Page 8 of Entangled

His lips spread in a barely-there, rueful smile. “Anytime.”

I shut the door and make my way up the front steps of my house. The silence that greets me does little to ease my growing anxiety. Flicking on the hallway light, I toe off my heels, releasing a soft moan. Fuck, my feet hurt.

I fish my phone out of my bag and send a quick text to Chloe.

Me: Message me when you get home so I know you’re safe.

CHAPTER3

WILLOW

I wakeup to an insistent banging on the front door. My head hurts this morning after the beer I drank last night. I don’t drink often, so it doesn’t take much.

Tossing the quilt off, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and hurry downstairs. “I’m coming.”

The banging continues, a hand smashing against the wood over and over again.

I unlock it and throw it open, coming face to face with a frantic Mr. Reid.

“Where is she? Is she with you?”

Before I can reply, he storms past me, his large steps carrying him down the hallway.

“What’s wrong? Mr. Reid?” I chase after him, but he’s already upstairs. The floor creaks beneath his heavy steps. I take chase, running up the staircase. “Mr. Reid?”

I find him in my bedroom, where he stands, staring at the crumpled sheets on my bed.

“Where’s Chloe?”

I stiffen.

He turns around and looks at me pleadingly. “Please tell me she’s here.”

I don’t know what to say. “No, I left before her last night. She was catching a ride back with Amand—”

He strides past me, rushing down the stairs. I can barely keep up. “What’s wrong? What’s happened to Chloe?”

He doesn’t reply, and the panic inside me grows.

“Mr. Reid?!”

I chase him outside into the overcast, early morning. Pulling him to a stop, I step in front of him. “Where’s Chloe?”

The fight seems to leave him. Dressed in gray joggers and a white T-shirt, he looks exhausted. I’m suddenly aware of my tiny sleep shorts and tank top. The chill in the air makes my nipples harden against the thin fabric.

Mr. Reid is too worried to pay any attention to my state of undress. “She never returned home last night.”

“She probably stayed over at Dylan’s.”

They must have made up in the end. It’s what they do.

“She always messages me to tell me her plans.” He walks off toward his house.

I follow hot on his heels. “Maybe she forgot this time.”

He stops at the door and grips the handle, inhaling a steadying breath. His jaw tightens and a muscle ticks in his cheek. “Will you phone Dylan for me, please?”

“Of course. I’ll phone him now.”

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