Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 140742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 704(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
The phone falls out of my hand and bangs against the hardwood. The betrayal is so strong. I’ve never felt anything like it. Not even when I saw him with Gracie in those videos, which he claims he was drugged in, but he’s not drugged here. He’s perfectly sober. They both are. Surprisingly, despite the ache in my chest, the tears never fall. I pick my phone back up, thank Jack, and send the video to Finn with a warning of what it’s about. I jolt when my phone starts to vibrate in my hands and quickly answer the call from Tate’s mom.
55
JOSSLYN
Virginia sounds confused and desperate when I ask about Tate. Confused because she doesn’t know where he is, and desperate because he’d never miss work.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?” I ask.
“Friday afternoon, I think. Maybe Saturday morning. I can’t remember,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. “I would say he’s ignoring your calls, but for him to not show up at work? Oh God, should we call the police?” she asks, panicked, and quickly adds, “He’d be so upset and embarrassed if we did that.”
My heart pounds hard against my rib cage. I’m so glad I’m sitting down. Should we call the cops? My instinct is yes, but she’s not wrong. If Tate is fine and on some kind of drug binge somewhere and the police and media got involved, he’d be mortified.
A week ago, I would have laughed if anyone told me Tate was doing recreational drugs, but now I’m not so sure. If I’m being honest, I don’t give a fuck if he’s mortified over this. I want him to be mortified for what he did to me. Virginia starts to cry, and my chest squeezes. His parents are good people and they’ve already been through so much.
“I’ll call you back,” she says quickly. “I’m going to try calling now.”
She hangs up before I can say another word, and I wait with my heart in my throat. Fuck. Dame, Livie, and Finn were right. I am too nice, and I do care too much, but I refuse to believe that’s a bad thing. The world is full of assholes and I refuse to be one of them. Besides, Virginia is the kind of person who cries during commercials. I may get emotional about some things, but not even I do that. When my phone buzzes with a call, my stomach sinks. That was too quick for a phone call.
“It went straight to voicemail,” she says. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to take the first flight available.”
“I think we should call the cops,” I say.
“He’d hate that. You know he’d hate that.”
“I know, but what if something happened to him?” I ask quietly, not wanting to stress her out more.
Of course, that makes her cry harder. I hate it. I can’t even imagine being a mother and having to deal with this.
“Can you go by his house?” she asks. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you after what happened, but—”
“I’ll drive there right now.”
“Please call me back,” she says, her voice breaking.
“I will.”
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I drive to Tate’s townhouse. I know he won’t be there, unless … I shiver and push the thought aside. Please God, don’t let this be a repeat of my father. Please, please, I plead internally as tears fill my eyes. It’s been a while since I believed in anything, which horrifies my mother, but right now, it’s the only thing I can think to do. Everything in me is telling me to call the cops, but I’m going to honor Virginia’s wishes. For now. I get to his house and park behind his car. After I locate the hidden key, I take a breath and walk inside quickly. It’s not like I have time to mentally prepare myself for anything.
“Tate?” I call out as I walk around. “TATE?”
I look everywhere and find nothing, which brings me comfort and unease. I even check the shower but it doesn’t look like he’s used it today. His bed is perfectly made, but it always is unless he’s in it. Thoughts of me in bed with him immediately lead to thoughts of Mallory in bed with him and I get that sick feeling in my stomach again. I rush down the stairs, but something catches my eye when I walk toward the door and makes me pause. I was in such a rush, I didn’t even notice that he still has pictures of us together hanging on the wall. I’d framed them one night and put them up myself, because his walls were so bare and he was waiting for the "perfect painting." In one picture, we’re both smiling at the camera with our snowsuits on. It was taken during a family trip to Colorado.