Page 241 of Unexpected Hero

Yet that feeling in my gut remains.

Unable to resist, I send her a text.

If anything, she’ll grab the phone, then I’ll get a glimpse of her beautiful face.

Me

I’m done for the day. The workload is finally under control. I can probably get away with working only a half day tomorrow. Want to go to the beach? I can hit up Entenmann’s and get you some of that potato salad you love so much. And all the sweet tea you can drink.

After hitting send, I start biting my other thumbnail as impatience prowls under my skin.

The audio registers the chime of the text I sent. Three seconds later, her phone jostles as she retrieves it from the bag.

And then I’m looking directly at her.

My breath hitches, and my shoulders sag.

Flawless makeup and hair as beautiful as ever.

Ironically, a halo of blue and purple neon light surrounds her, courtesy of the restaurant’s lighting fixtures shining from behind. She looks like a radiant vision.

So much life in her. No way she’d be with the likes of you, boy.

Shut the fuck up, Dad.

With her first glance at the screen, her mouth quirks with her familiar grin. All too soon, her expression hardens into a blend of sadness and anger.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

No, sugar bear. Don’t do this. Not yet.

I’m not ready to lose her. I can’t. I need more time.

The phone lowers, twisting over rapidly before the screen goes dark again. A slamming sound that resembles plastic hitting wood resounds from the speaker.

Dammit to hell. She put it face down on the table.

My hands coil into rigid fists, fingernails piercing the insides of my palms.

Although I can’t see anything through her camera, I retain audio. Maybe she’ll give me an idea of what I did to fuck everything up.

Then I can fix it.

“Who was that?” a vaguely familiar female voice asks.

Not sure who that is, but it’s not Lettie or Freya.

“Was that him?” That one sounds like Freya.

Lettie responds, “Yeah. He wants to see me tomorrow. Beach day.”

Her voice is flat. Emotionless.

And I know that tone better than most, given it’s my default setting.

But it’s never hers.

“Are you gonna go?” the first woman asks with a taunting quality threaded into her tone.

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