Page 52 of Hooked on Trouble

Sixteen

Raven

I walk down the block, past the Middle Eastern man selling street meat, and he gives me an odd look. Probably because I’ve passed him twelve times. Effort thirteen goes about the same. I near the address on East Hastings Nico gave me, I slow down, my heart rate speeds up, and I keep moving. If Nico were with me, I’d be braver. With him at my side in Fraser Valley, my nerves didn’t best me. But he’s been broody(er) since the call I wasn’t supposed to hear, more distracted. He stares at nothing with his fists clenched tight, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.

Instead we’ve given each other exactly what we need: distraction. Reliving the day I let Rose down reopened a fetid, old wound. It thrust my shame to the forefront. Each remembered blow she took that night reverberated through my body, snapshots from the horror unsettlingly vivid. The blood that bubbled from her mouth. The deafening screams. The smell of my urine lingering on the carpet for days. Until I find Rose, I can believe she loves me and misses me and wishes she could find me, too. That leaving me was the hardest thing she’s ever done. That she forgives me. Until we meet, I still have that.

So, the past two weeks, I’ve hit pause on my search. Nico’s day shifts have given us the freedom to walk on the beach and kiss under the stars and get sweaty between the sheets. My house. His house. We’ve allowed ourselves to live in the moment.

This morning, however, I woke up pumped. Rejuvenated. It could have been the three orgasms or waking up with Nico’s talented tongue between my thighs. Whatever the reason, I knew I had to stop putting off my search. Unwilling to add more drama to Nico’s life, I asked the girls to come—to see them and have their support. We’ve barely talked recently. Shay and Lily are bogged down with their day jobs, our joint business venture not getting much attention. But both were busy. I almost gave up, delayed things for another day or week, but I was too wired and Sasha didn’t have any clients booked.

That leaves me wearing a path on the cement.

I tap my toe and eye the door to the apartments as a couple of boys strut by. The taller of the two runs his tongue over his top lip when he sees me, a crude gesture that has me crossing my arms over my chest. I should text Nico and let him know where I am, but he’d be pissed I came here on my own. Better not to poke the beast.

“Let’s do this,” I mutter to myself, tired of my delay tactics.

Another internal pep talk later, I march straight for the door and step inside. A synthetic strawberry scent hits me, barely covering thick wafts of mildew and cigarettes. Without pausing, I climb the stairs up the narrow space. Apartment 201 is at the top. Just a door. In a building. But Rose could be behind it. Unlike at the farm, I came as myself today. No hat to hide behind. No floral dress. Tight black skirt, boots, and a Death Metal T-shirt. Take me as I am.

I squeeze my fists a few times, then blow out a breath and knock.

Nothing.

A ratty pair of shoes is outside the door, an open garbage can covered in something sticky beside it. My stomach feels sticky, too. Leaving would be easy. But the thought of not seeing Rose today, of living in limbo another minute, is as suffocating as this nasty strawberry smell. I knock harder.

“Yeah, yeah…coming!”

I freeze at the male voice, my knuckles hovering in midair.

“What do you want?” The door doesn’t open, but the voice is closer.

My neck tingles, as though someone’s eyeing me through the peephole. “I’m looking for a woman. Rose Hunt.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t ask who she is, doesn’t sound confused by the name. She could be in there right now. Excitement and nerves spiral through me. Like with Clara, I sense the need for honesty. Stories and excuses will likely shut this Ross guy down.

I clear my throat. “She’s my sister.”

A lengthy pause. Then, “Your name?”

“Raven Hunt.”

A chain jostles, and the door swings wide. The man looks to be in his forties, tall and lean with a thinning ponytail. His gaze dips down my body. “You have the same eyes, but she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.”

“Are you Russ?”

He nods, letting the silence extend between us.

I chew my cheek. “I heard Rose was living here. Is she around?”

Yawning, he leans on the doorjamb and stubs his bare foot into the frayed carpet. “She left a month ago. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s at the local shelter.”

Homeless shelter? My heart stutters to a stop. The smells disappear. My worst fear is realized: Rose’s life has careened downhill. His green eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn’t look high, not like Wispy and Lake. Sadness darkens his sunken features.

“Were you guys dating?” I ask.

The corners of his lips tilt up. “Something like that.”