Page 117 of The Wrong Heart

He also likes burritos.

And spicy salsa.

Honestly, I think he just likes food.

Memories of the last hour embrace me with warmth as I pull up to the red light right before my subdivision. We didn’t do a lot of talking, but that didn’t bother me, and our gaps of silence were more reflective than awkward. Parker felt notably out of place, unsure of how to act or what to say, but the fact that hetried—that he agreed to the date, to spend time with me, was enough.

I asked him about his sister. Her name is Bree, and apparently, she’s a robot. She works long hours in the medical field, yet she still finds time to help Parker with his construction business. She’s always going out of her way to help people, especially him, and it tickles my heart to know that he’s had someone in his corner throughout his life.

I can’t wait to meet her.

The light turns green, and I glance at his headlights behind me, reflected in my rearview mirror. I’m swept up in a swarm of flighty nerves as my mind wanders to the future events of the evening. Should I take him into my bed or use the guestroom? I’m not sure how I feel about bringing Parker into the bed I shared with Charlie.

Maybe I should get a new bed.

I’m in auto-pilot mode as I make my way down the familiar street that leads to my house, approaching the driveway. Parker follows a car-length behind, pulling in and parking beside me when we reach our destination.

Heaving in a calming breath, I yank the keys from the ignition, swipe my purse, then exit the vehicle as the dusky evening air wafts around me, sending a tingle of excitement up my spine.

I hear Parker’s truck door slam behind me as I turn to face my house, and that’s when I freeze. The humidity manifests into a bone-chilling draft, casing my skin in goosebumps and causing my legs to tremble.

His body heat is hardly enough to warm me as he moves in beside me on the front lawn. “What is that?”

My eyes are wide and rooted to my front porch.

It’s a hamster cage.

A squeak of disbelief passes through my lips, and my feet take over, carrying me across the yard until I’m standing above a black wire cage, housing a chunky hamster, brindle and cream. My heart lurches when I spot the note attached with a piece of tape, billowing in the breeze.

No.

Please, no.

Parker comes up behind me as I pluck the note off the cage with shaky fingers. “What the fuck? Is that…?”

His words scatter as my eyes scan the small paper square.

We’re storytellers, you and me.

My story has come to an end, but yours is just beginning.

I know you’ll take good care of Nutmeg.

She doesn’t like her booties, but she loves the sun.

—Amelia

A sob rips through me.

Parker catches me when my knees buckle, and I fall against his chest, stunned and sucker-punched. This can’t be.This can’t be.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, his arms wrapping me up in a tight hold. One arm releases me to fish through his pockets, and then his voice mingles with my grief, my wails of incredulity. “I need to report a possible death. A suicide, I think. I don’t fucking know…”

His words trail off as I sink into a dark hole, my face and tears buried in his chest, and Parker’s fierce grip around my waist is the only thing that keeps me from drowning in the abyss. I weep and wilt while he strokes my hair, his nails gently dragging along my scalp, trying to melt the ice that is settling into my bones.

We’re storytellers, you and me.

Oh, Amelia.

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