Page 33 of What Goes Around

Adults leave.

Police don’t chase ghosts.

On my way out of the station, I ran straight into Apple. Of all the people I hoped to never see again.

“Nick?” she said, grabbing my arm. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I pulled back, jaw clenched. My stomach churned. I thought I might vomit.

“I have to go,” I muttered.

“Nick—”

“I have a meeting,” I snapped, forcing myself to breathe. “Excuse me.”

I walked away from the woman I’d once tried to use to forget Ashley.

The second biggest regret in my life.

I hired a private investigator the same day.

A month later, he stepped into my office with a tight expression that told me everything before he even spoke.

“No luck, boss,” he said. “I found nothing. No records under Ashley Richards.”

My chest constricted. “Her phone? Credit cards? Anything—”

He shook his head.

“Her phone’s been dead for a year. Before that, only text messages. No calls. Cards haven’t been used in almost two.”

I loosened my tie, trying to breathe through the pressure crushing my throat.

She’d disappeared without a trace.

And it was my fault.

That night, I bolted upright in bed screaming her name.

"Ashley!" I’d jolt awake, turning to the right side of the bed, where she used to sleep.

Used to.

Because I hadn’t believed her. I had insulted her. Rejected her. Driven her away like she meant nothing.

I destroyed the love of my life.

I grabbed her old pillow and dragged it against my chest, burying my face into it like I could force something back that I had lost.

Nothing.

No strawberries. No trace of her.

Completely gone.

A sound ripped out of me, raw and broken. I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking so badly I almost dropped it, and dialed her number. It didn’t even ring. Just a recorded message telling me the number was no longer in service.

“No,” I whispered. “No, Ash, please... Please.”