I hike to the top of Prickle Point, hoping she’ll be there. Getting some perspective. Or even just hiding out where people are less likely to look for her.
I try the diner. I ask Martha if she’s seen Julia, but she gives me a blank stare.
“Boy, you better not have hurt her.”
“I promise,” I reply. “I promise I would never hurt her. Not intentionally.”
A pained look flashes across Martha’s face. Becausenot intentionallyis a giveaway.
She pats me on the shoulder with a sad-sounding “Good luck.”
I go to The Sugar Saloon, wondering if she went for a daytime drink. That’s what I would do in this situation.
But alas, all I find are regulars lining the wooden bar. It doesn’t stop me from asking if they’ve seen her.
“Pretty sure I’d remember if I saw someone like that around these parts,” a grizzled old man replies with a raspy chuckle. And I’m too distraught to get worked up over the innuendo.
Finally, I swallow my pride and drive to where Julia’s mom lives. She’s described it enough times. And to be honest, her family and her father’s legacy border on lore in this valley. The Silva family farm is certainly not some sort of top-secret location.
When I pull up through the orchard, my throat works. Panic courses through me, and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I feel shaky—nauseous.
A strange sense of dread that I might never find her sinks in.I feel like I’m living in a nightmare. One where you’re trying to run, but your legs don’t seem to work. Or you’re trying to type, but you just can’t spell a single word right.
In this one, I’m searching and searching and constantly coming up empty. It’s irrational. And anxiety-inducing. And it has me spiraling.
Once upon a time, I thought the nightmare would be falling in love with someone.
But now I know the nightmare is finding that one person who knows you in a way that no one else does. Who sees you differently. The one who feels like home. The one who feels like the other half of your soul. And then not being able to find them.
That’s the nightmare. And now I’m living it.
All I know is I need her. I’d crawl through broken glass to find her. I don’t give a fuck. I just need to lay eyes on her.
It’s with that in mind that I jump out of my truck and shamelessly gun for her mother’s door. I knock more than is polite, but all sense of propriety has fled.
I’m working in pure panic mode now.
I thought I had something to cry about last night, but if I lose Julia, I will fucking crumble. I’m not even sure what’s happened with her.
Is she leaving me without a word? Is she injured or stuck somewhere? Every worst-case scenario flits through my head, adding to my anxiety.
I lift my fist to knock again, but the door moves beneath it.
And there stands her brother, Theo Silva, one of my greatest rivals. And a man who doesn’t think much of me.
Strangely, I still respect the hell out of him—not that I would ever tell him that.
“Bush, what do you want?”
“Have you seen Julia?”
“What? You’re not going to correct me and say, ‘Oh, it’s Brandt’?”
“Silva, I don’t give a fucking fuck about my last name right now. I need to know if you’ve seen Julia.”
His expression slips from taunting to concerned. “Not since last night. Why?”
I push both my shaky hands into my hair. Distraught. “I can’t find her, and I need to talk to her. And I…”
