Page 82 of Property of Tacoma
“No, I understand perfectly.” He stands up, looming over my desk. “You’re so fucking terrified of getting hurt again that you’d rather blow everything up yourself than risk someone else doing it.”
His words hit their mark, and I flinch.
“Well, congrats,” he continues, heading for the door. “You got what you wanted. She’s gone. Hope it was worth it.”
The door slams behind him, and I’m left alone with the truth of his words ringing in my ears.
I close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach.
I need to call Foxy and make it right.
I need her to come home when her job is done.
Here. With me and the kids.
Determined to do whatever it takes to get her back, I pull out my phone and scroll down to her name in my contacts.
My finger hovers over the call button when the phone starts ringing in my hand.
I frown at the screen.Odin High School.
“Yeah?” I answer, wondering why they’d be calling.
“Mr. Benson?” The receptionist’s voice comes through the line. “This is Mrs. Hartley from Odin High. I’m calling about Jagger.”
My brow furrows. “What about him?”
“He left today without checking out in the front office. That isn’t allowed, sir. It’s school policy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I show here that he was in his first-period class, but was marked absent in second and third. That’s not allowed, Mr. Benson. It’s for safety reasons, as you can imagine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Hartley,” I say slowly, dread pooling in my gut. “I dropped him off this morning. Are you sure his teachers aren’t mistaken?”
“Hold on, let me double-check,” she says.
She puts me on hold, and my mind races with possibilities. Jagger’s never skipped school before. At least not that I know of. But the past couple of days, he’s been giving me the cold shoulder, barely speaking to me since Cali left.
The receptionist comes back on the line. “No, Mr. Benson, I’m sorry. I checked with the teachers directly, and he’s definitely not in class.”
“Uh,” I stammer, “I’ll call you back once I find him.”
I hang up and immediately dial Jagger’s number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling up the Life360 app on my phone to track him.
Every member of my family has it installed on all their devices. It’s non-negotiable. I tap on Jagger’s icon, waiting for his location to populate.
“The fuck?” I whisper, staring at the screen in disbelief.
According to the app, my son is somewhere near the Mississippi state line.
I shake my head. There’s no damn way this can be right.
I just dropped him off at school a few hours ago.
This can’t fucking be. The app must be glitching or something.
