Page 19 of Good Girl and Grinches

I say goodbye to my friends and head to my car. It’s a few spaces farther away than last time, and despite trying not to look across the street, for fear of giving in to paranoia, I do.

The corner is empty. The quiet calm of the night is a sharp contrast to my mind.

I inhale the crisp air and laugh at myself for equating the stillness to the calm before the storm. A storm nine months in the making. Even if Ghost doesn’t want to step up as a father, I’m certain he’ll make sure his baby is provided for. And Flame can serve as my backup plan, as long as raising his brother’s baby doesn’t freak him out.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I retrieve my keys from my purse and grab my lip gloss too. The metal roller ball is cold against my lips.

Then out of nowhere, someone bumps into me.

No! He’s grabbing me. His hand is over my mouth. I try to scream but it’s muffled. My feet swing in midair as I try to kick him. He lifts me, taking total control.

It’s Ty. I know it even though he hasn’t said a single word. What is he going to do to me? To us? Protective instincts leave me more worried about the baby in my belly than for myself. How can that be? I don’t even know for sure that I’m pregnant.

I’m torn between fighting to get away and going the route of compliance so I don’t risk the pregnancy. It’s a twisted decision.

But when my attempts to get away fail, and he shoves me into the back of a van, climbing in and handcuffing my handsand feet to a seat, compliance is my answer. I’m not much of a physical force. But I can be smart. Hopefully as smart as Naomi.

While Ty drives, I assess myself and the situation. Physically, I’m fine. My purse is on the floor beside him. My keys are visible in the open top. They must have fallen in when he grabbed me. My phone is in there too.

I have to find a way to get my hands on it and send my stepbrothers a message. Flame’s expecting me to call on my way home. How long before he realizes something’s wrong?

Twelve

Ghost

A few minutes ago, I called Sabrina, and her phone rang. She didn’t pick up, so I called again. She’s painting pottery, not too busy to answer, especially if what Flame told us is true… she wants a relationship with the three of us.

I’m hoping she understands how serious it is that she convinced him to set a Christmas tree up and add decorations through the house. Seems she has a thing for reindeer. I tuck that knowledge away for later.

We need to make sure she knows we have to hide the relationship until after the promotion, and I can’t wait to talk to her about it.

Now my call goes straight to voicemail. This isn’t like Sabrina.

“Flame, are you sure everything was good between you two? You didn’t just see what you wanted to see and run her off?” I pace across our living room, muscles tense, my sixth sense telling me something’s wrong.

Flame narrows his gaze at me. “We kept our space afterward, but that was because I had to get this data sorted, and it was the only way to keep my hands off of her. What’s going on?”

“She didn’t answer. Replay the conversation from when you came on her face.”

Flame spells everything out as I request, then it hits him. He pauses and says, “She never actually said she wanted it. She asked questions and posed problems. Did I push too hard?”

I shrug.

Ruckus keeps trying her phone. “She never turns her phone off. And she’s religious about keeping it charged.”

“Maybe she doesn’t get reception in the studio?” Flame suggests, but his voice wavers.

Something cold settles in my gut. “Call the studio.”

Ruckus finds the number on the internet. As he’s dialing, he says, “According to this, they closed ten minutes ago.” There’s a pause. “Answering machine. They’re closed.”

“This isn’t right.” I grab my keys. “Sabrina wouldn’t ghost us, especially not after…” I trail off, my worst fears realized. I’ve failed to protect her.

Flame’s already heading for the door.

We pile into my truck, tires squealing as I peel out of the driveway. The fifteen-minute drive to the pottery studio stretches like hours. None of us speak—we don’t need to. After years of working together, we know when something’s off.

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