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My stomach churns. “What did it say, Jacob? That wasn’t from a friend, was it?” Worst-case scenarios rush my mother-mind.
“It wasn’t any big deal. Lay off.”
I grab his arm. “Tell me what it said, Jacob William.”
He stills. Shakes his head.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.” I peer closely and discern the outline of a particularly crass word. “Does that say—”
He glares. “Yes, Mom, but it’s no big deal.” He goes back to scrubbing. “Must have been Brady. He’s ticked Coach gave me more playing time.”
Oh. My breath releases. Makes sense. The kid in question is known for being a bit of a jerk, and he’s been jealous ever since Jacob surpassed him in height and strength in junior high. They competed for the same position for years, until last season when Jacob solidly claimed the starting spot. “Well, that’s not very sporting of him. You guys are teammates. Does the coach know he’s been giving you trouble?”
He puts more muscle into his cleaning. “No, Mom, and don’t you dare say anything to anyone. It’s none of your business.”
With a wince, I draw back. Tears spring up…butno.
“Jacob.” He ignores me, and I tap his shoulder, hard, and wait until he turns. “Let’s get something straight. Your business is my business—and the next time you speak to me like that, your phone becomes mine and you’re walking to school for a week.”
I spin on my heels and go upstairs to start dinner.
Chapter 12
Hollie
Is living in the heart of old Chandor a benefit or a disadvantage? When I signed the lease on my garage apartment in the charming historic part of town, I was thrilled. The neighborhood was nicer than what I could hope to live in on my income. Beyond that, the location allowed me to walk most places, and at the time, I didn’t own a vehicle.
Some days, it feels like not much has changed.
This time of year, the walk home is my least favorite part of the day. I’m thankful when I reach the end of my driveway and see the glow of my porch light.
I tread up the stairs and insert the key in the lock. The stuffy, been-closed-up air I expect when I step into the living room doesn’t greet me. Instead, fresh air filled with the smoky aroma of a grill or fireplace somewhere, same as I’ve been inhaling for the last two blocks, follows me indoors.
I flip the light switch, and my relief at being in my safe space becomes horror. A soft breeze flaps the curtain behind the sofa. Glass shards litter the cushions. The Bible usually on the coffee table is on the carpet—right beside a brick with a piece of paper attached.
From the spot where my feet have melded with the floor, I see bold, black lettering. A scream congeals at the base of my throat. My eyes sweep the shadowed areas of the apartment. The black hole of the bedroom, the swinging door that closes off the kitchen. What if…
A knock on the front door at my back dislodges the scream.
“Hollie?” My name, in a baritone that’s vaguely familiar, permeates the wooden plane. I jolt at a more insistent knock. “Hollie, are you alright?”
Ben.I’d forgotten he was bringing papers by for Jacob and me to read and one for my son to sign. I fling open the door.
“What’s wrong, Hollie? You screamed…” His eyes move over me.
Unfreezing, I step aside, pointing toward the offense. With a manila folder in one hand, he walks to the spot I’m dodging. Hard lines set up on his face. He takes a second good, long look at me—then pulls out his phone and places a call.
John
I haven’t had a knot this size in my gut since Tyler’s eighteenth birthday when he called to inform me he wanted nothing more to do with me and told me to never speak to him again.
Maybe he’s since relented—barely—but the sinking feeling from that day lingers like a foul odor, lodged in the bank of my memory, rivaled now by the thought of sweet Hollie in danger.
Sweet, yes. Ticked? Oh, yeah. For the last ten minutes, she’s hovered near the kitchen door sending death glares every so often toward the passel of us men in the middle of her home.
But fear lurks about the edges of the glare—and she’s right to be scared.
Snitches get stitches. I scoff at the almost quaint, cliched threat. Not a very original criminal, but I’ve learned not to underestimate the bad guys, and sometimes the stupid ones are the most dangerous. Unable to rely on brains, other tools become their weapons.
