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I hear the door click shut as I continue chopping veggies and cracking eggs. I can't help thinking this is how life would be if we lived together. We'd share our mornings laughing and having sex. Then, we'd go to work, come home and start all over again.
It's been a long time since I've felt this way. For seven years, I've been missing a piece of myself. Holly is my best friend, but so was Ryan, and now that he's back, I feel whole again.
I cannot believe the difference a day can make.
Yesterday, I was tormented by stress and the thought of Randy projecting all his anger onto me. Today, I am happy, in love, and looking forward to whatever the future holds with Ryan.
I admit a part of me feels bad for Randy. He was an asshole and a criminal, but no one deserves to be hunted down, murdered, and prematurely cremated. The thought makes me shiver and goosebumps run up my arms.
I feel sorry for him. I honestly do.
You don't get caught up with a cartel drug ring for shits and giggles. Randy likely suffered from a combination of addictions—money and drugs. He needed the money to buy the drugs and maintain the lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to. Drugs aren't cheap. Neither is Los Angeles. And when you're partly responsible for millions of dollars, the temptation to "borrow" was likely too high. It probably started as a bit of skimming here or there and snowballed.
I can only imagine how he got caught in Sanchez's clutches.
Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I shred cheese for our omelettes while sautéing the veggies in a pan with some butter. I'm a terrible cook, but Ryan taught me how to make a decent omelette. Like my mother, I am a firm believer in the power of a little butter. In moderation, it makes everything taste better, especially cooked vegetables.
My phone buzzes from the kitchen island. I ignore it, but then it buzzes again, and then a third time. On game days, I swear Ryan is like Dory, the Disney fish that forgets everything within five seconds. He forgets everything except hockey.
I turn off the burners and grab my phone, ready to text Ryan my latte order, but I'm surprised to see a series of texts from Tyra instead.
Tyra: Avery, I'm just leaving the coroner's office. The man from the fire isn't Randy.
Tyra: Colton and Payton are on their way.
Tyra: Don't panic. Just hang tight until they get there.
All the blood drains from my head and I feel dizzy. I clutch the countertop to steady myself as the bile rises in my throat.
Randy's still out there. He knew we'd find a body and assume it was him. He did it intentionally so I would feel safe.
My phone buzzes again, making me jump. I drop it, then quickly pick it up off the floor. Payton is calling. I slide my thumb across the screen to answer.
"Hello," I croak into the phone.
"Avery? It's Payton," she speaks into the phone. There is an urgency in her voice, and she's trying to cover it up by remaining calm. "The body from fire isn't Randy's. Colton and I are on our way."
"How do you know?"
"Tyra confirmed it," she says. "We were waiting for dental records when Tyra came into the coroner's office. The body we found had all its original teeth. Tyra is positive Randy had at least four dental implants and veneers."
I try to control my breathing, but my heart rate is escalating. I glance around the room while Payton continues to talk. Whatever she's saying is nothing but muffled words underneath the roaring in my ears.
I'm panicking. My eyes dart around the kitchen.
Where's Ryan?
I should tell him to stay away. I should lock my door and wait for Colton and Payton. Do I have any weapons handy? I think Holly has bear spray in the entrance hall table. Maybe I should get while I wait, just in case.
"Avery? Are you still there? Can you hear me?" Payton's voice breaks through the rush of thoughts and questions clogging my brain.
"Yes. I'm here," I answer, staring through the living room window to the streets below. Everything looks so normal. People are hustling about, ticking off items from their list of daily errands, or rushing off to work.
"Colton is on his way, just in case. Stay inside with Ryan, lock the door and just hang tight. Colton should be there within ten minutes, and my ETA is about fifteen."
An odd clicking sound echoes from behind me. In my otherwise silent apartment, that single, out-of-place sound is deafening. It's a noise I've heard before, but only in movies and on TV. I don't need to turn around to know I have a gun pointed at me.
"Put down the phone," Randy's eerily calm voice orders.
