Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CHRISTINE
It’s almost physically painful letting Casey go to his playdate at Erin’s house the next day after everything that went down the day before, but I don’t want to let my urge to cling to him to feel like a punishment. So I put on a smile and hide my teary eyes behind my sunglasses as I drop him off and wave to Gloria.
My phone is currently littered with notifications from Julian’s assistant with invites to his calendar. I guess I should be grateful he took the altercation at the skate park to heart enough to schedule ahead. Something about his assistant—not even him—penciling in his son like some afternoon meeting will always rub me the wrong way.
But what’s really weighing on me is the notifications that aren’t there. I texted Fletcher last night to make sure he made it home okay and to let him know he left his wallet behind, then again to thank him for the help, but he didn’t respond. At first I thought he went straight to bed—I know I passed out the moment I lay down last night—but even today, still, nothing.
I know he’s working at the bar, so he’s probably busy. Maybe forgot to charge his phone. I feel like I can’t text him again without coming off as clingy.
That logic does nothing to stop me from checking my phone a hundred times.
I huff out a breath and toss the phone onto my passenger seat. The entire thing is absurd. I’m thirty-two fucking years old, not some starry-eyed teenager. And I have no interest in playing games.
The High Dive opened a few hours ago, so he should already be there.
The parking lot is mostly empty when I pull up, and Fletcher’s car is noticeably absent. But with how much he uses his skateboard to get around, that’s not saying much.
The bar is just as empty, with only a few people occupying one of the booths in the back. The other bartender—Anna, I think her name is—looks up as I step inside with his wallet in hand.
“Is Fletcher here?” I ask.
She sets down the glass she’d been drying and blows the air out of her cheeks. “He should be.”
I stop short.
She shrugs and moves on to another glass. “They called me in when he didn’t show. No one’s been able to get a hold of him.”
That doesn’t sound like him at all.
Anna frowns as she takes in my face. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.” I wave her off, already turning for the door. “Thank you.”
My mind spins through a million different scenarios as I climb into my car, none of them good. What if something happened last night? If he got into an accident on his way home? And I hate that I even consider it—that it’s remotely a possibility—but I saw the way Julian looked at him yesterday. There’s no way he’d…
I hit the main road going fifteen over the speed limit and tighten my fists around the steering wheel. I try calling him, but it goes straight to voicemail.
What the hell is going on?
By the time I reach his house, my doomsday thoughts have hit their peak, and my hands shake as I hurry toward the front door. I know I’m probably overreacting, that I’m still just shaken up from yesterday.
I force down a deep breath as I ring the doorbell. He’s going to come to the door, perfectly fine and unharmed, and with a reasonable explanation for falling off the face of the earth and?—
The door swings open.
And staring back at me is a…girl.
Her dirty blond hair is piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, and she’s in matching oversize sweats, ones that are way too big for her.
Ones that look like they probably belong to…
My stomach drops, no, plummets .
The longer I stare at her, the younger she seems to become. Her features are round, soft, her skin untouched by age. She lifts a single eyebrow and pops a hip out to the side.
“Can I help you?”
I hold up the wallet lamely. “I was looking for Fletcher.”
“Chris.” Fletch appears behind the girl, a little out of breath. His eyes widen as he looks from me to her.
“You forgot your wallet.” My voice comes out harder this time, and all of those worries and fears and anxieties that had been building in my chest the entire drive sharpen into something else. I hold it out, just desperately wanting to get out of here now.
“This is Jacks,” Fletcher rushes to say. “My old foster sister.”
I freeze, my eyes snapping to his.
“Jacks, can you give us a minute?” he murmurs.
She smacks her gum, shrugs, and heads back into the house. Fletch steps onto the porch, closes the door behind him, and takes the wallet from me with a rueful smile. “Thanks.”
“Your foster sister,” I repeat. In all the hours upon hours we’ve talked about our pasts…he’s never mentioned her. Or any other kids he grew up with, for that matter.
“She showed up last night. I haven’t seen her in…” He trails off and shakes his head. “Nine years? But she came to me for help, and I couldn’t turn her away.”
My gaze trails over his shoulder, though I can’t see her through the windows anymore. “How old is she?”
“Seventeen—er, eighteen. She just turned eighteen yesterday.”
Now I truly feel like an idiot for automatically assuming the worst.
“I’m sorry to show up like this. But I hadn’t heard from you, and the bar said you didn’t show up for work today…”
“Shit.” He pats down his pockets. “I must’ve left my phone in the car last night. Things have been…” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. His eyes soften as they fall on me, as if it’s just now registering that I’m standing here. “Do you want to come in? To be honest, I—I could use your help here. I’m a bit in over my head.” He blinks, taking in the sidewalk and car behind me. “Where’s Casey?”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this…manic.
“Casey’s at a friend’s house.” I lay my hand on his arm. “Whatever you need. Just tell me how I can help.”
His shoulders slump with his exhale, like the exhaustion is catching up to him all at once. “She ran away from her foster home. Apparently she’s been bounced around a lot—been stuck in a lot of bad places. Says she’s dropping out of school. She’s refusing to go back. I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I won’t leave her out on the street, and I don’t blame her for not having any faith in the system after the placements they’ve given her. And she’s eighteen now, so…” He meets my eyes, and his are wide, pleading. “What am I supposed to do?”
It’s such a stark contrast to the calm, confident way he handled everything yesterday.
It’s more than fair if it’s my turn to return the favor. I take his hand in mine and squeeze. “You take it one thing at a time. Would it be all right if I come in and try to talk to her?”
The relief in his eyes is immediate, and he steps aside to let me pass.