Page 80 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

The game must be over.

Taking the ice pack from the bench, Theo mutters, “Good girl.”

Then, he stands up and walks away.

24

THEO

Me: Hey. We still on for tonight?

I send the text and stare at my phone, anxious for Blake’s reply as I stand on my brother’s front porch. The message says it’s been read, but the little blue dots don’t appear. Which means she isn’t answering me.

“Come on, Blake,” I mumble under my breath as I stare at the screen.

When two minutes go by without a response, I let out an annoyed sigh, tuck my phone back into my pocket, and knock on the heavy oak door in front of me.

The hinges are smooth as butter as Macklin opens the front door to his new place. It’s a cabin in the woods. There aren’t any neighbors for at least a couple miles, and even those are recluses. Pretty sure it was the main selling point for Mack.

“You look like shit,” he greets me.

I tug the bill of my hat a little lower and step inside his new place without waiting for an invitation. “Says the hermit. How’s the drive to the hospital from here?”

“Not bad. Thirty minutes, give or take.”

Mack became a paramedic after high school. He was always the one with the brains and had enough empathy to be a perfect fit in the medical field. Unfortunately, having a baby at sixteen can mess with long-term plans, including going to medical school. At least the bastard had the insight to buy some lottery tickets. It only paid out ten million, which, by lottery standards is pretty low, but he isn’t one to complain. Not even when his ex, Summer, took her half and ran for the hills as soon as the money hit their bank account.

Tucking my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I look around the newly-finished cabin. Mack built it with his own two hands while living with our parents after the divorce. It has three bedrooms, large glass windows along the walls, a massive fireplace, two bathrooms, and a kitchen with granite countertops and dark green cabinets. Most people would kill to live here, and Mack threw it together in his spare time when he wasn’t in the back of an ambulance saving lives. All right, that’s not entirely true. I know he paid to have a contractor do a few things, but overall, this place was his baby, and it turned out great.

“Looks nice,” I add. “I haven’t been here since the foundation was poured. You should’ve let me and the guys come help.”

“It was good to be distracted.”

I turn around and face him again. “And now that it’s finished?”

With a shrug, he walks past me and into the family room. There’s an L-shaped leather couch pushed up against one wall. It separates the kitchen from the massive fireplace on the opposite side of the large space. Mack collapses onto it and props his feet up on a dark, mahogany coffee table in the center of the room. A stack of logs sits next to the unlit fireplace, which I’m sure will be roaring as soon as the first snowstorm hits. Blue and gray stone make up the hearth which covers half the wall, and a huge TV hangs above the mantle. I lift my chin toward the stonework. “Did you put it in yourself?”

“It was a good distraction,” he repeats. Not with pride, but with a sad humility. Apparently, Mom wasn’t completely off-base sending me out here to check on him.

I clear my throat and look around the space again, unsure what to say. “It turned out good.”

“Thanks. So.” He scratches his jaw, then lets out a sigh. “Mom sent you?”

“She’s worried about you.”

“Why?”

I shrug and sit down beside him on the opposite side of the couch. “Probably ‘cause you’re shit at talking.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“I dunno? What’s new?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I scoff. “You gotta at least give me something. How’re Hazel and Miley? Have you heard from them lately?”

“No. Summer keeps filling their heads with a bunch of shit since the divorce. They still don’t want to talk to me.”

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