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Roman pats Oreo on the head one more time, eliciting a lazy one-eye peep; then he rises and dusts himself off. A few pieces of straw fall to the ground before he walks out of the barn into the rain, leaving me sitting alone with all the animals and my regrets.
29
JULIET
After bawling my eyes out in the parking lot, I haul my suitcase upstairs. Much as I’d like to call in to work, I missed the last few shifts and can’t in good conscience ask Sabby to cover for me again. Especially after my brothers roughed her up.
I make it to my apartment, fumbling around in my bag for the key. Going for the knob, I notice the door’s ajar. Cold fear slithers down my spine.
What the hell?
Someone broke into my apartment while I was gone. I hesitate, debating what to do. I should probably call the police and not go in. But if I do that, I’ll definitely be late for work, and I can’t afford to get fired from the Tipsy Taco.
I kick the door open, scanning the dark living room. Nothing’s out of place, and the television’s still up on the wall.
Odd.
That’s about the only valuable item I own, and it’s still here, in the apartment. If this was a burglary, it wasn’t a very successful one.
“Hello?” I duck my head into the apartment, my thumb hovering over the emergency button on my cell.
Silence. And no one comes running out, bum-rushing me, either. Whoever was here is probably long gone by now.
Taking a deep breath, I shove inside, leaving the door wide open behind me. Just in case.
I flip the light on, and that’s when I hear the creaking of a metal door.
“Ohmygod! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!” I jump up and down, screaming, as I stare at the beady eyes of a large gray rat sitting on my kitchen counter. He hops down from his perch and scurries away, and now the little rat bastard’s running around in my apartment.
Wonderful.
I hurry over to the counter. A note scrawled in black Sharpie is propped up next to a metal cage.
Welcome home, little sis! Jags wanted you to have a new friend. Birds of a feather flock together, he said.
—Damon
You’ve got to be kidding me. My asshole brothers planted a rat in my apartment to send me a message. And now he’s on the loose, darting around all over my stuff. Probably taking rat shits everywhere.
A shudder rolls through me as I think about all the possible hiding spots. The pantry, the closet, curled up in my shoes. Under my bed, where he could jump out and crawl all over me with his little rat feet.
The idea’s too awful to even contemplate. He could eat my eyes out while I sleep.
I stare down at my cell, my gut instinct telling me to call King. He’d know what to do, how to get rid of the rat.
But I can’t do that. We’re over.
No, I need to handle this on my own.
Jogging back to my bedroom, I yank a Tipsy Taco shirt and a clean pair of jeans out of my dresser. There’s no rat in sight, but he could be hiding, waiting to pounce and give me rabies.
I hustle out of the apartment with my suitcase, slamming the door shut behind me. Leaning against the cool wall of the building, I wrap my arms around myself and shiver. I can’t believe my own brothers would do this to me. They’re raging assholes, totally out of control.
Eyes squeezed shut, I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to regroup.
First things first—I need to call an exterminator and get the rat out of my apartment. After a quick search, I dial the first company on the list.
“Seaglass Pest Control, what can I do for ya?”
