Chapter Thirty
I froze as she left, her pink hair a streak down my stairs. I couldn’t change her mind or make her see how we could be together. There was a voice in my head, maybe it was my dad’s or maybe it was my mom’s, but it was telling me I shouldn’t have to beg someone to love me.
I bent over, my hands bracing my knees. I’d experienced loss and heartbreak before, but this was deeper, and it sliced right through me. I stayed there, trying to catch a breath. When I blinked, a tear fell from me, splashing on the hardwood floor. Then another and another.
I sniffled, standing up to crack both sides of my neck. She was gone, and I’d just have to deal with it. It was a risk I’d known I was taking the second I’d let her hop on my motorcycle.
I couldn’t call Harley. Not only was he on his honeymoon, but it was the middle of the night in Greece. I didn’t want to call Noah—he was too literal and optimistic.
I didn’t want to read. I definitely didn’t want to find another hookup. The idea of a woman who wasn’t Maisie underneath me made me physically ill.
I guessed beer and pizza were in order, but I didn’t want to be in public, so I decided to go to the store and bring it back for a Breaking Bad marathon while I watched the shapes and colors on the TV move while I really thought about what was on my mind.
Her.
Gone.
I wiped my face and pulled myself together, snatching the keys to my truck that I hadn’t driven in over a week. I drove by Tilly’s, pathetically glancing to see if she was inside with no luck. A hollow ache filled me by the time I made it to the outskirts of town when I realized she’d really left. She was probably roaring down I-95, blaring some Kelly Clarkson song.
While stuck at one of the only stoplights in town, trying to make a left-hand turn, I eyed all the cars at the intersection, silently praying one was her hearse. Chiding myself for being an idiot, I almost didn’t catch a dark SUV flying through, a shock of pink hair lit up behind the back window for a split second.
My grief-stricken brain registered it was someone slumped over.
“Maisie!” I shouted.
With two cars in front of me and more blocking me from the right, I was stuck, helpless.
“Fucking shit!” I spat, eyeing Boyd’s cop car hauling ass on Pine Ridge Road. I beat my hands on my wheel, feeling absolutely trapped in the gridlock of cars.
Boyd has Maisie.
My stomach churned, my spine tingling in terror. When the light turned green, I inched as close to the bumper of the car in front of me as I could, laying on my horn. As both cars inched through the intersection, I continued honking, urging them to veer to the side.
Flooring my truck, I raced in the direction he’d gone. The road was long and winding, leading to the forest surrounding the town. Several small parking lots speckled each trailhead, but I didn’t know which one he’d stop at, and I didn’t have time to check.
Maisie, where are you? I sent a plea to the universe, hoping on some level I could feel her. We were so connected at this point, I prayed I could.
Unable to pick up on anything, I gritted my jaw as I sped down the winding road. It was one thing to watch her leave. It was completely another to watch her unable to because Boyd had snatched her up. Rage singed my nerves, a metallic tinge seeping into my mouth.
He had Maisie. He had my Maisie.
She would’ve never gone with Boyd of her own accord. She wouldn’t be slumped over in the back seat of his SUV unless he’d done something to her. Bile rose in my throat with the realization of what I might find.
Half a mile ahead, a large murder of crows flew in the bluish twilight of the sky, circling in the air like a spiral.
“Crows?” I spat the word in outrage.
Memories flickered of her having nightmares about birds in Vermont when she’d destroyed the pillow wall and cuddled me throughout the night. Then her reaction to my crow tattoo.
Crows.
With newfound determination, I stomped my gas pedal.