Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
Chloe
Sunlight slashes bright across my eyes. But it’s the tongue on my neck that really pulls me from sleep. Unfortunately, the tongue is attached to seventy pounds of hunting dog instead of the man I fell asleep waiting for. I lift one hand, shielding my eyes until I can adjust to the light intrusion, and wrap the other around Bronson’s head. Sometimes, it’s easier to stop the assault by pulling him in closer than by pushing him away.
The scrape of a spoon against a bowl and the slurp of milk are clear indicators that I’m not alone.
“Why’d you sleep on the couch?” Jake asks around a mouthful of cereal.
“Why are you sitting in the cozy chair with a bowl full of milk about to spill?” I push myself up to sitting and rub the sleep from my eyes. Sure that I’m sporting a stellar smudge of mascara, I pull the collar of my shirt up and swipe underneath. Lord, I feel like I got hit with a freight train.
I check the time on my phone and see there’s nothing from Miles. Not a message. Not a missed call. Nothing. What I do see is that my alarm didn’t go off, and if I don’t get my ass in gear, I’m going to be late for work.
“When you’re done, make sure you rinse out your bowl and put it in the dishwasher.”
I drag myself upstairs, tying my hair back as I go, and take a quick shower. It helps but not nearly enough. After a swipe of makeup with sound appreciation for the fact that curly hair can make for the cutest updo without a whole lot of effort, I dress casual and comfy. Perfect for a Friday and an end-of-section review day at school.
“Did you feed the dog?” I ask as I hop off the stairs and round the corner.
Jake is standing at the back door, dressed for school, his backpack on the kitchen table and a cup of coffee ready for me in my favorite to-go cup. “Yep. And he pooped.”
Bronson proudly trots back in and goes straight to the end of the couch, where he spends the bulk of his day while we’re gone.
“Thanks.”
I’m in awe. Jake is such a different kid from the one who fought the move down here. Not different so much as better. Back to the one I knew was in there.
“I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast, so I just made you coffee,” he says, his brows lowered in concern. “Does it taste right?”
Expecting a foul version of coffee, I gingerly take a sip. And another. I’m nothing short of pleasantly surprised. “It’s perfect. When did you learn to make coffee?” I ask, pulling a protein bar from the pantry and dropping it in my bag for later.
“Miles showed me. He said it was part of the rules of manliness—to know how to make a good cup of coffee.” Without another word, Jake checks the lock on the back door and throws his backpack over his shoulder.
And when he walks to the door, holding it open for me to pass through first, I have to admit, I. Am. Shook.
Bits and pieces of this elusive list have been discussed in my presence, but I’m sure I don’t know nearly enough about it.
We climb into the car, and I set off to drop Jake off at school.
On the way to Cox High, I call Miles. His voice mail picks up immediately. “Hey, I crashed on the couch last night. Hope I didn’t miss you. I kind of thought you were coming straight over from the airport. I’m pulling into school, so I’ll talk to you later.” I hesitate, catching myself before love you trips off my tongue. “Bye.”
Maybe I should be shocked by the realization that the thought was so natural. That the feeling of loving Miles doesn’t scare me the way I thought it would. I didn’t expect it to happen again. I thought Dallas was my one and only, that love like that didn’t happen twice in a lifetime. Once was a privilege. Twice is a damn gift.
Each time I text Miles, my phone shows the message as Sent, never switching to Read or even Delivered. I’m sure he’s drained after from whatever dragged him to California. He was dreading the trip.
To get out faster at the end of the day, I have my last class flip chairs and clean the whiteboards, so we can all bolt for freedom together when the bell rings. I should have taken my time. The line of cars waiting to get out of the school parking lot is ridiculous.
Music blares, and brakes squeal as more than one car has to stop short because somebody wasn’t paying attention the way they needed to. I should probably be scared, surrounded by new drivers who are more eager to leave school and start their weekend than usual. The semester is winding down, and the sun is shining. It’s a perfect day to be young and dumb.
Except it’s not. Worry niggles at the back of my brain. I just don’t understand where Miles is. If his flight had been delayed, he would’ve called. Even if he had gotten tied up in a meeting, he would’ve sent a quick message. This complete and utter lack of anything isn’t like him.
I bypass the turn for Jake’s school and go straight to Miles’s apartment. Both of his trucks are there, but as I park next to Maggie, I realize I’ve never been here with him. I’ve come to the parking lot to swap one truck for the other, but I don’t have any idea which apartment is his.
When my call is pushed straight to voice mail again, I hesitate for only a heartbeat and call Erin.
“Hey, you,” she trills, drawing each word out like she’s expecting some juicy news.
I hope she’s got some news instead. “Erin, have you seen Miles today? He messaged me yesterday that he’d be home last night, and I can’t seem to get ahold of him.” I chew on my thumbnail while watching the open stairwell closest to where his trucks are parked. Inwardly, I shudder, knowing I sound like a clingy, insecure girlfriend. Is that what I am? My stomach rolls at the thought that I’ve misread what we have. I don’t think I have.
“He called before his flight left yesterday and debriefed me. But I don’t expect to see him in the office until next week. He told me he had something to take care of. I kind of assumed…” Her sentence trails off, but I think I know where she was headed because I’m pretty sure I assumed the same thing. “Don’t worry, Chloe. He probably crashed hard from the adrenaline dump. They do that,” she adds.
And I do know that. It was frustrating and hard as hell to deal with it when Dallas did that. And trying to explain to a toddler, who was equal parts excited and scared about his daddy being home… I don’t even want to think about it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” I mumble. A shift in the blinds on a second-story window draws my attention, but the movement is so quick, so slight, that I’m not convinced I actually saw it. “His phone is just going straight to voice mail, not ringing at all.”
Silence can sometimes be deafening, and Erin’s is screaming into the void.
I nod, though she certainly can’t see me. “Okay, well, thanks. I guess… I’ll talk to you later.”
Erin and I have become good friends. But she’s known Miles longer; she works with him every day, poring over data and statistics. Making mission plans, extraction plans. The kind of work that requires a team to be tight and trust to be absolute.
“Chloe—”
If she knows something, there’s no doubt where her loyalty lies.
“Gotta run.” I disconnect and send a message to Miles.
Chloe: Missed you today. I’m going to order Chinese for dinner if you want to come over.
I glance up at the window where I thought I saw movement, but there’s nothing. Not even the hint of a shadow.
Rock, Paper, Scissors for the extra egg roll was probably a huge mistake last night. Or maybe the General Tso’s chicken was a bad idea. Either way, dinner didn’t sit well with me, and I feel icky. Because it certainly can’t be nerves over going to the last rugby game of the season.
From the back of the car, my parents pull a tailgating tent, a table, camp chairs, a cooler, and several boxes of snacks. It’s officially an end-of-season party in the Franks’ tent.
“I think you might have gone a little overboard,” I say as I help arrange bowls and platters on the table.
My dad huffs through his nose, and Mom laughs.
“It’s a special day, Chloe. Look at how much our boy has changed since coming to the South.” She stands at the edge of the rugby pitch, hands on her hips. Her cropped gingham pants, peasant blouse, and neat silver bob are such a contrast to the way she growls, “Wrap him up and take him down, Jacob.” With three short claps, she turns and wanders back under the shade and fusses, “It’s hotter than Hades out here. We should’ve brought the fan and mister. Chloe, baby, put more of those drinks on ice, would you?”
She is in her element, making a party out of my kid’s rugby game. No doubt she’s got enough to feed both teams and their families.
“Who’s that talking to the boys?” Dad asks. “Thought you said Miles was going to be back in time for the game. Where’d he go again?”
“California.” I look down the sideline and see Tyler Amarre running the team along with another boy’s dad. Miles is nowhere to be seen. “He was supposed to be back, but he must’ve gotten caught up.”
There’s no doubt something is up, but I hate that I have no idea what it is. Since we’ve started seeing each other, not a day has gone by when we don’t speak, let alone shoot a million and one messages back and forth.
Talking to Erin didn’t help matters, and no matter how bad it makes me feel, as soon as the game is done, I’m going to corner Tyler and grill him for information.
Almost three days.
Just shy of seventy-two hours actually.
I’ve officially been ghosted.
“Mom, what do we have for dessert? I’m starving.”
Of course he’s starving. Not even an official teenager yet, and Jake is eating me out of house and home.
“I think there are some cookies left from Nonna’s rugby party yesterday,” I say absently. My phone has remained disappointingly silent, though that doesn’t stop me from checking it several times an hour.
Tyler had nothing to tell me after the game yesterday. Just that Miles had emailed Erin and asked if Tyler was able to fill in as coach. Erin had nothing further than that. No explanation. No information. No message.
Jake walks through the living room, one hand filled with what’s likely the last of the cookies, and gives me a flyby hug. “Night, Mom.”
“You’re going to bed already?” I glance at my phone again and check the time. No new notifications.
“Mmhmm. Shower after I finish these and then…” The rest of his sentence is lost in a mumble around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.
“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” I call after him.
Bronson lifts his head, ears perked forward and stubby tail twitching against my foot. I follow his gaze out the front window, hoping the headlights coming down the street pull into my driveway but they don’t. Bronson puts his head down on my knee and sighs.
“I hear you, buddy.” I flip his ears back, so he looks like he’s got them slicked back.
My phone buzzes, and I scramble to swipe the screen and accept the call before I even check to see who it is.
Kate’s nasally voice greets me, and as hard as I try to hide it, my disappointment bleeds through.
“Still MIA?” she asks.
“Yep. God, Kate, I’m sick to my stomach over this. What happened? Where is he?” I right Bronson’s ears and stroke his sweet face. “What did I do?”
“Don’t you dare assume you did something wrong. Men are weird creatures.” She sniffs against her stuffy nose. “You didn’t do anything to push him away, did you?” Only Katlyn Hays Jackson can shame me for thinking I did something wrong and then, in the next breath, ask me if I did.
“No. I mean, I don’t think so,” I answer, groaning as the sour feeling I’ve been fighting all weekend returns.
“Give me his number. I’ll call him.”
“What good is that going to do? Who answers calls from unknown numbers?” I whine.
Kate sneezes five times in quick succession, followed by a muttered, “Well, shit.”
I can’t help but laugh at my sweet, pregnant friend. Poor thing just wet her pants. “Go take care of that. I’m going to go to bed and hope I feel better in the morning.”