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“You make her fucking believe you!” My heart hammers in my chest. I want to rip the phone out of his hand and threaten that bitch’s life.
He dials and places the call on speaker. It rings a few times and goes to voicemail.
“She ignored your call. Call her back.” He does, and she sends him to voicemail again. “Again,” I say. The phone rings two times and—
“Christopher, hey!”
Christopher freezes. I raise my hand to snap him out of his haze. “Uh. . . hey. I’ve been calling you.”
“You have? I’ve been kind of busy.”
“Yeah, I figured. I haven’t heard from you. I was worried.” He looks at us for direction. He’s going to fuck this up. I motion for him to keep going. “It’s just. . . I know I said some awful things to you, and I’ve felt like shit. I made a mistake.”
There’s a pause, and I lean in, hoping to hear some sort of background noise that will give away her location.
“What do you mean you made a mistake?” she asks.
“Keep talking,” Steve mouths.
“I can’t stop thinking about you. Us. I shouldn’t have let us go. You mean everything to me.” Christopher clenches his eyes shut. “I never wanted it to be Makayla. It’s you I want.” As much as I hate the fucker, I can tell it pains him to say those words.
“Really?” Her tone is filled with promise. “What changed your mind?”
“I—I—Rebecca, where are you?” He’s met with silence. Fuck, she knows something’s up. There was too much hesitation after his question. The sound of a barking dog echoes in the distance. “Rebecca—” The line goes dead.
“Fuck!” I holler. “She can be anywhere. She knows something’s up. She can be—”
“The barking dog,” her ex starts. “We hate that dog. The owners leave him outside day and night, and all he does is bark.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The dog. She’s at my house.”
* * *
Makayla
Jenny ends the call, her face blank. Something didn’t go her way. I pray that doesn’t mean anything bad for me. She looks down at me, tossing the phone on the bed. “What did you do? When was the last time you spoke to Christopher? Does he know about me? Tell me!” She leans over and rips off the tape.
“Ow—”
“Tell me!”
“I haven’t spoken to him since I left.”
“The flowers—did you call him about the flowers?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I didn’t. I called my lawyer. Christopher doesn’t even have my new number. His lawyer called back saying he didn’t send them—”
“No shit!” she screams.
“Wait—yousent them?”
“I told you it wasallme,” she hisses and paces the bedroom. “Why would he ask me that? He’s been avoiding me, and now he wants to talk? That seems off, right?” She looks to me for an answer. Maybe antagonizing her was the wrong way to go. Siding with her seems to be the better option here. Plus, I’m not sure I can take another hit to the ribs. Each breath is becoming a struggle.
