21. Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Rylan
W hat the actual fuck is her problem?!
Everything was fine last night when I left her. But now, Bexley has done a complete one-eighty so fast that I don't even recognize the woman who just slammed the door closed in my face.
I shouldn't have gotten comfortable or complacent, regardless of the reasons. It was a grave mistake to think we could be anything more than enemies. I had it right the first time when I said that Bexley was a snake.
We should have broken her when we had the chance. My one regret is not pushing back harder. Instead of punishing her for the acts against us, I took my foot off the throttle and changed strategies. It's a grave mistake, one that now plagues me.
Still, I can't shake the feeling that there's something missing here.
The way her voice shook, the dimness in her eyes… something happened. But what?
In spite of the urge to bang down her door and demand answers, I turn on my heel and stalk back to my truck. There's the unshaking feeling that she's watching through the window, but I don't dare glance back at the cream house. If I see her watching, I'll likely smash open the door until she tells me the problem, or I fuck her through a glass window or wall support beam.
My pride has taken a beating. A small voice in my mind taunts me, telling me this is my own fault—exactly like my father had said. How the hell am I meant to know which decision is right when I have everyone telling me different things? Smooth it over, gain control, destroy them. You can't please everyone, and now that my plan has backfired in my face, I'll never hear the end of it from any of them.
Things should never have gotten this far. The whole purpose of our truce was to keep her at arm's length, but close enough to keep a watch on things. I was meant to smooth things over so that we'd resume control. I just never expected to enjoy her company.
But I did.
And even though it hasn't been long, I feel like I started to get to know the real Bexley Spencer—not the one who hides behind feelings of tenacity and unwavering strength.
Blasting my Spotify through the speakers, I slam my foot on the gas, peeling away from the curb with a squeal. People in their front yards tending to gardens glare at my truck with annoyance, but I pay them no attention. I only have one thing on my mind.
Thankfully, Dad isn't home. He's on the road, visiting the State Governor as part of his beloved, all important electoral duties.
When I reach my bedroom, I waste no time hitting call on my cell, waiting for Tai to pick up. He's the only one I can speak to about this that might be able to help, even if it means potentially getting chewed out.
I know he doesn't agree with my actions, but he's less likely to give me shit. Plus, I need his skills. Regardless of what has happened or my motives for this, it's in our best interests to work out what has Bexley in a twist. If something has happened, maybe I can push her to open up to me. But if she's just playing the long con, then I can use whatever we find as ammo to crush her.
"Hey, Ry," Tai's voice comes through loud and clear. "Missing me already?" He makes kissy noises, and I cringe with a laugh.
"Absolutely," I agree. "But I have a weird question."
Tai chuckles. "Weird is my favorite. Hit me with it."
Taking a breath, I quickly get the words out before I can change my mind. "Total hypothetical, but do you know how one would go about hacking into some cameras if they wanted to, hypothetically , obtain footage from the hospital?"
Yeah—real smooth. Just dropping the old hypothetical mention twice… Not suspicious at all.
"A hypothetical, ay?"
"Yep."
There's a small pause before he says, "Nothing to do with your little trip to the hospital last night?"
My jaw tightens. I never relayed that information to him. But I know that he has trackers on our cells and vehicles. We agreed to it ages ago, so that we'd be able to locate each other in the event of an emergency. But I didn't share that little trip with them, which means he and Hunter were watching last night after they left us to negotiate.
And likely saw my truck parked at the warehouse for a questionable amount of time…
"Nope," I lie, not bothering to deny my spontaneous visit to the hospital entrance.
Tai chuckles down the other end of the line. "Right," he drawls out knowingly. "Also, nothing to do with the fact that her car wasn't at the warehouse last night. Or why you went to her house today?"
Motherfucker.
"Just how much do you stalk me, asshole?"
"It's a hobby—like bird watching."
I roll my eyes in annoyance. "And have you shared these updates with Hunter?"
I'm surprised when he answers, "Nope. It's our little secret, Brother."
"I appreciate you keeping it on the DL for now. I'm in Hunter's bad books," I murmur, rubbing my forehead. "So, about this hypothetical hospital…"
Tai hums thoughtfully. "Hypothetically, hospitals are easy. They don't bother with large and complex scale security—perks of being underfunded. And if someone has a father who works for the government and runs the town…"
My teeth grind at the idea. I really don't want to use that connection and bring this to his radar. Before I can think of a response as to why I don't want my father getting wind of this, Tai continues.
"But I could probably give it a shot. What am I looking for?"
Relief and appreciation fill me. "Find out where she went. A floor, a room… anything."
"Hypothetically," Tai starts, and I'm already sick of the word since we both know it's bullshit. "I think someone needs to watch himself. Anything you want to share with the class, Ry?"
"Just see what you can find," I growl, ending the call.
On the plus side, Tai will enjoy the task, and I know I can trust him. But I'll be hearing about this for days to come. After all, what are friends for if not to taunt the shit out of you?
About an hour after we ended our call, I received a text from Tai. When the notification first popped up, my heart raced momentarily, thinking there was a chance it could be Bexley—even if it was to chew me out about turning up.
It wasn't, of course, but at least I had some answers.
Tai was kind enough to obtain some grainy footage, sending it through with some basic notes— floor two .
The timestamp on the footage matched, and before I realized what I was doing, I was in the truck and driving to the hospital.
A few people linger around and give me passing glances as I stroll through the entrance. I take the elevator straight to floor two, heading to the nurses' station I see when I step onto the floor. I have no idea what to say or what to expect, but I'm on a mission to figure out why Bexley was suddenly cold as ice. Especially if there's a chance it could come back to bite us in the ass.
As I approach the desk, I spot a middle-aged nurse in scrubs, typing on a computer behind the desk. She looks up when I stop in front of her, offering a small smile.
"Can I help you, sweetheart?"
"Yeah, hi," I start, turning on the charm. "I'm here on behalf of a… friend," I force out, trying not to focus on the fact that we're not really friends. Or that friends shouldn't know what it feels like to feel other friends come—much less sworn enemies.
"Name?" she asks warmly.
Clearing my throat, I keep my voice firm. "Bexley Spencer."
The nurse pauses, and immediately, I know I'm on the right track. It's obvious she knows who I'm referring to. Now, it's just a matter of whether or not she's willing to provide any information. HIPAA aside, I just need a fraction of guidance, anything to explain the sudden shutdown that I can use to start looking for answers.
"Lovely girl," the nurse muses sadly. "Who are you in relation to her?"
"A friend," I repeat, still struggling with the word. "She asked me to stop in and… do… something."
The lie falls out like word vomit, but I'm toeing a fragile line here. If I give away that I'm not meant to be here, I'll be back to square one.
But to my surprise, the nurse stands, giving me a look of relief. "Oh, good. We were wondering if someone would be along to collect them. I've tried to call Bexley a few times, but she hasn't answered."
I nod, pretending I know what she's referring to. "She's a bit distracted."
"I can't say I blame her," the nurse responds, gesturing for me to follow over to a cupboard. "Poor girl. She was so distressed last night. Let her know we're thinking of her."
Frowning, I watch as she pulls out a plastic bag, a hospital sticker affixed to it. She hands it to me, and I take it, fighting my curiosity as I resist the urge to look at it. "I'll pass on the message."
"Thank you. I left her a voicemail, passing on the details for our hospital coroner. She'll be able to liaise with them to make arrangements for the funeral and transfer from the morgue."
"Right," I say, swallowing the growing lump forming in my throat. "I'll let Bexley know so she can contact them."
The nurse smiles sadly. "Look after her. She's heartbroken—I don't think she knew all the details, so it was a shock to her. But I'm happy to see she has a friend to support her."
I glance at her name tag, giving a firm nod. "I will. Thanks, Sandra."
I stare at the contents on my bed, eyes scanning the clothes, cell, sheets of paper, wilting flowers and purse.
Inside, I'm disgusted with myself. The normal, decent thing would have been to drive right over to Bexley's house and hand her the bag without snooping. But given her less than welcoming demeanor earlier, I knew that would end badly. And I wanted to know for certain myself.
So now, I'm stuck with a bunch of items on my bed, fingers rifling through the belongings to confirm my suspicions.
I'm a sick fuck.
I go straight for the purse, digging out a wallet. Opening the black leather, there's a picture inside; a younger Bexley with a warm, smiling face, hugging an older woman. Lifting the driver's license from the card slot, I check the name— Savanna Spencer . The ID photo matches the person hugging Bexley, and I let out a sigh.
Savanna Spencer… as in Bexley Savanna Spencer.
Shit. This is bad.
No wonder Bexley is out of sorts. Her mother is dead. Not just dead, but newly so.
Questions pop into my mind, leading to more unease and tension.
When? How?
We were just together last night, and she was happy. But the footage of her running out of the hospital haunts me.
Did she die when we were together?
It would explain a lot. Especially since the nurse made a comment that sounds like Bexley wasn't expecting it.
I quickly pack everything up again, feeling like an intruder. Shoving the bag under my bed, I take myself for a shower, hoping I can wash away the guilt that clings to me.
This is a clear violation of trust. Bexley's going to lose her shit when she finds out I stole her dead mother's belongings and impersonated myself as a friend there on her behalf.
After I get clean—which doesn't help ease the feeling at all—I sit on my bed, staring at my cell. Would she respond if I messaged her?
My fingers type out a message, delete it, write out another, and delete that too.
Eventually, I settle for the old trick of sending lyrics, hoping to gauge some type of reaction. I share the link to Spotify, attaching the Lawless Dragons lyrics in a text message to Bexley.
It sends, and I stare at the screen, hoping to see those three little bubbles appear.
My heart races when it gives the indication that she's read the message. And I wait.
But nothing appears. No bubbles, no response.
Sighing, I realize the only way I'm going to get a reply from her is in person. And it also means I might end up with something being thrown at my head. But that's fine.
I have fast reflexes.