Page 12 of Tusk's Fury

Getting down on my knees, I explained to my little ones that their mother and I were definitely not getting back together. It was about Charlie and his birthday—nothing else.

We talked about all the reasons two homes were better than one, and I reminded them there was a playground at my apartment. We even talked about getting two Christmases.

That perked them right up.

Gina didn’t like that too much.

While we were at the clubhouse, she made a big scene—loudly bragging about how I’d never have to beg for sex from her again now that we were ‘getting back together’. I told her to knock it off. First of all, talking about me “begging for sex” was just her way of trying to humiliate me. Second, talking about us having sex in front of the kids? That was just fucking gross. I’m only pleased there was no one else around to hear her say that shit.

Truth be told, she’s been pestering me to get back together ever since Chris walked out on her.

It didn’t take my ex brother-in-law long to figure out what took me way too many years to see—that Gina is batshit crazy, refuses to do anything anyone asks her to do, and expects whatever man she’s with to not only support her but do most of the housework, too.

Chris is not the kind of man to do anything more than the bare minimum in a relationship. I knew he’d eventually walk out on her.

Other than the shitshow at the clubhouse, I had a nice weekend with my kids. Though that stopped when Gina turned up to collect them on Monday morning, except she’d gotten an Uber over here, so I had to drive them all back. As I drive the kids back to their home, they chatter in the back seat, and thankfully, my ex is glued to her phone.

I don’t give a damn what she’s doing or who she’s talking to.

She’s on my shit list.

I must have been out of my damn mind to think—even for a second—that she would put our kid first on his own birthday.

My thoughts drift back to before we were divorced.

I used to get up early on weekends and make pancakes for everyone while she slept in. The house was full of warmth and laughter.

The kids would dance happily around the kitchen while I cooked, telling me about their week at school. I’d tell them funny stories about what my life was like growing up.

They’d beg for just one more story as we ate breakfast.

Spending time together was such a joy back then, and now I know why. It was because she was sleeping and not there to spoil it. Now, when the kids stay with me, every morning is fantastic. I look forward to a lifetime of good times and have no intention of dragging us back into a toxic living situation with my ex-wife. With shared custody, my kids can be guaranteed that fifty percent of their mornings will be great moving forward because that’s the way things roll in the Duncan household.

By the time I drop them off, I’m so fucking done with Gina that I don’t spare her a glance when I tell the kids goodbye.

***

All I can think about is getting to see Brittany’s smiling face. I’ve missed her like crazy over the weekend—and now after Gina’s shenanigans, I know I have to start introducing Britt to my kids as a permanent part of my life. Maybe then, Gina will accept that it’s over?

I go ahead and text Britt before I even pull out of my ex’s driveway. I’m halfway home when I realize she’s not responding. I call her, and the phone just goes to voicemail. Brittany has never failed to respond to a call or text from me. She’s usually thrilled to hear from me. It’s Monday and she’ll be at work at the clinic. I don’t like turning up there unannounced, but maybe I can drop by during lunch and see if she wants to take a ride?

I go to send her a message on her social media account, figuring it might be quicker that way. But when I go to my messages, her profile pic is grayed out. Clicking on it, it says that the account is deactivated.

I pull over and use the locator app to see where she is. Truth be told, I’m starting to get worried. It’s not showing a location, but the last one shown was almost two hours ago at the apartment complex where we live. I rush there, worrying that something bad has happened to her.

Her car isn’t in her designated space, but I can see something smashed on the pavement. I pull up into an empty parking space, cut my engine, and get out of the car to see what it is. Squatting down, I realize rather quickly that it’s her cell phone, it’s got the little heart-shaped charm I bought for her dangling from the side.

Panic spikes in my gut, and I rush to her apartment. Fumbling through my key ring, I finally find her key and shove it into the lock. The minute I step into her place, I can see evidence that she has moved out. There is no furniture in the living room. Rushing through the house, I see that everything is gone. The small one-room apartment is empty of not only furniture but clothing and all her sundries.

Needing to know that she’s okay, my brain scrambles for a way to check on her. I open my phone and check the other social media sites that I know she frequents. I don’t find her profiles anywhere. She’s either been kidnapped by someone who wants to cut her off from all contact with her support system, or she’s done this herself. I could be blocked. I cannot fathom her walking out on me, and why would she? What’s happened between Friday and today?

I stagger back to my car and climb into the driver’s seat. It only takes me a few seconds to get my fucking head together. I’m gonna find out what happened to Brittany or die trying. I call Siege.

He answers, “Hey, Tusk. What’s up?”

“Brittany is missing,” I tell him breathlessly. My heart is pounding like I’ve run five miles.

His voice turns suspicious. “Define missing?”

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