The phone marathon with Sydni started earlier today. I’d hung up on her three times but she keeps calling back, trying to justify the photos of her I saw on the internet. With two guys. One of them a drummer from another band who left a status on social media about his sticks being played with recently in a sexual way by a female rocker and he’s auctioning them off to donate to charity. I’ve felt sick to my stomach all day with that vision stuck in my head.

Sydni’s explanation that it was something fun that would benefit something good wasn’t making me feel any better. And now I have a jealous thirteen year old to pacify.

“Is that what this is about? You’re upset because I was on the phone with her and not paying attention to you?”

She lowers her eyes and fidgets with my door lock. “Kinda. I thought we were going to watch a movie together and make sundaes. Then she called and that was it. You forgot about me.”

I turn the truck off and climb out, slamming the door behind me. “Look, I’m not a mind reader. If you’re upset about something, you have to tell me. You can’t run off. I’ve been a mental case worrying about you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“C’mon. We can still watch a movie and make some wicked sundaes. I’m starving.”

“Can we pile pillows and blankets all over the floor and camp out in front of the TV like my dad used to do with me when I was little? I don’t even want to watch the movie in the theatre room. I want to hang out in the living room by the fireplace.”

I’m sure my back will be screaming in the morning if I lay on the floor all night, but I’m willing to risk it.

“Yeah. Actually, that sounds perfect, Angel.”

She grabs onto my hand as we walk back onto the house together. “Good. I just want to be five again for awhile.”

I don’t blame her. I want to be a little kid again too and forget about all the shit that’s happening in my life.

Tor

After sexting with Kenzi, I feel like I’ve developed multiple personality disorder. One of me feels sick and ashamed of myself for being so weak and the other me can’t get her off my mind and is itching to recapture that exhilarating feeling with her again. Last night made me feel more alive than I have in a long time and now that I’ve had a taste of her, I want more.

So much more.

As I work on the engine of a beautiful old Indian motorcycle in the shop, my brain keeps rewinding back to the pictures she sent me. And her handwritten note. And the fact that she hasn’t texted me yet today.

Is she waiting for me to text her first?

Or is she mortified about the things we said to each other?

Does she regret sending me the photos?

My suck level is high when it comes to all things relationships.

When lunch time rolls around, I lock myself in my office and give her a call. Texts are fun but I need to hear her voice.

“I was hoping you’d call me.” She says when she picks up, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a good thing I called then. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” she replies. “So, how’s your day? You must be tired.”

“It’s the usual Monday. And yeah I’m beat, but you’re worth it.”

“Well, thank you.”

“What are you doing today?”

“Not much. I’m having dinner with Aunt Katherine and her new boyfriend tonight.”

“Very nice. I’m happy for her – she deserves to be happy after what that asshole did to her.”

“Yeah, she really does. She seems pretty crazy about this new guy, so I hope it works out.”

I glance at my door to make sure no one’s around but lower my voice anyway.

“Kenzi, about last night-”

“Tor,” she interrupts. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I feel like I should.”

“Sometimes saying nothing says more.”

I laugh into the phone. “You sound like your dad.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I should probably go. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I really love you, Tor.”

She says it like she’s declaring the sky is blue. Without one tiny shred of doubt in her mind. Like she knows it’s what my heart needs to hear.

“I love you too, Angel.”

“I’m eighteen now.”

I grip the phone tighter in my hand.

“Trust me, I know.”

“I’ll be coming back home soon.”

Like I haven’t been counting down the minutes.

“I know.”

“I’m coming after you, Mr. Grace. You can run, but you can’t hide.” Her words are teasing and playful but the raw truth behind them is undeniable.

Fuck. Stick a fork in me. I’m done.

That night I have a tattoo appointment with my good friend and artist, Lukas Valentine, who also happens to be Asher’s cousin.