I check my phone after another fifteen minutes pass, but no messages have come through, so I send him one.
Me: I’m here. With a friend in the front.
“Dude, what time were you supposed to meet?”
Chase is playing with the stir stick from his coffee as he looks around. I flip my phone down, already knowing the answer.
“His text said one p.m.”
Something doesn’t feel right, but then again, I could just be seriously paranoid, considering my whole life is like a fucking crime docuseries.
Chase blows out a harsh exhale. “He’s like thirty minutes late already.” He takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the table. “Do you think the Monroes changed their minds?”
Some people walk in, drawing both our eyes, before I answer. “No. I mean, they asked me. Why would they change their minds? Her parents are scared of what I might do to her . . .”
He looks confused. “Why the fuck would they be scared of you? I mean, I get wondering why you lied . . . but scared? What do they think . . .” He chuckles like the thought is ludicrous. “That you’re gonna lose it and . . .” He trails off, finally piecing it together. “Did they see the apartment?”
I nod and swipe open Evie’s message, then turn my phone toward him.
He takes off his hat, swipes his hair back, secures it again, and looks at me.
“Fuck. If I wasn’t obligated by best friendship to hate that girl, I’d kinda be turned on right now.”
My forehead wrinkles as I stare at him. He shrugs. “Well, at least you can rest easier, knowing she’s out of Dodge,” he says. “Dude, why do you think your dad is back now? After all this time . . .”
“I dunno,” I say honestly. “There are a million reasons, but only he really knows the truth.”
“Hmm,” Chase says, thinking aloud. “You know, if I were a serial killer looking for a cover to wreak havoc, I’d do my worst on Halloween, when everyone’s pretending to be the same as me.”
The door opens again, and we look as a man walks in dressed in a suit and holding a briefcase.
“Is that him?” Chase whispers.
I shake my head, half shrugging. “I don’t know. I’ve never met him before.”
But in answer to our question, he walks past us, joining a table full of people. I let out an audible exhale as I sit back in my chair and interlace my fingers behind my head in frustration, my nerves already on edge.
“Fuck, what is taking so long? Something’s off, man. I know it, and I don’t care if that sounds paranoid.”
“It doesn’t. This is weird. You’re right. Why would he ask you and not show?”
A thought hits me. “Earlier, before we left today, he pinged me his location. I just already knew where the coffee shop was, so I didn’t use it.”
Chase sits up straighter. “Maybe we got the wrong place?”
I nod, smiling. “Maybe we got the wrong place.”
In the back of my mind, I hear the thought—Strange that he hasn’t texted, wondering where I am—but I need to focus on one thing at a time.
I swipe his message open on my phone, see the tiny map icon, and tap on it. A dot shows up with a blue circle around it, growing wider then smaller as it searches to pinpoint his location. Chase and I stare down intently as it homes in on him and finally stops moving.
“Oh shit,” Chase blurts out, then looks around to make sure nobody heard.
We look at each other at the same time that I say, “He’s a block away from here.”
Chase chuckles and crosses his arms, looking way too smug. “See, I’m not the only one that thought a stakeout was a good idea.”
I push up from the table and stand, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of waiting. Grab your shit, Inspector Gadget—we’re going to him.”
Chase says, “Hell yeah,” like we’re heading out on a secret mission. He scrambles to put his sunglasses back on before he grabs his coffee.
I walk out of the shop and pocket my cell as he catches up, grinning at me. “Can we have code names now?”
“I’m gonna make you go back inside . . .” My face shoots to his. “I’ll make you go back inside.”
He looks forward and straightens his trench coat. “Sorry, sorry. It wasn’t the right time. Got it.”
Goldie
I’m standing at the top of the mountain I just hiked, in a clearing, staring out at the most breathtaking view.
The trees aren’t just beautiful. This is a whole Bob Ross painting.
What’s not beautiful, however, is how out of breath I am. Even after acknowledging this morning that I am not and have never been a natural athlete, I still thought it was a good idea to hike up this mountain.
Although the alternative was staying at the camp, to be further traumatized. I heard this podcast once that said, “If you don’t change it, you choose it.” And I don’t choose scare camp.
I spread my arms, trying to take in nature, as I close my eyes and let the breeze cleanse me.
“Fuck that place,” I whisper to myself with a chuckle, but the longer I stay like that, the more my mood begins to feel heavier.
I know why. It’s been brewing since early this morning. It’s Halloween. I met Noah a year ago today.
I drop my arms, looking out at the peaks and what feels like a million trees. And so many emotions happen all at once and hit me like a ton of bricks, fueled by all the regret I’m carrying, the denial I’m still clutching, and the truth.
It all finally settles into my bones.
My chest rises and falls, not too fast or too slow, but I’m still hyperaware of my breathing, just like the way I can count my blinks right now, because I’m waiting for the ache and the tears.
So instead of holding it in, I say it all to the damn trees.
“I love you . . . and I hate you. But I need to think that there was a reason bigger than the both of us for why you did what you did. If anyone asks, though, I’ll tell people we were cursed in this lifetime, so maybe we’ll find each other in a new one.”
I run my hands through my hair as I take a deep breath and try to release everything. But instead of staying calm, I scream. It’s loud and guttural and full of my pain. But it feels good to let it out.
I let it all out until there’s nothing left and I’m laughing at myself. Fuck. I shake out my arms, feeling a little lighter and maybe crazier, but I’ll take this to my grave, so nobody will ever be the wiser.
“Whoo,” I say aloud again before the wind blows harder like it hears me, giving me a chill through my long-sleeve camp T-shirt.
This time I shiver, instinctively patting my pocket for my phone and wondering how late it’s gotten.
Damn, Thor. If I had a watch, I’d check it, but who has one of those anymore.
I left well before noon, so I had plenty of time to do the mile up and back. Still, I don’t want to risk not making it back in time for the bus, so I walk backward a couple of steps, committing this view to memory, before I turn around and head back the way I came, putting an extra pep in my step.
I’m humming to myself, walking quickly past a group of large birch trees, when unexpectedly I slip on some rocks.
“Oh shit,” I gasp, shooting my hand out against a tree to stop me from rolling my ankle or breaking my tailbone.
It stings from the bark, but thankfully I don’t fall. I still for a moment to make sure I’m all good before I whistle as I look down at my feet.
“Sneakers and hiking do not mix.”
But the moment I lift my eyes, my brows draw together.
There’s another tree in front of me, about two feet away, and it’s been carved. Like back in the day when people used to want to preserve their love, and men did big romantic gestures instead of lying.
Looks like I’ve gotten to the bitter part of breaking up.
I walk to it and lift my fingers to trace the heart. God, it must’ve been done ages ago because it’s so smooth. The names inside the heart aren’t legible anymore, but it does kind of look like they’ve been scratched out.
A woman scorned? The plot thickens.
I lean in closer, trying to make out what it says. I whisper, “Love never lasts, sister,” before I draw my head back and shake it. “You’re a better woman than I. If he hurt me after doing this, I’d vote to cut the damn thing down.”
As I’m marveling and quite possibly projecting onto a random tree in the middle of the forest, my eyes catch a burst of light off in the distance. Like when the sun reflects off some shiny metal.
I squint, unmoving, my gaze turned in the direction the flash came from as I lock on a man about thirty yards away.
Who the hell?
He’s standing and facing me like a statue.
I can’t make out his face because his hat’s pulled down too low, but he’s wearing the standard-issue work clothes for a scary-movie villain: navy blue jacket and dark work pants with black boots.
Neither of us makes a move; then a new emotion hits.
Okay . . . this is honestly disappointing.
I smile because for the first time, I’m recognizing the perk of being stuck for days at Horror U. I’ve finally become imperviable to Evie’s shit. The television set the bar too high, and this guy isn’t doing a damn thing.
“Ha,” I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth to megaphone my message. “You’re going to have to go back and tell them to try again. You aren’t scaring me. And you can quote me as someone who fully backs the bear in the woods theory.”