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“Chicago time with Gage Perry.”
“I like the sound of that already.”
It is a good idea, and I hate that it’s ruined when we walk out the front door. Cameras are in our faces.
“Just ignore them,” Gage mutters, grabbing my hand.
I tug on his arm. “Let’s go back inside.”
“Gage!” a reporter yells. “Did you have anything to do with the disappearance of your son? There have been reports that you knew Missy planned on hurting him!”
I freeze up and clench my fists, holding myself back from smacking the asshole.
My chest aches, and I lose Gage’s hold when he darts toward the reporter.
“The fuck did you say?” he screams.
Regret fills the middle-aged man’s face. “I, uh …” He pushes his glasses up. “A source told us—off the record, of course—that you were aware that Missy was dangerous.”
“Fuck your lying source,” Gage snarls. “I loved my son and would’ve never let Missy near him if she showed one sign of abuse. I came as soon as Missy left the voice mail but was too late.” He thrusts his finger in the man’s face. “Don’t come to me, hoping for a story that will make headlines. The only one you’ll receive is that Missy stole my son from me and ruined my life. There’s no need for you goddamn scavengers to throw it in my face.” He grabs my hand. “Don’t fucking follow us.”
“Wow,” I say as we slip into Luke’s SUV.
“This is what I was concerned about,” he grits out, his head falling against the steering wheel.
Their cameras follow us as he backs out of the drive and turns down the road.
There’s no doubt in my mind, that guy won’t be the only reporter we run into today.
“Turn around,” I order.
He glances over at me. “What?”
“Turn around. We’ll order some deep-dish pizza and watch movies in bed all day.”
A portion of the irritation drains from his face. “I like that idea.”
Thirty-Seven
Lauren
Exhaustion is my middle name.
It’s early in the morning when I pull into Gage’s driveway, and I yawn with each step going up the stairs to the loft before tiredly unlocking the door. I can’t wait to eat, take a quick nap, and then see Gage. His flight lands this afternoon, so I plan to catch some sleep and then pick him up with Amos.
We’ve talked regularly since I came home five days ago, and he’s stayed strong. It helps that Luke is there with him, and he has the support from him and his coworkers. They held a memorial for Andy at the lake last night, and I’m sad I had to miss it.
I drop my bag on the table and grab a bottle of water from the fridge at the same time there’s a knock on the door. Amos has been visiting me between my shifts and bringing me meals since I’ve been back. Now that our secret has come out, we’ve gotten closer.
“It’s open!” I call out and snag another bottle for Amos.
“Hello, Lauren.”
My hands start to shake as I drop the bottles at the sound of his abrasive voice. I inhale three deep breaths before turning around to face him.
“What are you doing here, Ronnie?”
I pause to take him in. He reeks of alcohol, his button-up shirt is soaked in what looks like more liquor, and his eyes are bloodshot and swollen. One thing Ronnie isn’t is in the right frame of mind.
