Page 102 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

Dad: So the usual.

Dylan: Exactly.

Dylan: But Rosie thinks it’s her fault.

My panic was making it harder for me to think—and not because of that dumb article. But because Rosie was beating herself up about it, and I had to leave before I could reassure her.

Dad: We’ll find Rosie.

Mom: Let us know how the meeting goes.

I stared at the texts, and a rush of warmth ran through me. I never thought I could have a relationship with my parents where they were on my side and willing to help. It was weird navigating this but relieving too.

Dylan: Thank you. I will.

I tried calling Rosie again as I raced downstairs and got into Gage and Bret’s rental car.

“Rosie,” I said, when it went to voicemail. “I have to fly back to Montana for a meeting. Please call me when you get this.”

I ended the call and found both Gage and Bret staring at me.

“What?” I said.

“Your viral video was more heartfelt than that,” Bret said, shaking his head.

“I’m feeling a little panicked here.” The entire morning had been a whirlwind, and I was still trying to get my footing. One minute I was contemplating how Rosie would react if I woke her with a light kiss, the next I was racing back to Montana without saying goodbye.

Gage shook his head. “Well, we have an entire plane ride to brainstorm what you’re going to say when you call Rosie again after we land.”

Chapter 40

Rosie

I sat in theparking lot of the dock as I listened to Dylan’s voicemail for the millionth time. Just a tinny recording of his voice was enough to make the endless well of tears stream again. My “Make Me Sob” playlist certainly wasn’t helping things either.

There hadn’t been any movement coming from my boat for the last hour I’d been sitting here. I was hoping Dad would come out, and I could give him the rest of my tips from last night. I needed to apologize for holding back on him. I’d ruined one person’s life. Maybe I could keep from ruining another.

When Celine Dion started to belt about how she was all by herself, I turned off the truck and killed the music. The walk down the dock seemed longer than usual. I knocked with purpose and waited, but Dad didn’t answer. I knocked again and then tried the handle. It was unlocked. I pushed the door open.

“Dad!” I called out. The lights were all off, and the boat smelled musty and moldy. Like old food and dirty laundry. There were new stains on the carpet, and dirty plates spilled out of the tiny sink. I wrinkled my nose.

It hadn’t looked like this the last time I’d dropped by. What in the world? The flooring was going to have to be replaced, and the cushions on the couch too.

I walked deeper into the house, almost dreading what I might find. Even though I was sure he was just walking around town, even though I’d begged him to stay inside, I was still filled with dread as I knocked on the bedroom door and then pushed it open. The bed was messy, but empty. The bathroom too.

“DAD!” I yelled louder this time, knowing I wasn’t going to get a response. I tried calling his phone number, but it went straight to voicemail. I went back into the living room, and I saw a sticky note on the counter. It had a number jotted down on it. It was as good a clue as any, so I dialed in the number. Maybe he had a doctor’s appointment. I’d suspected for a few weeks that he wasn’t feeling well.

A recording line picked up for Hot Goss Magazine. The online source that had put out the story on Dylan. One of the options was for a tip on a story, promising quick and immediate pay outs for celebrity information.

Footsteps sounded behind me. “Rosie.”

I stared at the paper as the recording played on my phone. A pair of arms went around me, and then another, and a third until I was in the center of my three brothers as my phone thunked to the floor.

They were so much taller than me that I was like the eye of a brother hurricane—only I felt like they alone were keeping all the pieces of me from flying everywhere.

“Cabin?” Jules said.

“Cabin,” the other two agreed.

---