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CHAPTER1
Zoey
I’m only supposed to use Jaxson’s number in case of an emergency. I don’t know if this qualifies. Mom isn’t answering her phone. The way things have been with Axel, her douchebag ex, I can’t stop thinking the worst—imagining scenes in which Axel has finally snapped and unleashed his rage on Mom.
As I sit on the couch—my laptop open on the coffee table, the cursor blinking, teasing my poor writing efforts this evening—I stare down at my phone. I’ve already punched Jaxson’s number in. He used to come by a lot right after Dad died. I never saw anything happen between him and Mom, butsomethingdid. I’m sure of it.
He was here every week, sometimes every day, when I was around ten and eleven years old. He’d bring groceries and help with household maintenance, rent, and bills. Then, nothing.
Poof. Without explanation, he was gone, and Mom refused to explain why. To this day, she won’t talk about it. Whenever I bring him up, which is rare now, she gets this dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. I haven’t seen him since I was a kid.
Erasing his number, I try Mom again. This time, it goes straight to voicemail.Her phone died, I tell myself. There’s no reason to panic. Yeah, or Axel has finally gotten his hands on her. He’s switched off her phone.
Jaxson is a writer of military action thrillers, a perfect fit for him since he was in Special Forces for years. It’s how he and Dad met. I wonder what Dad would say if he knew about the dreamy look Mom gets whenever she talks about his best friend.
I’m not going to cry. It’s been a decade since Dad passed, but sadness still tugs at me at the thought that Dad will never say anything about anybody again.
“Mom,” I say, wishing I was talking to her, not her voicemail. “I’m really worried about you. Please call me back.”
She’s only two hours late. She could’ve stopped off on the way home from work for a coffee.
No. Reason. To. Panic.
Right? She’s the only family I’ve got left.
I don’t let myself think about seeing Jaxson. I stopped googling him years ago to diffuse any silly notions that might spiral into my mind. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and his hair has turned an enchanting shade of silver as the years have passed. His eyes are wolfish—stark and blue as he stares in his author’s photo, owning the reader, holding the world.
I’m studying English lit in college and, like many classmates, I dream of being a writer one day. Picking up my laptop, I attempt to focus on my story. Literary fiction is my jam or my wannabe jam, but I can’t concentrate without knowing where Mom is.
Screw it. I’m doing it. Mom told me to call Jaxson if I ever needed help. I can’t call the cops because Mom’s two hours late. They wouldn’t take it seriously, and I get that. This city has enough problems without me wasting their time.
Is that an excuse? I don’t give myself time to think about it. Soon, the phone rings.
“Hello?” Jaxson says, his tone deep and gruff.
Whatever. I don’t care about his tone. It doesn’t cause tingles to dance up and down my body. No way.
“Hi, Jaxson. It’s Zoey, Mallory and Luke’s daughter.”
“I know who you are, Zoey. It’s nice to hear from you.”
He talks as if to a family friend. What do I mean,as if? Iama family friend, nothing more.
“I’ve got a bit of a situation here. It might be nothing.”
“Is everything all right?”
This part will be awkward since I’m pretty sure Mom and Jaxson were romantically involved once. In the aftermath of Dad’s death, something happened when he was always coming by, and now I need to talk about Mom’s latest ex.
Latestbecause Jaxson is her ex too, but the alternative is to abandon Mom.
“Mom’s ex-boyfriend, Axel, has been acting like a real creep. Hanging around outside the house. Showing up at her work, and now Mom’s two hours late. I know it could be nothing, but I’m worried. Mom told me to call this number in case of an emergency.”
“I’m in the city,” Jaxson says. “I can drive over. We can figure this out. How does that sound?”
He’s talking to me like I’m an overanxious child. It would only make me seem younger if I snapped,“I’m twenty. Don’t talk to me like I’m a kid.”
“Sure, that would be great. Thank you.”
