Page 113 of Fame And Secrets

“You know I can’t tell you that. It’s bro code.”

“Fuck bro code!” I slammed my fists onto the table. “Does my husband give a shit if I’m alive or dead? Because if we don’t find her, I’m not so sure I do.”

Faith cringed. “You don’t mean that.”

I threw the pacifier across the table. “My baby has been missing for two weeks. Do you know the statistics for missing children after the first seventy-two hours?” My chest constricted as my mind raced. “I do, because I’ve got all the fucking time in the world to think about it. After the first seventy-two hours, the police stop looking for a child and start looking for a body.” The entire coffee shop quieted at my outburst. Sinking into the booth, miraculously, my eyes found one last tear to squeeze out.

“He asked if you were okay,” Zane said quietly.

His words calmed the storm brewing inside of me. “He did?”

He slid his phone across the table to me. “He may be a dick, but he’s not heartless.”

Reading the text, I wanted to hug it to my chest and hold it like a lifeline.

Zane: Be home in a while. Out with Faith.

Julian: Take care of her, Z. I don’t mean Faith. Make sure she eats.

Zane: Do it yourself.

I frowned. “He didn’t answer.”

“He’s not ready yet, Phoebe.”

“He hates me.” It was okay. I hated me too.

Zane touched my hand awkwardly as he retrieved his phone. Pulling back, he rested his fingers again on Faith’s thigh. “No, he doesn’t. He hates himself and wants someone to blame. You’re an easy target. He knows when this is over, you’ll forgive each other and work shit out.” Turning to Faith, he ran a hand down her loose blond waves. “I need to go outside and call Kristina. Are you gonna be okay for a few minutes?”

She nodded, and I spoke no further as he slid out of the booth and walked outside.

It didn’t matter. The place crawled with Julian’s phantom security team.

Uncomfortable with our silence, Faith rambled about some relaxation yoga DVD she’d bought for me. With Zane gone, I had an unobstructed view of the booth behind us. My heart clenched as a woman took a final sip of her coffee and cuddled a yellow blanket close to her chest. Although covered, the inhabitant cooed against her.

A baby.

My stomach roiled, and the now familiar vomit crawled up my throat.

Next week, Iris will be six weeks old.

Would’ve been.

Would be.

I turned away, unable to look at a baby, much less endure a mother clutching one in her arms.

Then I heard it.

The long gurgle followed by three successive hiccups and a sneeze.

The breath I’d been holding for two weeks released in a gasp of air, and I whipped my head back around to an empty table, an empty coffee cup, and a two dollar tip on the table.

“Oh my god!” Throwing myself out of the booth, I ran full-speed out of the door, the jingle of the door chime announcing my exit. I faintly heard Faith calling after me as I shielded my face against the blinding California sun.

Where the hell is she?

“Iris?”

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