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“And all thanks to your lovely lady. Where is she, by the way? I want to thank her for this.”
“I don’t know.” Ian stuck his head into the hallway. “I wanted to give her the Christmas gift I got her so I sent her up here...”
Flash would have done what he asked. She would have come to his bedroom. She would have seen the sculpture. And he’d told her he’d gotten her a big Christmas gift...
And she would have been fucking furious at him because the only thing she told him not to do was buy one of her sculptures. He hadn’t, but his dad had.
“Oh, fuck,” Ian said with a groan.
“Ian!”
“Dad, I have to go,” he said.
“Go? Where?”
“I have to find Flash.”
“She was just here.”
“I know my girlfriend. She saw this and ran.”
“Why?”
“Because she told me to never buy any of her art.”
“You didn’t buy it. I did.”
“Yes, but she doesn’t know that. I need to find her.”
“Well, find her. I have a Christmas gift for her.”
“Dad, I don’t think she’ll—”
“She’ll want it. I promise. Go get your lady. Do whatever you have to do to get her back. Trust me on that.”
Ian didn’t walk out of the room. He ran. He ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, down the stairs, and hopped in his dad’s Prius since it was easier to get to than his own car. And his father said he should do whatever it takes to get Flash back. Surely that included grand theft auto.
He drove as fast as he safely could to Flash’s apartment complex. He ran up to her door and knocked.
And knocked.
And knocked.
Nothing.
He ran back down the stairs and knocked on Mrs. Scheinberg’s door.
He hated doing it. It was after ten and he assumed she was already asleep, but if Flash had come home, Mrs. Scheinberg would probably have heard her truck.
The door opened two inches only and Ian saw Mrs. Scheinberg peeking through the gap over the door chain.
“Ian? What on earth?”
She closed the door and opened it all the way.
“Flash isn’t here, is she?” he asked without further preamble.
“No, why would she be? She went to the party.”
