Page 21 of The Route to You

And even if he had developed serial-killer tendencies, she didn’t have a phone to call for help about them.

“Where is it?” She unzipped the side pouches she’d already gone through, praying the phone would magically materialize.

“When was the last time you had it?” Kyle asked, squatting beside her.

She inhaled . . . and immediately regretted it.

God, he smelled good. Familiar, but stupidly nostalgic. Like the Old Spice body wash he used to use. Nothing like the cologne Evan wore—and maybe that was why she noticed it. Four years of smelling the same cologne all the time, and she barely even noticed it anymore.

But she remembered this. Back when she and Kyle first started dating, she’d begged for his sweatshirts so she could fall asleep with that scent.

Focus.

She blinked hard. “What?”

“The phone,” Kyle repeated patiently. “When was the last time you had it?”

When? She searched the chaos in her brain. “When I called you.” Weight settled in her stomach like a stone. “Oh my God. Do you think maybe I dropped it in the snow? Or on your porch? Can you call it for me?”

He made a face. “If you dropped it in the snow, it might have shut off by now. It’s pretty damn cold outside.” He stood and crossed the room toward the bed and pulled his phone out from the charging cord. “But yeah. We can try.” Unlocking it as he walked back toward her, he studied the screen.

She clasped her hands together tightly as he dialed, praying for the faint, blessed sound of her ringtone in the mess.

Nothing.

Kyle moved to the door and opened it, letting a blast of cold bite into the cabin.

Still, nothing.

He hung up as her voicemail greeting started to play, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced at her like he wanted to say something tactful and was deciding against it. “Um . . .” he said finally. “I guess I’ll be right back.” He exited the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Sloan stared at the door.

Oh crap, I still have his coat.

Poor guy. He’d probably wanted to ask her for it, but then decided that taking a coat off a visibly unraveling woman was a bad look.

The night had already been such a disaster that runaway bride steals ex-boyfriend’s coat didn’t even rank in the top five.

God, talk about cosmic intervention. When she’d been sitting in the urgent care clinic, shaking and numb and trying to pretend she wasn’t going to explode, the name of the cabins he’d mentioned had floated up in her head like a lifeline. She’d been so out of sorts that it felt like a good idea. Kyle wasn’t connected to anyone at the wedding but Davy, and if she asked him not to tell Davy where she’d gone, he’d respect that. He’d covered for her already tonight with Davy.

She just couldn’t bear the thought of talking to Evan right now. Of him tracking her down and trying to tell her that all she’d seen was fake—or worse yet, telling her it wasn’t fake, but that it was meaningless, just some one-time mistake that he expected her to swallow because it would be too inconvenient to disrupt the wedding plans in motion.

Ugh, Evan.

At least he won’t cry about missing out on more snow time. Asshole.

She didn’t want to think about him, yet he lingered at the edges of her thoughts, like a bruise you keep prodding to see if it still hurts. He was probably furious right now. Or panicking. Or both.

Would he make a scene? Probably not. Evan was cautious—image aware. He wouldn’t want anyone involved unless it was necessary. But he would be furious, wanting to get her to come back and desperate to contain the embarrassment of a canceled wedding.

Her departure would be a scandal.

Had he gone to her father already?

If he had, her phone would be blowing up, which might help Kyle find it in the snow.

Was it wrong for her to involve Kyle? She doubted he wanted to be dragged into this mess, but she needed someone right now. Someone not connected to Evan. Someone who wouldn’t immediately try to manage her.