Page 129 of The Spider & the Storm

Anything to keep him from going out. Anything to keep himhome.

“You know what? Go fuck yourself.” He spat the words across the table, but didn't get up from his chair.

I didn't bother responding with any of the snappy retorts that crossed my mind as we both resumed eating in tension-filled silence. And that was fine. Just so long as he dropped the subject of going out and came home after work instead.

I could remember a time years ago when I could be honest with him about the strong intuitive feelings I occasionally got. But it had been a long time since I'd had them, an even longer time since I'd felt it necessary to mention it to him, and now,I was just afraid he'd lump that in with the other reasons he thought I was going crazy—again.

Pissing him off seemed like the next best thing, and I needed him to be mad enough to come home.

***

The last bits of late October daylight left the driveway hazy as I pulled up to the garage door. Luke's bike wasn't where it belonged. The empty spot beside my car gave me a moment of gut-gurgling pause, but with a deep breath, I brushed it off. There were plenty of nights where he came home later, if he'd gotten wrapped up in a big repair job at the shop. Reason calmed me down from my panic, and I went inside to cook dinner.

Then, it was put on the table, and I began to eat, taking small, uninterested bites of a burger I had little taste for in between answering the door for the few trick-or-treaters that came by.

Luke's chair was empty. So was his spot in the driveway.

I pushed the plate away, slumped back, and scrubbed my hands over my cheeks before grabbing my phone and calling his number. It rang twice before being sent to voice mail.

“What the fuck, Luke?” I grumbled and called again.

Voice mail.

“Hey, asshole,” I said after the tone. “Just wondering where the hell you are. Would've been nice if you had told me not to make dinner for you. Call—”

I was interrupted by the faint vibration against my palm, and I cut off the message to find he'd sent me a text.

Calm your tits. At the movies. About to sit down.

Luke never went to the movies alone, and I couldn't chalk it up to a date. Luke didn'tdate; he was unapologetically a bang-and-run kind of guy. He was still pissed off from last night's disagreement and had gone to the movies to spite me.

My nerves sprang to life, bringing my legs to a frantic jitter beneath the table as I aggressively tapped out a reply.

Oh, nice. Thanks for letting me know. Your dinner is getting cold.

I'll heat it up when I get home.

Whatever.

You wanna come down? You could get here now and just miss the trailers.

I said I didn't want to go.

You're gonna make me sad.

That's fine.

Crying into my popcorn now.

You always liked it extra salty anyway.

I don't need my popcorn to be extra salty when I have your whiny ass to come home to later.

I'm not the one who told you to go fuck yourself. Just pointing that out.

The conversation felt like the closest thing to an apology as we were going to get, and I sighed, letting the tension leave my shoulders. But that sick forewarning never left the pit of my stomach, and I stared at my screen, waiting for those three little dots to start jumping again.

They never came.

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