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“Selena, where are you?Weneed to talk.”
Oatsgets up off the couch to come say hi to me, his tail wagging.Heheadbutts my hand, soIgive him a scratch.
“Hey, bud.Where’sSelena?Whyaren’t you with her?”Thedog sticks to her like glue most of the time.He’snever more than three feet away from her, much less in another room.
Wherethe hell is she?
“Comeon, buddy.Let’sgo find her,”Imutter to him, as we start searching.
Afteropening and closing more doors thanIcan count, and still noSelena,I’mpissed as hell.
Wherethe hell is she?
That’swhenIrealize.That’swhenIknow.OnlyIdon’t want to believe it.
Rushingback to my room,Iopen the door to her closet.Shehasn’t slept in the guest room since she tried to the first night we got back fromWesternSprings.Imoved all her stuff in to my room the next day, and neither of us looked back.
Allher stuff’s gone.Thelittle white carry-on that sat in the corner of the closet.Thedresses that hung on hangers above.
Shit.
Shit.
Irun into the bathroom.Hertoothbrush isn’t in the cup on the counter next to her sink anymore.Grabbingthe first drawer on her side where she keeps her makeup so hard that it nearly pulls all the way out,Ifind it empty.Thesecond drawer where she keeps her period stuff is empty.Thethird drawer where she keeps the blow dryer that she seems to prize more than any of the expensive shitI’vebought her is also empty.
She’sgone.
Butthere’s still one last place to check beforeIadmit the truth to myself.
WhenIopen the door to the garage,Oatsruns out and circles the area whereSelena’sbluePriusshould be parked.
She’sgone.
She’sfucking gone.
Andit’s all my fault.
Whatthe hell just happened?Istarted out today with a girlfriend, the promise of a home-cooked meal, and the perfect woman in my bed.Nowshe’s just gone.
Ican give her everything she could ever need or want in this world.Butthe ugly truth is right in front of me.Clearto me as this empty house.Nomatter whatIcan give her, it’s not enough.
BecauseI’mnot enough.
Imade my choice more than fifteen years ago whenIwalked off of my parents’ farm and walked right intoHollywood.That’snot a choiceIget to take back.
Andthat’s whyIdon’t getSelena.Whatwoman wants to sign up for all the bullshit that comes with being with me?Themoney’s nice, but all the rest of it can feel like hell.Allthe attention.Thepress.Thepressure.Havingto worry about being photographed or what bullshit they’re going to write about me.I’mnot sureI’ddo it all again, ifI’dknown this was whereI’dend up.Ina big white house on the hill, all alone.
Fuckthat.
I’mnot letting her go this easily.
“Comeon,Oats.We’regoing to get our girl,”Ipunch the button for the garage door to open and thenOatsandIrun to the front of the house and jump into my truck.
Theforty-five minute drive should give me time to cool down.Itdoesn’t.
Ipull past her place and scan up and down the street.Atleast there aren’t any photographers camped out here anymore.Selena’sspent so much time at my house lately that they must have given up.
Findinga spot near her place,Iparallel park the car.
