I guess I moved around so much as I kid no one place ever felt like home, you know?
Sometimes I miss Pine Rock. Then I remember what happened there.
Stick with me Lo, I’ll be your home.
- Conversation between Lola, age 20 and Scott age 22
Scott runsa hand through his hair, his eyes worried as he stares out at me from my laptop. I’m sitting on my bed and I’ve just told him about the pickup truck and the fire.
“You need to tell the police about the texts,” he says.
I give him a pointed look. “You know I can’t.”
“Lola, this is serious. He’s threatening you.”
“I don’t even know for sure that it’s Carson.”
“Oh yeah, who else is it going to be?”
I don’t know how to answer that, because Carson is the only logical explanation, but he wasn’t in the pickup truck, and he wasn’t one of the guys I chased off. Plus, the last time I told the police what Carson did to me, they didn’t believe me. If I go to them now, they’ll think I’m being paranoid.
“It’s okay. I’m being careful and I’ve asked a friend to look into the number the messages are coming from.” I finally got a response from Max this morning saying he’ll see what he can find, and I’ve also ordered security cameras for the back of the shop, so everything is totally, one hundred percent, under control.
Scott shakes his head, a rueful smile appearing on his lips. “You have the preservation instincts of a toddler. I’m so damn tempted to just fly out there and drag you back on the road with me.”
“That’s just because you can’t read a map to save your life.” I poke my tongue out at him, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“It’s because I want you safe.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Roman.”
Scott’s ears prick up. “Does that mean you and he are finally…”
“No. Definitely not. We are keeping things professional.” A few months after Scott and I first met we hooked up and tried dating for a while, but it was clear I was still hung up on Roman and Scott was looking for something serious.
After that we went off on our own for a while, but we always met up again after a month or so in some other place in the world. It was only the last year that we fully started traveling together. I think we both got kind of lonely, and I feel a little bad for leaving Scott but apparently, I needn’t have worried.
“Talking aboutnotkeeping things professional,” he says. “I met someone.”
My mouth drops open. “And you let me talk at you for fifteen minutes before telling me this?!”
Scott laughs. “Hey, you were on a roll.”
I had basically just info dumped all my frustrations on him, but he should have realized new girlfriend news trumps all. “Tell me everything.”
“She’s called Michelle. She’s French. We met here in Paris.”
I smirk. “Two days into a new country and he’s already got the women swooning.”
“What can I say? It’s a talent.”
“Send me a pic?”
“Will do.”
I hear a knock from downstairs then and leave Scott on the bed to look out the window. It’s nine in the evening and my jaw tightens as I peer down, my brain half convinced I’m going to see that same pickup. I don’t though. Instead, my gaze settles on a man in a sunhat, pacing in front of the shop. He stops by the door and knocks again.
“Uh, Scott. I have to go. My dad’s here.”
