My brows lower. “Like what?”
He gives a tight shake of his head. “Just. Tell me.” His words are clipped in that bossy Zach way that makes my teeth clench.
I stomp to the cabin door and throw it open, expecting—okay, really fucking hoping—to see Josh inside gaping at us like we’re weirdos for busting into our cabin.
But Josh isn’t there.
I step inside, blinking so my eyes adjust from the bright sun to the indoor shadows.
But even before my vision sharpens, I know he’s not here. The space is too small to leave any doubt.
I turn back to Zach who’s now hovering in the doorway. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” I ask him.
Frowning, Zach looks from me to the cabin’s interior, then back to me. “Where’s all his stuff?”
I reel around.
Oh shit.
Nearly every day since we’ve moved in, I’ve tripped over Josh’s Crocs on my way to the shower. I’ve begged him—pleaded with him—to tuck them under the bed when he kicks them off instead of leaving them in the middle of the path to our bathroom.
The cabin floor is Croc-free.
The top of the dresser where he usually leaves his laptop charging next to his wallet and loose change is empty.
My breath stalls.
“Maybe… Maybe,” I pant, grasping for anything. Anything at all. “He decided to clean u—”
“Check the closet.” Zach’s words land like a gavel strike.
And, yes, I feel his eyes on the back of my head like a judgment. But I don’t move. I can’t move. Even though the closet door is just inches to my left.
He didn’t leave me. He isn’t gone. There’s an explanation for all of this.
I’m just going to stand here until I come up with one.
“Greta.” Impatience edges his voice, but I ignore him.
Fuck him.
I squeeze my eyes shut and think about the last thing Josh said to me. I kissed him on the forehead this morning and told him to sleep as late as he needed to. When I pulled away, he’d grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“I love you.”He’d muttered it, half-asleep.
It was sweet. And unexpected. Josh almost never says the words aloud.
I figured he was grateful for the chance to rest. Grateful for my support.
He wouldn’t leave me.
“Greta?” This time, Zach sounds cautious. Like I’m a bomb about to detonate.
Maybe I am.
I wheel on him. “Maybe he called his dad, and Isaac picked him up and they… they…”
Zach’s expression is screwed into doubtful disbelief. “When was the last time he even talked to Isaac?”
