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Maeve hated dealing with cash, but she didn’t want to keep using her card.
She’d bought a cheap phone with a limited plan and a few granola bars and water, then headed back to the motel.
She really wished she had Gray’s number. Or knew where he lived. He’d help her. Right?
Of course he would. But she had no idea how to find him. She put his name into the search engine of her burner phone.
His name didn’t come up. She bit her lip, holding in the tears.
Would he have figured out she was gone by now? Was he searching for her? Or did he not care?
She looked up Sampson next. Nothing. Well, of course his number wasn’t going to pop up. Maybe she could get in contact with Jenner. There was an email address for fans, but she doubted anyone would get back to her quickly. She sent one off anyway. Then she searched for all the others.
Nothing.
All right, so all that was left was getting on the bus and heading to Nashville. The cheapest ticket was two hundred and eighty dollars. She started counting through her money. It took her three tries before she thought she had it counted properly. Okay, she had just enough for the bus ticket. It meant she’d be surviving on granola bars for the next two days, but she could handle that.
Then maybe she could get Sampson to track down Gray’s number and call him to explain that . . . that she’d never wanted to leave him.
That she missed him horribly.
She put her phone down, wanting to save her data. Then she hugged Squish to her.
“Things are going to be all right, Squish. I promise.”
She hoped so anyway.
* * *
Gray sippedon some bourbon as he sat in the small living area of his suite in Markovich’s house. He’d never had the urge to live somewhere else. But suddenly, he was becoming rather restless.
As though he wanted his own space. His own life.
He shook his head.
You owe Markovich everything. Your loyalty. Your life.
He had no business thinking about leaving him. Especially now. Things in their world had turned upside down. And Gray had spent the last three days dealing with the fucking aftermath.
This was the first chance he’d had to sit and breathe.
But he was restless.
Go to her.
She’ll make you feel better.
He’d had to send a call from her to his voicemail. He’d been in the middle of the shitstorm that had surfaced. When he’d had a minute to breathe, he’d sent her a text to tell her he’d call.
And then hadn’t had a chance until now.
Just go to her.
Fuck. Having Dahlia in danger had shaken the normally unflappable Markovich to the core. Could Gray handle that? Feeling something so deeply for someone then worrying they might be hurt?
If he moved things forward with Maeve, he’d have to make sure she knew that he was in charge of her safety. And he’d need to do something to ensure she was never at risk.
He checked his messages.
