Page 127 of Beautiful, Violent

“No one right now. There’s the pool house that’s about to be renovated. I have a feeling he’s got big plans for it but he hasn’t said what just yet.”

“Hmm.” When his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to focus in on something, I look again.

“Why do you ask? Do you want me to hide you back there so you can sneak in my bedroom window?” I pooch out my lips seductively, but Ben doesn’t so much as crack a smile.

“Just curious is all. Your pool house is bigger than my home.”

“Daddy is pretty extravagant about that stuff. I would walk you out there but he made me promise to stay away from it.”

His eyes flick my way. “Really.”

“Yep. I think he has control issues.”

That gets me a half laugh. More like a hard burst of air blowing through Ben’s nose. “Well, I better get moving.”

When he holds his arm to the side, I move to him and hug him close. It feels like a goodbye hug and I’ve never minded the way those feel. But in this case, in this situation, I hate it.

“Behave yourself, Tove.”

I pull back, look up at him. That’s a weird thing to say. The person I have to cut up with is leaving town, so behaving should be a breeze.

“Behave? Okay. I’m just going to plant myself here for the rest of the day and marathon some tv shows. Behaving will come easy.”

He gives me one look before turning and exiting the kitchen. I hear the front door close, and I don’t know why but it feels as though he just took a big piece of my heart with him.

After he’s gone, my chest feels heavily empty. Not knowing what to do I go back to bed, fighting the tears. This is why people talk about love hurting so much. So I guess Iamfalling in love with him. It’s awesome and yet it’s terrifying. What if he doesn’t feel it too?

Fucking hell. It’s been too long since I stabbed someone. And I think it’s making me soft. I need an enemy to destroy, to feel his blood flowing over my hands.

________

When I wake up from a long nap, I push up out of bed and my gaze is drawn to the windows. It’s late afternoon and the sun is quickly sinking in the sky. I wonder if Ben is close to California and a rolling thought hits me.

I never checked the messages Rigger left.

I reach for my phone, yawning until I realize … my phone isn’t on the bedside table. I look to the floor, assuming I dropped it, but it’s nowhere in sight.

“Shit,” I mutter, getting out of bed and kneeling to look under it, sure it must be there.

But it isn’t.

Okay, that’s weird. I know it was here. Or at least I think it was. I’m pretty sure I set it down on my bedside table like I always do.

I met Ben downstairs and we came up here. But I didn’t call a single person after he left.

I sweep my gaze around the room, looking on my chest, my dresser, the top of the laundry basket, the other bedside table.

I walk into the bathroom and don’t see it there. I check my bag, knowing it isn’t there but sorting through all the junk regardless.

I huff and make my way downstairs. It must be in the kitchen, which means I’ve become so absentminded in my lovestruck ways that I don’t even remember bringing it down here.

But … it’s not here. I scan every inch of the counters, even look under the kitchen table in case it got kicked around on the floor. I check my car. Under the seats, between the console and back, and it’s like my own phone ghosted me.

“What the fuck?” I walk back inside, pull the house phone off its cradle and dial my number, praying I at least left the sound on. I have a tendency to switch it in and out of silent mode multiple times a day and I can’t remember if it’s on silent right now. But whether it is or isn’t, I can’t hear it ringing.

I walk up and down the stairs and I finally remember I have the Find My Phone app. Never had to use it till now.

I open my laptop and go into the application, clicking around until I see my device. It takes a few minutes to load and while it does, I tap my fingers next to my keyboard, thinking that this is a waste of time. It will show that my phone is here, at this address. But it won’t narrow down what room it’s in.

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