Page 115 of The Pact

The person on the other end clears their throat. “Hi, Ms. Griffin?” I don’t recognize the voice.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Great. This is Detective Santos with the Willow Hill Police Department. I wanted to call about the ongoing investigation into the break in at your studio.”

That pushes away the last remnants of sleep. My ears perk up to hear what she has to say. “Do you have any updates?” I don’t want to sound too hopeful, yet I can’t help it. I need concrete evidence that pins this on Gavin—not only to file charges and get a restraining order, but also to prove to Cassie that her accusations are completely off.

I’ve avoided going to the police for so long, hoping that Gavin would get bored. The break in was the final straw. While I told Detective Santos that I thought it might be Gavin when she asked if there was anyone who might want to target us, I didn’t tell her about the other things. Him grabbing me, the notes, the car, because Cassie was right. I have no evidence and honestly, if they can get him on this, I’ll be happy.

“As you know, we dusted for fingerprints, analyzed the footage from your security camera, as well as pulled footage from some of the other businesses who also have cameras. We didn’t find any fingerprints, but I think we knew that was to be expected, considering the culprit wore gloves. As for the video footage, this person knew what they were doing. They left their face coverings on and walked out of sight of the cameras to where they likely parked their car. So we weren’t able to tie a vehicle to them. At this time, we have talked with the business owners near your studio and have posted on social media asking for tips. If we get any promising leads, we’ll let you know. If you have questions, please give me a call. Do you still have my card?”

I’m vaguely listening to her voice by the time she stops speaking. No information. No evidence. No leads. “Yes,” I answer.

The line goes dead. It takes a moment to pull the phone from my ear. Gavin is getting away with this and all I can do is wonder what he’ll do next.

Is he satisfied with everything he’s ruined so far? How far will he go to make my life a living hell?

Wesley’s driving me home from my appointment in his speedy little BMW. The last time I was in it, Cole had his hand between my legs. The memory makes my cheeks heat.

“You okay?” Wes glances over at me, which only makes me blush harder.

“Yeah, just ready to lie down.” He nods.

“What does he think you have?”

Dr. Yarbor, my primary care physician, is a sweet, older man who’s understanding and a good listener. Despite those wonderful traits, he insisted on doing a pregnancy test after I listed my symptoms. Sutton asked yesterday if it could be possible. Like I told both of them, I’m on birth control and haven’t missed any pills.

That didn’t stop my nerves from coming to life as I waited alone in the exam room. Thankfully, he came back with the negative result and moved onto swabbing me for the flu. That came back negative as well. While he was sure I had some other kind of virus, he did express concern that I could have had a gluten exposure. My symptoms are extreme however, the bloating, migraine, and fatigue made him insist on having the nurse take some blood.

I left with instructions to rest, drink plenty of fluids, and to eat a bland diet. He promised to call me with the results of my blood work.

“Probably a virus, but he’s testing to see if I somehow came into contact with gluten.” Wesley studies me.

“Gluten can cause all of this?” He’s shocked. I’m not surprised. Most people don’t realize how badly someone like me can react to gluten. “I mean, I know Sutton said you can get sick, but…” He runs a hand through his unkempt hair before lacing his fingers in mine. “I’m sorry you’re feeling horrible.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, giving a sweet kiss.

I’m still shocked at the night and day difference with Wes. When I first met him, he was cold and mean even. He wanted nothing to do with me. The way he stares at me, like he is right now, is warm and compassionate, like he’s let his walls down. He gives me a wide smile and I can’t help but return it.

“How did it go today?” I ask. “What adventure did your client want to go on today?”

“This was a new client. She isn’t very experienced. So we did a hike and talked about her goals. She’s interested in doing some rafting and possibly some climbing, but we’re going to work on building her endurance.” More power to her, I think. Climbing is a hard no for me.

I smile at him. “I’m glad it went well. Maybe I can tag along on one of your adventures sometime. Something easy.” I laugh a little.

“I’d love that,” he replies genuinely.

Looking out the window at the blur of trees as we speed towards the house, I realize I’m feeling a little better. Maybe it’s in my head. I don’t care if it is, I’ll take it.

A song I recognize pulses through the speakers and I sing along, bobbing my head to the heavy, raw beat.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Wesley blurts out. “You know this song?”

I bark out a laugh at his surprise. “I might’ve gone down a rabbit hole with some of the bands you sent me.” Playfully, I push his face back towards the road. “Don’t kill us,” I tease. Wesley’s jaw is still slack, however, I don’t pay him any mind. This time, I sing louder, practically screaming the lyrics.

When the shock wears off, he joins in. We serenade each other the whole way home.

Just like Dr. Yarbor said, the virus subsided only two days after my appointment. There’s still some lingering aches and minor bloating, but I’m feeling much better. I’m even going to work tomorrow.

Rescheduling my clients the last few days has been hard on me. I need the money and being sick set me back. I have a full weekend booked with mini family photoshoots and I’m actually excited. I need to get out of the house, even if it’s doing something I typically don’t look forward to.

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