Page 100 of Wild Eyes
“Where is she?”
“Mind your manners, caveman.”
“Doris, I like your snark, but not today.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “The feeling is mutual.” She looks me over like she finds me lacking. “I like that girl. See a lot of myself in her, ready to run at any moment.”
I nip back a joke about hoping there isn’t toomuch Doris in Skylar.
“She needs a home, not more bullshit. Don’t be the reason she runs.”
My throat constricts at the mention of her running. I’ve always known she wouldn’t stay here, but it still hits me like a wrecking ball.
“Doris, please tell me where she is.”
“I knew you’d find your manners,” she mutters, going back to counting the bills in her hands. “She left out the side door toward the woods. You should go rescue her.”
My teeth grind as I toss her a nod before blazing out the side door after Skylar. I look right at the parking lot, not sure why she’d go there. I look left, beyond the lilac tree and toward the lake. She loves being by the lake, but I can see the tops of a few heads down there, and I suspect she’d go somewhere to bealone right now. Whatever she’s feeling, she wouldn’t want an audience. And when she’s overwhelmed, I know she likes to be alone.
So I look ahead into the trees and let my feet carry me toward them. The scent of earth and pine swirls up around me as my boots crunch on dry needles and twigs. I don’t know how long I search for her. Through the trees, back up along the shoreline. I search long enough that my brain has a grand ol’ time coming up with all the terrible things that could have happened to Skylar.
A bear.
A cougar.
A stalker.
A serial killer.
My heart pounds so hard, I hear it in my ears—it feels like it’s rattling against my shirt. I take my phone out to call her and realize I’m the asshole who threw hers into the lake. Seemed good for her mental health. Hadn’t really considered mine.
When I wind up back at the parking lot, I turn in a circle and comb my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends. “Fuck,” I grit out.
This reminds me of the time Emmy wandered away in the grocery store and we kept missing each other between aisles. Except this area is massive and people are milling about everywhere. The whirring noise of rides and the happy squeals of children drift through the air. I call her name a few times but feel cautious about causing a scene.
I told her not to worry about the press or the headlines, but so help me, if I see another one making her out to be some sort of idiot, I’m going to hop on a plane to Los Angeles and let fists fly.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Fuck.” My eyes scan again and again as I try to think of where Skylar would go. Where would she run?
Home.
I almost shake the idea away, somehow doubting she’d feel much of an attachment to my place. But it’s all I can come up with, so that’s where I head.
The feeling of uneasiness doesn’t recede at all as I jump into my truck, and it only worsens as I head down the backroad toward my house. It’s a short drive, but it feels impossibly long. If she’s not there, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Start tearing this entire town apart, probably.
I pass the sign with Emmy’s unicorn taped below. I speed onto the property, knowing that if I caught anyone driving like this onto my land, I’d lose my shit on them.
Agitation lines every limb as I make the final turn around the side of the house.
And she’s there.
Sitting on the old tree swing.Swinging.
There’s something childlike about the way she looks right now. Summer dress draped over extended legs, fingers gripping the worn ropes, face tipped up to the sun, with wisps of hair trailing behind her.
