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)
My mother got a big cabin and didn’t allow us to share a room. As if that was going to stop Tate from sneaking in at night. Below it, he’s spinning me around in the middle of a dance floor at a wedding we attended. The last is from his grandfather’s farm. I’m dressed in overalls and a red, plaid shirt, donning pigtails and a cowboy hat I borrowed from his grandpa.
Despite everything, it makes me smile. I’d never been to a working farm before and I recorded some of my time there, which of course meant I needed to dress the part. It’s the same picture I’d posted on social media and took down when the Gracie thing surfaced. A quick calculation tells me he was already hooking up with Mallory when we took this, and that instantly sours my mood again. I tear my eyes away and start calling his mother as I walk back to my car.
“Are your parents home?” I ask Virginia, after I tell her I found nothing here.
She gasps. “They’re in Florida, but Tate could be there! Sometimes he goes over there to decompress!”
I’ve been parked in the driveway staring at his car for the last five minutes. He normally keeps his red truck in his one-car garage, but it’s empty. And he never drives his beloved Porsche to the backcountry.
“I’ll call Joe,” she says and hangs up.
If I remember correctly, the farm has about twenty employees and they’re usually around. Unease continues to grip my gut. Even if Tate went over there, it’s not like him to stay. It’s definitely not like him to disappear. I shut my eyes and lean back in my seat. I look at the time and curse. I can’t miss practice today, but this feels important. Too important.
I think about the last conversation I had with him and panic rises in my chest again. Mostly, he recounted what he remembered about the night those videos were taken of him and Gracie. It wasn’t something I necessarily wanted to hear, but he did clarify that nothing had happened between them before, and that he didn’t think he would have done anything that night if he’d been sober. Obviously, that’s bullshit. I look at the time again, slam a hand on the steering wheel, and start driving toward the farm.
56
JOSSLYN
Practice starts in four hours, which gives me plenty of time to go to the farm, look around, ask the employees about Tate, and come back. For everyone’s sake, I hope he’s there. I try to think of places he could be. Maybe Onyx? My stomach twists at the thought, but I push it aside. I can be angry after I know he’s okay. It takes about thirty-five minutes to get there. The cows and most of the other animals are about half a mile from the house itself. I spot two trucks that I assume belong to employees and keep driving until I see the road that leads to the main house.
I turn into the driveway, but stop when that uneasy feeling coils in the pit of my stomach again. I look at my phone. Finn and Damian are at their game, which is only about an hour away. I grab my phone to text Finn, but my fingers are shaking so hard I don’t even know what I type, so I call Olivia instead as I drive further in. Goosebumps ripple through me when I see the familiar red truck. Part of me wants to leave and let Virginia deal with this, but my gut tells me I can’t.
“What’s up?” she says. “You wanna ride—”
“Livie.” I cut her off sharply, the phone shaking hard in my hands. “I’m going to share my location with you right now. If I don’t call you in thirty minutes, call the police and have them come here.”
She doesn’t speak for a moment. “Josslyn, what the fuck are you talking about?! Where are you?!”
“Just do it. Thirty minutes. No more than thirty minutes,” I say and hang up.
I would call now, but I don’t know if there’s anything to call about. As soon as I put the car in park, I get out and walk briskly to the truck, which is empty. I rush to the front door, try the knob and find it locked, so I start knocking. It takes me pounding about ten times before it finally opens. My jaw drops and I practically jump back when I see Tate. A messy beard covers his face, and he appears to be pale and sweaty.
His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and the left one has a purplish ring around it. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can’t move. As far as I know, Tate has never been in a fight. And the clothes he’s wearing … an oversized t-shirt that’s been ripped on the left side, revealing a large cloth that looks like it’s covering a wound. His arms are covered in scratches, but it’s the rope marks on his neck that terrify me.