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Noah’s talking vaguely in the background, but the thundering in my mind increases to a roar as I stare down at my hands.
Hands that held her earlier today as she cooked us dinner, hands that cupped her face, held her hands. An itch grows beneath my skin, desperate to touch her again. To reassure myself that she’s here, that she’s safe.
But I can’t, because she’s not safe.
An agonised groan echoes down the hallway, and Max drops his head into his hands. His body’s still slumped on the floor, unable to move. He gasps loudly, and it fractures something inside me, almost as if it were the catalyst. Tears form and fall down my cheeks.
Nate paces back and forth, his energy too hot to stay still. He’d raced through the building and checked the road. He couldn’t see anything, and it’s wound him up even tighter. I’d knocked on the neighbours’ doors to see if they heard anything, but…nothing.
“Logan’s on his way,” Noah updates, and drops into the armchair he tends to prefer. Usually, it’s to relax, but now he’s tense, bent forward, his head bracketed in his palms.
“He’ll be able to find her?” I ask, hating the desperation in my voice, but I can’t stop a part of me that needs someone to provide me with the hope that it’s all going to be okay.
We found her the first time, so we have to be able to do it again.
His hands drop, hanging limply between his knees as his throat bobs. “I really hope so.”
It’s not a denial, but it’s still not as hopeful as I wanted or needed.
I shuffle back to the hallway, tears clinging to the backs of my eyes. Max hasn’t moved from the floor. I unfurl a hand and offer it to him. He sniffs loudly, and a tear-stained face looks up at me, his eyes rimmed red.
His fingers slide into mine, and I tug him to stand, then let go to grasp his shoulder. I squeeze, then nudge him into the living area and guide him to the sofa.
“What do we do now?” I ask, breaking the tense silence between us all.
“Wait for Logan. It’s all we can do,” Noah sighs, glancing back down at his phone.
“Maybe we can at least go over what happened. It might help to piece things together?” I suggest.
I need some form of distraction to keep my thoughts from twisting and diving into a dark panic. A panic that wants to steamroll through me and nosedive straight into a deep pit of despair, certain that Rosy’s been hurt or…worse.
“It’s not going to fucking change anything. Won’t bring her back,” Nate snarls, still pacing behind us.
Noah’s eyes flick over to him, but he doesn’t answer his anger and he recalls what happened before Rosy left.
“She definitely had a notification about the delivery?” I clarify after he relays what she’d initially told him.
“Yes. We were being intimate—”
“Fucking,” Max interrupts, but the suggestive tone he’d normally use isn’t there. The word’s empty.
“No,” Noah scolds, some of his usual patience wearing thin. “Her phone went off. That’s when she asked if she could go next door to grab the delivery. I assumed it wouldn’t be too long, but I haven’t a clue what it was and didn’t know how long to wait. That was roughly around fifteen minutes ago.”
His hands brush down his face, then he drops them on the arms of the chair and leans back. “If I hadn’t waited so long, then…”
I sigh, knowing it’s all too easy to head down that line of thinking. We don’t know how quickly Rosy was taken, so it’s pointless self-blame.
“Where’s her phone?” Nate suddenly asks, coming to a stop and allowing us some respite from his stomping footfalls.
Noah’s forehead creases as considers the question. “She didn’t leave it. She took it with her when she went. Max, did you see it?”
“No? But I was looking for Rosy, so I didn’t look around for a phone,” he says, sitting up and looking around at us.
Nate marches from the room, heading back to Rosy’s without a word.
Max jumps up and runs after him. I don’t follow, unsure whether finding it will help get us any closer to finding her.
SIXTY-THREE
