You idiot, his truck isn’t here. I roll my eyes and then laugh at how unobservant I am.
All the emotions I built up, come crashing down as I stare at the door. I pull my keys from my purse, inserting the apartment one in the lock, and I let myself in.
It’s not breaking in if I have a key, right?
Nothing has changed. I mean, it’s only been five days, but all the pictures are still there. Except for one. I notice the one on the shelf is missing. I let my fingers trail over the armrest of the couch as I walk by it, headed to look closely at the pictures I printed out and stuffed in frames even though I have them all memorized.
There’s one where I forced him to take a picture with me outside of Vanderbilt. And a snapshot that his mom took the day we went to get Danger. The one of us smooshing our faces together as we cuddled on the couch—regular teenager stuff—is missing. His family pictures are still there, the ones I looked at the day I came to buy a couch. I turn around and look at the couch, walking toward it and sinking into the cushions. The couch that brought us together. Maybe I could sell it for thirty thousand dollars.
The thought makes me hysterically giggle, and I stand, making my way down the hall and stopping by his bedroom door. I feel like a stalker as I reach one finger out to lightly push it, peeking in as it opens a smidgen.
His bed is unmade, and I walk toward it. Reaching to grab a pillow, I bring it to my face, and I inhale deeply. I’ve missed his scent. His manly scent that I can’t put into words. I stop short when I see the missing picture sitting on his bedside table. Picking it up, I smile.
He misses me. The thought makes me want to dance.
I set the picture back down and glance around, my eyes catching on something on top of his dresser. I stop and listen, making sure I haven’t missed any noises to alert me to Ben coming home, and I pluck the piece of paper off the wooden top.
After I unfold it, my eyes snag on an address, so I open the Maps app on my phone and look it up. It’s a location about an hour away. Underneath it is a phone number, and I save it to my Contacts. I set the piece of paper back down, folded just like I found it, and creep out of Ben’s room. I pause at my door, thinking about grabbing some stuff, but I’m on a mission, so I bypass it and stride to the front door. After locking it behind me, I practically run to my car.
I wildly drum my fingers on the steering wheel as my brain goes a million miles a minute. I pull up the phone number I found in Ben’s room, staring at it. Part of me wants to call it, and part of me has fear churning in my gut. Those two guys weren’t playing around. I don’t know if this number has anything to do with them, but maybe I shouldn’t act too rashly.
I could always call the police. But this sounds fishy, and I don’t want to endanger Ben before I find out what is going on with him. These people he’s dealing with didn’t look on the up and up.
God, you might have watched one too many movies, Pep.
Pulling my phone out, I dial my dad, realizing what I’m about to ask as it starts ringing.
“Pepper?” Dad answers on the second ring, sounding confused.
I don’t blame him. I don’t usually call him when I want to talk to my parents. I call my mom.
“Hey, Dad,” I say and then pause.
“What’s going on?”
“You know that money you put in my account for tuition?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“Well … is it still mine? To do with what I want?”
“Yes, we put that money in there for you. What do you want to do with it?”
“Hypothetically, let’s say I’m going to put money down on a house—”
“A house? Why are you trying to buy a house?”
“It’s hypothetical, Dad,” I huff out.
“Okay, hypothetically, you could use that money.”
“Okay, let’s say that I wanted to withdraw it for that down payment—”
“Why don’t you have the bank transfer it instead? You don’t need to withdraw it. Are you putting a down payment on a house?”
“No. Just listen. If I wanted to withdraw, say … thirty thousand dollars, how would I go about that?”
There’s a long pause on the other end, and then he blows out a breath.
“Pepper, are you in trouble?”
“No,” I say, hoping my voice sounds strong.
“What do you need thirty thousand dollars for?”
“It would be better if you didn’t know.” I grimace.
“Pepper, the IRS tracks withdrawals larger than ten thousand dollars. You would have to put down what you are doing with it.”
I sigh in frustration.
“If you are in trouble, I have cash here in the safe. It would be better for you to come here, so we can talk. I don’t like the sound of this.” His voice brooks no argument.
I regret calling him. I don’t want to bring him in the middle of this. Whatever this is. I don’t have any idea, but I know that you aren’t involved in a shakedown in the middle of a parking lot with nice people who will just accept your excuse of, Sorry, couldn’t get the money. Can I have an extension?
“Okay, thanks for the information. I’ll let you know.”
“Pepper, what is this about? I’m starting to worry about you,” he says.
I reach up to rub my eyes. “I’m okay. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I can.”
After
