“I thought you were going to run over there.” Jack’s still working on the town car, and I’ve made zero progress on the paperwork. “You said you had to bring her leftovers she forgot?” Jack slides out from under the town car and wipes his hands on his coveralls. “Dude, she forgot it. I call dibs on Mario’s cooking.”

  Normally, I’d agree with Jack. You snooze, you lose. But after Chloe hustled out of my truck last night and left the food my dad had packed behind, I figured bringing it to her would be the right thing to do. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself all day.

  “I don’t know who would be more pissed at me, my mom or my dad,” I say. “What’s up with Carol? She sick of making you lunch?”

  Jack’s face darkens, and he gives me a one-armed shrug. “It’s weird, man.” He looks over his shoulder like his old man is going to walk through the door any second. But he’s not.

  Jack’s dad took a fishing trip two weeks ago when his wife asked for a separation and moved out. The separation shocked me, but Jack has been lost without them.

  “What’s weird?” I press. “I mean, other than everything going on in your life right now. No offense.”

  He shakes his head. “None taken.” He sighs and yanks off the cap he likes to wear over his wild Irish hair. “I know my parents are separated and shit, doing their own things, but like…my mom didn’t come home last night.”

  My gut tightens, and I’m up out of my chair at the first hint that anything could be wrong with one of my mom’s friends. “You hear from her?” I demand. “Is she staying with Sassy or Bev?”

  Jack holds up the hand that grips his cap and sighs. “She’s all right. I knew she wasn’t coming home. She texted me last from…” He curls his mouth into a frown and mutters something under his breath.

  “What? What the fuck, you got me worried. What’s up with Carol?” I press, not quite ready to drop down into my chair, not quite convinced that my best friend’s mom doesn’t need us to do something, go someplace.

  “She spent the night at Ray Morris’s.” Jack says the words like he’s got a gun to his head, his teeth gritted to hold in the truth against his will.

  My shoulders immediately sag in relief. But only for a second. “Fuck.” I swallow back the words I want to say and try to think of a way to be supportive.

  Jack’s parents have been separated for just a few weeks. If Carol’s having sleepovers with other men while his father’s out finding himself on the lake…

  “Fuck,” I say again, and Jack nods.

  “Yeah. So, Ma didn’t make me lunch, but she’s making it for somebody.”

  Jack looks so heartsick, I can’t even chuckle. It sucks. My parents have been together since they were teenagers, and they still seem to feel like the sun rises and sets for their love alone.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a shit situation all the way around.”

  Jack nods, slips the cap back over his head, and shakes his head slowly. “I just keep asking myself what’s my place here, you know? Should I tell my dad that Mom’s out there getting her rocks off? Warn him before he gets home and finds out from someone else?”

  I have no clue what to say to that. I mean, he’s not wrong. If Carol’s banging Ray, it’s probably already front-page news. Not a whole lot stays secret in a small town.

  “I wish I could help you, man.” I feel useless and helpless. I hate that feeling. “If we were twenty years younger, I’d say let’s go kick Ray’s ass,” I say unhelpfully.

  It does get Jack to chuckle. “Thanks. I don’t think Ma would be too happy about that. She seemed happy last night. When she texted, I mean.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I’m grasping at straws here. I mean, Ray Morris has got to be in his mid-sixties. Would I really go kick his ass if Jack asked me to?

  Jack nods and sighs again, the long sigh of a man who sees the reality before him but hates that he’s powerless to change it. “That’s what matters, right? That she’s happy? Even if it breaks my dad’s heart.”

  We’re both silent then. What else is there to say?

  “If Ray hurts your mom, I’ll be the first one to go down there and beat the guy’s ass. And when your dad gets back, if he’s, you know…devastated… He’s got you. He’s got the shop. He’ll be okay. And you never know. Sometimes the grass is greener, but your mom and pop have been together a long time.”

  Jack looks sad then. Sadder than I think I’ve ever seen him. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m pretty sure this is a permanent thing. Neither one of them has been happy for a long time.”

  He gets back underneath the town car but calls out, “If you change your mind, I’m down for a plateful of Mario’s cooking for lunch. No pressure, fucker.”

  I chuckle and shake my head. “Those are spoken for, but how’s about this? I’ll treat you to dinner at Benny’s place tonight. Go home, change into something respectable, and drop me a text when you’re ready. I’ll pick you up and drive. Cool?”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He gets back to work, and I’m back to my endless, pointless, meaningless review of Carol’s paperwork.

  But I think about his parents and how lost Jack will be if they do split up. Will Carol quit her job at the shop? All of a sudden, this project I’m working on seems a lot less meaningless.

  All afternoon, I told myself I was waiting to go to Latterature until after work because I had a lot to do. The truth is, I was putting it off.

  By the time the sky turns purple and dark gray clouds are skating trails across the horizon, Jack’s finished the town car.

  “You feel up to a trip to The Body Shop?” Jack calls over his shoulder as he washes his hands in the shop sink.

  “You want a tattoo?” I ask, stunned. “I mean, my sister can probably hook you up, but you usually need an appointment. They book out like weeks or more, and it’s closed tonight anyway.”

  Jack shakes his hands dry since we’re out of paper towels—another thing that Carol handled when she worked here—and laughs. “No, man. I’m talking the strip club.”

  Of course the only strip club in the county has the exact same name as the only tattoo shop in the county. Michelle, my brother’s ex-wife, met him at the “other” Body Shop. The one Jack’s talking about now.

  “Nah, I’m not in the mood for a lap dance. We can rain check dinner, though, if you’d rather have some tits in your face.” I pull the insulated food bag out of the office fridge, which desperately needs a cleanout.

  As we lock up and head to the parking lot, Jack claps me on the back. “Thanks for the offer. Let’s grab a nice dinner another time. I think tonight I want some loud music, watered-down drinks, and something soft grinding on my lap.”

  I nod and wave to him. “Have fun. Be safe out there. If you see Exotic…” I lift my brow at him and try not to burst out laughing.

  Michelle, also known as Exotic, was Jack’s favorite dancer until she married my brother.

  “She’s not getting a goddamn thing from me.”

  “Good man.” I laugh.

  Jack flips me the finger, but then drives off in his antique truck. I pull out not long after him but find every excuse in the book not to go straight to Latterature.

  I stop and fill the truck with gas, carefully cleaning the windows, even though the truck is perfectly clean. I head into the gas station and make small talk with the girl at the counter before finally getting my ass in gear.

  I start up the truck and head toward downtown. Worst case, if she’s not there, I can drop by her place.

  It occurs to me, of course, that maybe that’s the real reason I’m stalling going to the shop.

  Am I hoping to miss her at the café?

  Looking for a reason to go back to her tiny apartment, walk the steps, and show up at her door bearing food?

  “Fuck me sideways,” I grumble to myself. I’m acting like a damn kid. I smooth my hair in place and angle the truck down nearly deserted Main Street.

  It’s past six by the time I roll up to the shop. I decide to drive past to make sure she’s still there before I bother parking.

  I squint as I pass to see if maybe Chloe left a light on, or if she’s still back there. Maybe working in the kitchen.

  The street is deserted, and something in my gut just feels off. This isn’t butterflies or awkwardness about showing up with the forgotten food either.

  I don’t know what this is.

  But in true stalker style, I darken my lights and creep past the café, feeling a mix of concern and shame.

  This is normal.

  Totally normal.

  As I come close enough to the shop to see inside, I spot Chloe standing in the middle of the store. My shoulders relax a little, but then I see her holding her hands up in a weird way—almost like she’s at gunpoint.

  It can’t be.

  I slam on the brakes, but the truck doesn’t make a sound. I squint to try to make out what’s going on, but I can’t see anyone else in the café. She can’t be standing like that for no reason, and something inside me panics.

  Adrenaline fires in my gut, and my pulse starts thundering. Before I even have time to think, I’m turning the wheel of the truck, and I pull over on the opposite side of the street.

  I run at full speed across the street, propelled by anxious energy and a suddenly desperate fear that my instincts were right.

  I’m a big, strong guy, but if there’s somebody armed in there…

  Fuck.

  I don’t have a plan, just a frantic need to get into the store and make sure my mind’s just playing tricks on me.

  I didn’t see what I thought I saw.

  But when I get to the front of the store, it becomes obvious I saw exactly what I thought. A dark figure with a mask over his face and his head down comes barreling through the front door.

  I see him coming, and I stand with my feet braced, knees bent, ready to fucking tackle his ass.

  He seems as shocked to see me as I am to see him.

  He stops, pants a little, and grunts in a voice that sounds fake-low, “Get the fuck out of the way before I fuck you up.”

  “I’m going to fuck you up, you piece of shit.” I lunge to tackle him, but the asshole is skinny, and he rolls to one side like he’s been dodging the law his whole life.

  I grab for a handful of his hoodie and get a decent grip on it. The guy knows he’s about to get caught, and he is wiggling and kicking like a trapped wild beast.

  For some reason, the dude isn’t punching me, isn’t doing anything but trying to wrestle away from the fistful of hoodie that’s slipping through my fingers.

  I’m able to land a couple punches to his head, but they don’t slow him down. He’s wiry as fuck. He grunts and cusses me out with each blow.

  He drops a plain blue zipper bag, the exact same kind that Jack uses to take cash into the bank.

  He was fucking robbing the store.

  My vision goes red.

  I scream, a primal, murderous sound, but the guy knows that I’m big and now very pissed off.

  Without a second look at the bag he dropped, he takes off running at full speed.

  I debate following him, but it’s pretty clear I’m not likely to catch him. He’s dressed for escape, and I’m in steel-toe work boots.

  My heart is throbbing in my chest as I reach down and grab the blue money bag from the ground so the fucker can’t run back and get it.

  I yank open the door and start shouting, “Chloe! Chloe!”

  I find her exactly where I’d seen her as I crept down the street. But she’s not standing. She’s lying in a heap on the floor with her eyes closed.

  “Chloe!” I yell again and drop to my knees. I fumble in my pocket for my phone and dial the cops, and with my other hand, I reach down and press a hand to her cheek.

  She’s ice-cold.

  By the time I explain to the dispatcher what’s happened and give her the pathetic bits of description I can about the thief, Chloe starts to wake.

  “Hey, hey,” I say softly as a sense of relief washes over me. I’ve got one hand on my cell phone, and with the other, I stroke her hair away from her face. “Stay with me. An ambulance is on its way.”

  She blinks very slowly, but within a few seconds, the color returns to her face and she sits up. “Oh my God,” she whispers, and before I know it, she’s retching on the floor.

  “Chloe,” I say, keeping my voice as gentle as I can. “Did he hurt you? Are you hurt?”

  I can hear the police sirens in the background, and the dispatcher is telling me the police are less than a minute away.

  “She’s up,” I tell dispatch, but she doesn’t want me to end the call or disconnect until EMS arrives on the scene.

  “Is the door unlocked?” the lady on the other end of the phone asks. “They’ll break down the door if they can’t get in.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll meet them. Don’t let them go busting in the door,” I mutter, because now that Chloe is conscious—shaking and crying but conscious—the only thing I give a shit about is making sure she’s okay.

  “Chloe,” I say again quietly. “Are you hurt?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I hear the squad car slamming its doors out front. I bark into my phone that the police are here and I’m hanging up. I toss my phone on the floor, then run to the front doors to greet the officers.

  The squad car has its lights going, and before the officers even reach the store, an ambulance pulls up and parks.

  “She was passed out when I came in,” I say to the paramedics. “She woke up, puked, and hasn’t moved or said a word. I don’t know what happened in here. All I know is what happened out on the street.”

  The officers ask me a few questions about the details, what I saw, what I remember about the clothes, the body size, anything I can tell them about the guy. But unfortunately, it’s just not much. With the mask and hoodie, I couldn’t tell them if he was pink, purple, or anything else.

  “It happened so fast,” I say. “I didn’t get a look at his hands, but he must have had gloves on. I would have remembered if there was any skin showing. I don’t even remember the color of his eyes. I’m sorry. I just… I… Can we do this later?”

  My heart is finally starting to slow down, and the only thing I care about is checking on Chloe. The paramedics already walked past me and are talking to Chloe. I am still giving the police my statement when one of the EMS lifts his head and calls over to me.

  “Hey, Franco. Can you come back here?”

  I recognize the guy as one of my brother Vito’s buddies. “Hey, Nick.” I look at the cops. “Am I good here? Can I go?”

  They let me go back into the store, so I walk over to Nick.

  “Is she okay?” I ask. I could ask Chloe herself, but she’s shaking so hard that the other paramedic has her sitting on the floor while he asks quiet questions and checks her out.

  “Pretty sure it’s shock,” Nick tells me. “She’s going to need a bit, though. I’d be scared out of my ass too. The guy had a knife. From what it sounds like, it was a big one—hunting style. You were both lucky no one was hurt.”

  Before I know it, I’m stalking past Nick, shoving my way past the other paramedic, and I’m on my knees on the carpet in front of Chloe.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay now.”

  She looks up at me and swallows. She blinks, tears streaming down her face, and throws herself into my arms.

  6

  Chloe

  “Are those mints?” My voice is unnaturally hoarse from all the heaving and crying. “Can I have one?”

  I’m in the passenger seat of Franco’s truck, and as soon as I see the tin of mints in the center console, I think about my puke breath and my parched throat.

  “Yeah. Help yourself.” Franco has been quiet on the drive, but to be fair, I have been too.

  We spent more than two hours with the police at Latterature. Plenty of time for me to go over what happened.

  Again and again.

  Too many times, it seemed.

  And no matter how many times I explained it, it was never less terrifying.

  The guy was quiet and forceful, like he’d done this before and knew exactly how to use my shock against me.

  I did as he asked, pulling out the blue zipper envelope that my aunt used to make her bank deposits. I put what little cash we had in the bag.

  The guy grabbed the pouch and made me hand over my cell phone. He told me to count to two hundred, and then, he said, I could call the cops. But he said if I followed him or tried anything, that he would fillet me.

  Those were his words.

  I told the police exactly what he’d said, and they traded a look, like maybe it was something they’d heard before.

  My worries race through my mind as I crunch mindlessly on a mint. The sweet bite of the candy does nothing to calm my nerves or settle my stomach.

  I just can’t stop the feelings of panic. I don’t think, as long as I live, I’ll ever forget that kind of raw fear.

  How I’d felt when I’d realized what was happening.

  How alone I’d felt.

  How terrified.

  Even now that I am safe, now that it is truly all over, as the moments tick past, I grow more and more angry.

  I just can’t stop seeing it. Watching it again and again and going through every little detail.

  I must be breathing hard or something, because I feel Franco’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Chloe?” Franco’s voice breaks through the endless loop replaying in my mind.

  “Sorry?” I blink and watch his face as he stares at me.

  “We’re here. Your place.”

  I realize that we’ve stopped, and we’re parked outside my apartment. That means it is time to go inside alone.

  “He has my cell phone,” I whisper, a violent shiver shaking my body so hard I can’t hide the tremor. “What if he…”

  “Come on.” Franco leaps out of the truck and comes around to the passenger side. He holds out his hand to me. “I’m going to walk you in, and you’re going to pack a bag. You can’t stay here tonight. Not by yourself.”