AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nodded, my heart swelling with admiration for his resolve. His hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "So, what's the plan?" I asked, my own voice sounding stronger than I felt.
He was silent for a beat, his gaze focused on our intertwined hands. "I could rent a place in Laramie, attend classes with you. We could try to keep a low profile, see if that shakes anything loose."
"But would that work?" I questioned, my brows knitting together in thought. "If Tyree is the psycho, he could track us down. And if he's not…" I trailed off, remembering Tyree's increasingly strange behavior over the past few years.
Brad sighed, the lines of worry etching deeper on his face. "I know Court. But we can't just sit here and do nothing. We can't let fear dictate our lives."
An idea sparked in my mind, and I turned to him, a newfound determination in my eyes. "Maybe we could set a trap?" I suggested, my mind whirring with the possibilities. "If Tyree is involved, we could catch him in the act. But that would mean I'd have to go back to San Diego, maybe even to Seattle."
Brad's eyes widened slightly at my suggestion, and he opened his mouth to respond when my phone buzzed on the table, its shrill tone slicing through the gripping tension. I glanced at the screen, my father's name flashing in the dim light.
I looked back at Brad, his expression mirroring my uncertainty. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the conversation ahead. Picking up the phone, I pressed it against my ear and answered. “Hey, Dad," I greeted, my voice filling the space around us. I gestured to Brad, and he moved closer, his warm presence comforting in the face of my father's interrogation. I switched the call to the speaker, placing the phone on the coffee table between us.
"Dad, you're on speaker. Brad's here with me," I added, looking at Brad, who gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Hello, Mr. Thompson," Brad greeted, his voice respectful and warm. Brad had never met Dad in person, but they had spoken several times on the phone when we were in Yosemite.
"Ah, Brad! Good to hear from you, son," my dad's voice echoed, his jovial tone brightening our mood. "How are you two enjoying Wyoming?"
"We're doing well, Dad," I answered, feeling the first strains of the tedious conversation we were about to have. "School's going great, and we're managing to enjoy some of the local scenery too."
"That's wonderful to hear, sweetheart," he responded a hint of relief in his tone. "I hope you're not letting Brad distract you from your studies too much," he teased, and I could almost see the playful glint in his eyes.
I exchanged an amused glance with Brad before replying, "Oh, don't worry, Dad. Brad's been nothing but a gentleman, and he's going back home tomorrow night."
I could hear the smile in my dad's voice as he responded, "I'm glad to hear it. Let me tell you about Aunt Jill and Uncle George's new place."
My attention began to wane as my father told me about how my aunt and uncle had purchased a new house, described their dog, and detailed their plans to get a horse. As he continued talking, my thoughts kept going back to the urgent issue that needed to be addressed.
The conversation became monotonous in the background, with Brad and I exchanging glances and silent gestures, communicating our shared impatience. But I knew better than to rush my father. He was notorious for his long, drawn-out conversations filled with the minutiae of life.
"...and they've decided to get a horse, can you believe that?" my father continued, oblivious to our silent communication. "They've really missed living out west. It's a different lifestyle, that's for sure..."
His voice trailed off, and I forced myself to focus, responding with an appropriate, "That sounds nice, Dad."
As the conversation continued, I couldn't help but feel a sense of restlessness. The irony was not lost on me; we were in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation, and here we were, discussing Aunt Jill and Uncle George's dog and horse. Life, it seemed, had a strange sense of humor.
"Dad," I said, a hint of impatience creeping into my voice as he elaborated on Uncle George's newfound equestrian passion. "I really need to go. It's been an exhausting day."
There was a brief pause on the line before my father responded, his voice softer, more understanding. "Alright, sweetheart. I understand. Just remember, you're not alone in all of this. You've got Brad there and your whole family back here. We're all rooting for you.”
His words, meant to comfort, only added to the weight pressing down on my chest. "Dad, I—" But he had already shifted gears, his fatherly concern now directed towards Brad.
"Brad," he began, his tone stern but not unkind. "I know you'll take care of my little girl. She means the world to me, and I trust you to keep her safe."
"I promise, Mr. Thompson," Brad's response was immediate, his voice radiating an unwavering resolve that I found both comforting and terrifying. "I'll do everything within my power to ensure Courtney's safety."
After a few more words of fatherly advice and reassurances, we ended the call. A heavy silence settled over us, the echo of my father's words lingering like an uninvited guest.
Brad and I went through our nightly routine in silence, our movements slow and mechanical, like two marionettes dancing to a tune we didn't quite understand. We climbed into bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast against our warm skin. Brad pulled me into his arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of his presence.
The window was open, the cool night breeze carrying with it the chorus of the outside world. The distant hooting of an owl, the rustling of leaves dancing in the wind, and the rhythmic droning of the cicadas all combined to form a natural symphony, its melody a soothing balm to our frayed nerves.
"I'm not leaving tomorrow," Brad whispered into the shell of my ear, his words soft but resolute. He held me closer as if by doing so, he could shield me from the world.
His declaration hung in the air, a beacon of comfort amidst the storm that was our lives. I turned to face him, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the contours of his chest as I pondered over his words.
Just as the tendrils of sleep started to pull me under, I found the courage to voice my fears. "Brad," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, "I don't know how I'm going to tell my dad that I might be dropping out of school... at least for the time being."
