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“What?”
“Yeah. Pinged our location from what seems like your phone. He was identified going through a toll three hours out. Now, unless you want to wait around and see what he wants, go and get. The fuck. INSIDE!”
I jerk at his stern tone and run into the house. After dressing, I start throwing things into my bag.Stupid, Mindy.“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I scold myself. At this rate, I should just let Sheldon get me. I deserve it.
A thunderous boom resounds from the kitchen. I drop my bag and scream as I duck, covering my head. I race out of the bedroom to find Tate bent over, his palms resting against the table.
“What’s happening?” I say in a panic.
He doesn’t answer. His breathing is heavy. He straightens and turns to me. The muscles in his jaw flex. There’s a hardness in his gaze, and it sends chills down to my toes. His phone rings again, causing me to jump. “Yeah? When? Okay.” He hangs up. “Grab your shit.” Then he storms out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
By the time I walk out, there’s a patrol car in the driveway. Tate is leaning against the truck, his arms crossed over his chest. “Who’s that? Where are we going now?”
He walks off without a word. I give him his space and wait by the porch until he returns. I watch as he speaks to the officer, and a few minutes later, they both walk up to the cabin.
“Morning, Miss Parks. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I reply to the young police officer.
Tate disappears into the house and returns with my bag. “Is this all you had?”
“Yeah,” I say weakly as if he didn’t already know.
Tate pulls out his phone and makes a call. “Yeah. He’s here. Yep. I’ll call when I’m on the road. Anything changes, I want to know. Yeah, later.”
“Wait, what’s happening now?”
Tate hands the officer my bag. “He’s taking you home.”
“Wait, what?”
“They nabbed Sheldon just before the state line. He’s in custody. You’re safe to go home.”
It takes a beat for his words to catch up. “You’re pawning me off on him?”
“Sheldon’s not a threat. I’m heading back to New York. Gotta meet Detective Rochel at the station where they’re bringing Sheldon. Your apartment’s done. You’ll be fine with Officer Phillips.”
The officer tips his hat to me. “You’re in good hands.”
Oh my god, he’s dumping me. Literally and figuratively. “Wow, okay. Great.” I’m confused. Hurt, angry. But mostly want to go numb. Shutting down, I reply with a carefree tone. “Cool. Safe travels, bud. Hope a bear tackles you and rips your balls off.” I turn my back to Tate and snag my bag from the officer’s hand. “I can carry my own bags. Ready when you are!” I call out, fighting not to cry or have a complete meltdown. I trek to the officer’s car and open the door, throwing myself inside. Not that it matters. Tate doesn’t even glance in my direction before disappearing into the cabin. While the officer is climbing into the squad car, I see Tate walk out, lock the door behind him, and climb into the truck.
And then he’s gone.
“Asshole.”
“What was that?”
Shit. “Not you.” The officer gazes at me through his rearview mirror.
“It’s a long drive. You’re more than welcome to sit up here. May be more comfortable.”
“Thanks, but I’m good back here. Gonna sprawl out and take a nap.” And quietly cry. ’Cause what the hell just happened? Are we through? Ditching me the second my stalker gets taken into custody is a huge sign we are, but I refuse to be that realistic. Maybe he needs time to think. Figure out a way to really express how he feels about me. “Fuck!”
“Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I choke out. Who am I fooling? He just dropped me like a bad habit. I thought it was a good habit. Great. I need Fay. I reach for my phone, realizing it’s still in Tate’s bag. “Nooo…” Not only did he steal my heart, but now he has my connection to the outside world. I slide down the seat and slowly slump sideways until I’m lying on my side. Well… fuck.
At least I get to go home to my couch. I miss that damn couch. I wonder if my mug collection missed me. Then I remember it got blown to smithereens. I remember the text from Harry. Considering it’s been days since that message, I probably no longer have a job. Which means I can kiss my newly remodeled kitchen goodbye. Soon, I’ll be living on the street with my emotional baggage, couch, and whatever’s left of my mug collection. A ripple of emotion travels up my throat, and I try to hold back another sob.
