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If this is a time for healing and growth, I have to consider all of the issues from my past, all of the things that hurt me, and never apologizing to that woman has eaten away at me. No matter how far I got away from this city in the Navy, that regret always seemed to find me.
I know I can’t leave here without telling her just how sorry I am for not speaking up sooner.
My hands tremble as I type in her and her husband’s name, but I come up with nothing. I consider it a good thing I can’t find their address after a quick search because I wouldn’t want someone to be able to track me as easily, but it doesn’t help my current situation.
I continue to walk, considering calling the police station, but I know they would never give me the address of a former detective. I highly doubt they would get a message to him either. I could call Aunt Diane because I know she exchanges Christmas cards with them every year, but that would bring on a million questions that I’m just not ready to answer.
My phone buzzes with a text, but it isn’t Trenton looking for me. He’s called more than once, but I’ve sent it immediately to voicemail. He’s left one message, but I’m just not strong enough to hear his voice right now. Half of me thinks it’s him begging me to come back, but the other half, the side that is trying to convince me he’s saying good riddance and to not bother coming back to New Mexico is what keeps me from listening. I just couldn’t bear that from him right now.
The message is from an unknown number, but the area code says it’s from Farmington. I gape down at the phone and the name and address included in the text. It doesn’t show as Trenton’s number, but I know it’s from one of the guys back at the clubhouse.
Unknown: Good luck, Grace.
That flashes on the screen as I try to figure out just how Max, I assume, knew what I was needing.
It should make me feel suffocated and controlled, but for some reason it doesn’t. Probably because it’s exactly what I need right now. Besides, this phone came from Kincaid. I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s being tracked.
My cheeks heat as I pull up the car service app and order a ride. Has Max been tracing all of my phone use history? Did he see my searches for details on group sex and the account I made with that stupid dating app? I deleted it quickly after Trenton assured me that Isaac would be the one involved because he was right. Using a picture of my feet brought all sorts of attention that I didn’t want.
The car arrives quickly, one of the best things about being in a large city. The woman driving tries to chat with me as we travel, but she quickly realizes that I’m not up for small talk and we continue the rest of the trip in silence.
I’m shaking by the time she pulls up in front of a modest home, and it has more to do with forgetting to bring a jacket with me. I guess I should be grateful I packed jeans and a sweater as I climb out, the sneakers I also brought sinking into the layer of snow that fell overnight.
Quick to get to her next customer, the woman drives off before I can gather the courage to walk up the driveway. It feels like the wrong thing to do, but I know that’s just the regret trying to get me to back down once again.
Trudging up the front walk, I keep my eyes on the windows, wondering if someone is watching me approach, but they never flutter. I hate to think that I may wake them up, but I also know I can’t leave without getting this off my chest.
I know this is more for me than for them, and I feel a little guiltier for forcing myself on them, but I lift my hand and knock once I’m close enough. I see movement through the beveled-glass window, making it too late to run.
I attempt a smile as the door begins to open, but it falls away immediately at the sight of the man standing just inside the door.
“Grace?” He tilts his head to the side, clearly as confused as I am.
“Gus?” How is the man who runs the sex club standing in front of me right now?
I feel suddenly insanely angry at trusting whoever sent that damn text. Feeling defeated and played, certain that Trenton put Max up to this as one final play at humiliating me, tears start to fall down my cheeks.
“Who is it, Gus?”
I freeze at the woman’s voice. How in the hell am I going to explain why I’ve randomly shown up on his doorstep? His wife would probably never believe the truth. I can’t even believe I’m standing here.
