Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Excuse me? You’re not dragging my best friend up to the Catskills.”
“You let me worry about the details.”
My son looks like he wants to argue more, but doesn’t. Instead, he cups his hands around his mouth and calls back toward the stairs. “Lyssa! Come here!”
Silence follows.
The shower is still running. It’s possible she can’t hear us.
But when I count back and realize she’s been in the shower for at least fifteen minutes, something sharp prods me in the gut. “Lyssa,” I boom, coming to my feet.
Still nothing.
With my heart thumping in my ears, I take the stairs two at a time and throw open the door, finding her room empty. No clothes or toiletries anywhere. No overnight bag. Panic rips holes in my stomach lining as I advance to the bathroom and kick the door open. There’s no one in the running shower.
My howl is loud enough to wake the dead.
Spinning blindly back into the bedroom, I see the open window and know she’s climbed out. This side of the house is on a slant, so it wouldn’t have been a far drop, but I throw my upper half over the sill anyway, terrified I’m going to find her broken on the ground. But no. She’s not there, she’s just gone. Gone.
Something white on the ground grabs my attention and I stoop down to snatch it up. A note. I unfold it and devour the contents.
Mason, I didn’t mean for it to happen.
But I fell in love with John.
Please know I would never have hurt you for a lesser reason.
I’m so sorry and I hope you’ll forgive me in time.
I’m taking an Uber to the bus station.
Don’t worry about me—and please tell him not to come after me.
Love, Lyssa
She loves me. Even as my heart swells to the point of pain, it’s ravaged by the knowledge that she wants me to let her go. Not on your fucking life, sweetness.
“Uh oh,” Mason says behind me, sitting down slowly on the edge of the bed. “I guess this is what I get for playing games. She took off because she thought she betrayed me, didn’t she?” I confirm with a grunt and he groans, falling backward on the bed. “I should have told her I wanted you two to get together. She thought she was broken or something after the attack, but it’s obvious she wasn’t. Seeing that made me so happy.”
Attack. That’s the only word I can hear, over and over.
Attack.
She’s returning to the city where someone accosted her and he was never caught. The very idea of her being vulnerable to him and a million other threats posed by such a huge, chaotic place ties me in knots.
“I have to stop the bus,” I rasp, lunging from the room. “I’ll find out which one she’s on. I’ll bring her home—”
“Whoa, Dad. Hold up.” My son’s voice brings me up short. “If Lyssa digs her heels in, you’re only going to decrease your chances with her by using brute force. She doesn’t respond well to hostility. I can already tell your plan is to carry her off the bus over your shoulder like a caveman.”
“She said she loved me,” I growl.
“And if you want to keep it that way…” Mason folds his hands in his lap. “You need a better game plan. I know her better than anyone, right? Let me help.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lyssa
My pace quickens on the sidewalk, the evening wind kicking up a swirl of leaves around my ankles. Four-story brownstones line the block of a route I know like the back of my hand. It’s one I took every day of my youth, all the way through high school.
I’ve been staying with my mother the last two nights in Brooklyn, ever since hightailing it out of the Catskills. I know I have to face Mason eventually, but the fact that he hasn’t called or texted me speaks volumes. I’ll probably return to our building in the city to find he’s thrown my clothing out onto the avenue. It would serve me right, wouldn’t it?
The subway ran at a snail’s pace tonight and I’m coming home to my mother’s later than usual. Ever since the incident in the stairwell, I make sure to be indoors before the sun sets, but tonight it wasn’t possible.
I hear footsteps behind me and glance back over my shoulder, my stomach rippling with anxiety. There doesn’t seem to be anyone there, but I know first hand how easy it is for someone to hide in the shadows of the numerous doorways. Or the stoops that reach out and bisect the sidewalk like bent legs.
No one is there.
Just keep walking. You’re fine.
I take a long, slow breath and let it out. My anxiety cools by a measly degree, but nothing can be done about my lifeless heart. It’s there in my chest keeping me alive, but the beat has been dull and irregular since I left John behind. How can I miss him so much when I only knew him one day? This intense longing of mine defies logic. I look for him in every crowd, on every subway platform or packed coffee shop. I know he isn’t there, but sometimes I get a whisper of his presence or hint of his scent and my pulse begins to clamor in my ears.