Page 103 of Hate So Deep

“No. I don’t know the combination. She hasn’t shared it with me.”

“Could it be your birthday or Buck’s?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I mumble, and Dirk turns back to me.

“We need to search everything, Lauren.”

“We didn’t get robbed, Dirk,” I snap, and his eyes widen before he holds out his hands palm up.

I appreciate his efforts to help me figure this out, but robbery is not the solution.

Nothing fucking is…dammit.

While I glare at him, he says, “I’ll check the living room.”

Once he’s gone, I collapse on the bed and cover my face, hiding the tears, building behind my eyes.

Why did she go through my room? What was she looking for?

Does it matter? Not really.

She’s been off since Buck died and short of asking her, I’ll never know what’s going through her head.

Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know anyway.

When I finally emerge, Dirk glances my way from where he was standing in the kitchen and gazing into the backyard.

“Is there anywhere else we should check?” he asks.

“No,” I mumble, and he eyes me sideways.

When I wave my hand, he precedes me to the living room but stops beside the basement door. When he looks back, I say, “That’s the basement.”

Although I’m no longer in the mood to play detective, I grudgingly follow when he opens the door and switches on the light.

The basement is huge. To my right is the media room where the old couch Dad moved down here when we got a new one sits facing our old T.V. I’ve never much liked it down here so the space they designed for us was wasted, although I appreciated the effort.

Once we reach the bottom, Dirk steps past me while I glance around for the box of pictures I saw by the door.

I should have aborted you.

My throat closes once again but I push away the memories that threaten to come through.

I can’t fall apart here and now. Call it stubborn pride but I would rather Dirk think I’m a spoiled princess than a pathetic one.

With a silent sigh, I step into the media area and pause by the couch. The only odd thing about this space is the fact that my mom spent so much time down here in the last few weeks but given the circumstances, I don’t think that points to anything macabre.

I’m tired. My chest fucking hurts and I just want to bury myself under the covers of my bed and hide from everything.

Since Dirk is determined to search every square inch though, I drop to the couch with a groan and rest my head in my hands.

How is this my life? What am I going to do?

When a tear sneaks down my cheek, I wipe it away and look up, zeroing in on the corner where Mom stores the area rugs.

She has different colors and patterns for different seasons so there are quite a few rolled up and resting together.

But…

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