“I don’t know,” she replied, biting her lip. “He got out, and no one can find him.”
Her eyes welled with tears, and I pulled her in another hug, kissing her hair. “It’ll be okay. I’ll find him.” I had no clue how, but I knew at that moment I would. I’d spend all day and night combing the streets for the bushy-tailed brat if I had to.
As I held her close, I spotted a huge arrangement of roses on her kitchen counter. Huge didn’t do it justice, either. The thing was fucking massive, several dozen long-stemmed flowers tucked in a gold vase.
“That was nice of your dad to send flowers,” I noted, smiling down at her. “They’re beautiful.”
Her brows snapped together, and she hissed in pain at the motion, touching her temple gingerly. “What? You didn’t send those?”
Excuse the fuck out of me? A spark of anger flicked to life.
I released my hold on her and strolled over, plucking the card from the display. It was heavy card stock, her name written within a heart. Without asking, I opened the envelope to reveal a message from the sender.
My Beautiful Laney, You will always be the love of my life. I’m so grateful for our time together. Forever and always, Justin.
“What is this, Laney?” I asked, waving the card.
“I figured you sent them,” she trailed, stepping over and grabbing the card, reading the note and paling. “What the hell...”
“Save it,” I muttered.
If she wanted that polo-wearing douche, she was all his. I didn’t play games. I made myself look like a fool, pining after her like a sick puppy, ready to come back and jump headfirst into things. Fuck that.
I should have taken the time to fuck anything with a pulse rather than wasting it lusting after someone that fucked a guy with a goatee and khakis.
Her brows snapped together, the stitches puckering. “Jason, I haven’t seen him since the day at the store!”
“Was that before or after you fucked him?” I shot back. “How many times did you fuck him while you were fucking me?”
She fucking played me. I couldn’t believe it. I trusted her, dammit. She was supposed to be different. I thought she wasn’t anything like Bianca, but she was in the worst way.
She tossed the card to the counter, staring at me as if I was the asshole. “What are you talking about?”
“I told you, I don’t fuck women that fuck other guys. I don’t want my dick turning green.”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone else!” she snapped. “Are you insane?”
“Then what is that, Elena? What the fuck is that?” I gestured wildly at the flowers. It wasn’t a display a guy bought a chick they weren’t fucking. Those girls got a friendship tulip if anything at all, not an over-the-top arrangement of red roses.
“I don’t know!” she cried, eyes welling with tears. “I thought they were from you!”
I chuckled, blowing out a puff of hot air, dangerously close to doing something stupid. Like smashing the arrangement into a thousand pieces on the floor stupid. “As if I’d send you flowers.”
Her breath hitched with a sob, pain ripping across her face. “Get out.”
“Can do,” I muttered, stepping around her, more than ready to get my life back. It was exactly the eye-opener I needed. “Do me a favor and lose my number.”
“Way ahead of you, asshole!” she cried, smacking her phone down on the counter. “Don’t speak to me again!”
Not planning on it. I yanked open the door and stepped out into the hall, slamming every bad decision I made in the last few months behind it.
Elena
Time didn’t heal all wounds, and crying about them didn’t either.
All crying did was stop up your nose and give you a headache. But there I was, sniffling and searching for any sign of Hank, social media plastered with images of the furry meatball of a cat. I called every veterinarian’s office and animal shelter in the area, too, issuing a kitty Amber Alert.
Technically, I was on bed rest and not supposed to be walking around for hours with a bag of cat treats, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Concussion or not, Hank was my constant companion, my knight in gray fuzz. He needed me, and the apartment wasn’t home without him.
I saw enough Forensics to know he likely didn’t feel the same loyalty, cats usually the first pet to sample their dead owners, but Hank deserved the effort, even if he would eat my face if I died.
The weather wasn’t cooperating, dipping into the forties and drizzling rain regardless of my little guy’s preference for sleeping by the radiator. He wouldn’t stand a chance on the streets, having transformed from a ferocious feral to a pampered diva.
Each block was more painful than the last, mentally and physically. Post-concussion syndrome was as wretched as the doctor warned, the headache and blurred vision making the trek ten times harder.
The image of Hank shivering saturated my thoughts alongside Jason’s face when he insinuated I wasn’t worth flowers. I never felt so cheap, reminded I was nothing but a free fuck. He hadn’t come out of genuine concern; he came to see when I’d be ready to spread my legs again. It was a horrific realization, more painful than any blow to the head.
Lee left hours earlier after dinner, she and Jesse looking for Hank until dark with the kids to no avail. They ordered me to stay inside, and I did until they left.
I checked every dumpster and bin I could find, but each time I found putrid trash and no Hank. Calling his name and shaking the treat bag did nothing.
The hours circling left me heartbroken, convinced my baby was gone for good. I prayed someone had taken him in as the rain trickled down, my raincoat loudly repelling its drops. Step by step, I trudged along, devastated in more ways than I thought possible.
I wished all the
