I huffed.
“Are you seriously telling me that man is walking free around town and you haven’t been able to locate him? How the fuck is that possible?”
“Because I don’t have the resources of the Navy, Dare. What do you want from me? What do you expect from me? Want me to hack into the surveillance system in town to find your guy?”
“He’s not my guy, and yes! Do that.”
“Well we don’t have fucking surveillance, Dare. We’re a small island. The best we can do is wait. He’ll come out of hiding at some point.”
I realized I’d been walking in circles only when I started to feel the room spinning around me and I stopped to look at the ceiling. My temples throbbed with an imminent headache. Not that unusual when talking to my ex.
“So what is Zach supposed to do? Hide out here for the rest of his life and get ambushed by sick, twisted text messages while we wait for that sick bastard to come out? Huh, Wyatt?”
“It’s not like you mind now, do you?” Wyatt scoffed on the other end, and it took me by surprise.
I’d never heard him like that before. So sarcastic and venomous before. It sounded alien coming from him. Alien and horrible.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I barked.
“As if you don’t know,” he grumbled and I took pause.
Was…was Wyatt jealous? Of Zach?
“Really, Wyatt? You’re gonna go all jealous ex-boyfriend on me? Now? Five years too late? Get out of here with that bull?—”
“Hang on!” he said and I stopped.
I took a deep breath and shouted a “what?” at him.
“Did you…did you say sick, twisted messages?”
“Yeah. That asshole has been messaging Zach all kinds of stalkery, scary bullshit.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because you’re not my boss, Wyatt!” I snapped at him then composed myself. “I only just found out he’s been getting them.”
“That’s great!” Wyatt said.
“What about it is gr?—”
“Shut up and listen. I’m sending Slade over to you. I’ll get the team together. We’re going to find this bastard. Today!” he said and hung up before I could question his statements or sanity.
I glared at my phone for a second as if it held any answers and when it clearly didn’t provide any, I returned to the living room.Zach wasn’t on the couch anymore. I turned to my left and found him in the kitchen opening a bottle of milk next to a bowl.
“What are you doing?” I asked though it was pretty obvious.
Baking was his escape. Baking was his therapy and comfort.
“Making brioche bread,” he answered and instead of questioning him or leaving him to it, I joined him.
I put on the spare apron hanging on the hook by the wall and I approached him.
“Tell me what to do?” I pressed my lips together and looked him in the eyes.
He stared back and I didn’t miss the glisten in them, which he blinked away and smiled as he took a step to the side and handed me the whisk. I started mixing as he added honey and yeast to the bowl then got the eggs and cracked them open in a separate bowl. I set my yeast mix aside for a few minutes and got him the sugar and flour and measured them as instructed.
Once they were combined, the yeast was ready to add into the second bowl. He left me to fold everything together as he got the butter out of the fridge.
