After packing a bag, I tentatively knock on her bedroom door. “Angelica.” I sigh when she ignores me. After avoiding her all day, I deserve that. “I’m gonna stay at Draven’s tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I hold my breath, waiting for an answer. “Angel?” I open the door to a dark, empty room, my breath fogging from the cold. My heart thuds in my chest. I drop my bag and take the stairs two at a time, and open the front door. Her car’s still there, under a blanket of snow.
I dig my phone from my pocket and call her, each unanswered ring like a knife stabbing me in the temple. A cold sweat coats my skin, my mind filled with a hundred scenarios, all of them ending badly.
Pacing the hallway, her phone goes to voicemail another three times, then I notice her coat missing from the bannister. She could have gone for a walk, but she wouldn’t be out this late unless something had happened to her.
Fuck. I run out of the cabin, shouting her name, then training my ear for any sounds, but as I race around the cabin, calling out for my angel, the only reply is the whispers on the wind of rustling trees and the lapping of the water from the lake.
My heart plummets to my stomach like a stone dropping to the bottom of the lake. Dread fills my lungs as if I’m drowning. After her mother’s boating accident, she knows not to go near the water alone.
With nothing but the moonlight to guide me, I run down the wooden pier, my heaving breath fogging in the dark night air.Looking out at the lake shining like a sheet of ice under the stars, I search for any signs of her and call her name again.
I walk back up the pier towards the cabin, snow crunching under my boots as I tap her name on my phone. When I get hold of her, I’m gonna spank her so hard.
Sick with worry, I call Colin. If she won’t answer her phone for me, maybe she’ll answer for him.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hey, Sawyer, how’s things?”
“The boiler packed up, but I fixed it. Other than that, everything’s fine. Listen, have you heard from Angelica today?”
“No, why?”
“No reason. I was trying to call her and got no answer.”
“What do you want her for?”
“I was just gonna ask her if she wanted me to fix up her dressing table. You know, with the snow and being stuck in the cabin, I’m going mental, mate. Running out of things to do.” I give him a small huff of a laugh and try to mask the worry that’s twisting my gut. “Would you call her and ask her to call me?”
“Sure, but she’s probably partying with her friends. I’m sure she’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t say anymore. There’s no point worrying him until I know anything for certain. “See you later, mate.”
“Yeah, text me. Let me know what I owe you for the boiler.”
“Will do.” I end the call and try her one more time, praying she answers. As I walk around the porch, the light from my phone highlights a dent in the snow, then another and another.
I follow the divots down the driveway, and onto the lane that leads to the country road. The pattern is covered over with fresh snow, but they’re definitely the pattern of someone walking.
Picking up the pace, I race down the lane, not even caring about the cold or the flakes hitting my face. All I care about is getting to her and checking she’s alive. Even if she hates me. Igrit my teeth, knowing she’ll definitely hate me when I get a hold of her and spank the living daylights out of her ass.
If she wanted to go for a walk or had to go out, all she had to do was tell me. Damn it. I should have brought the pickup home the other day, then I’d be able to get to her a lot quicker.
I wonder if she’s at the treehouse, but the footsteps stay on the road. There’s only one place this leads to, and that’s town, but first she’d have to pass the Black Crow.
The rusty swingsign creaks above the door, a layer of snow clinging to the metal frame. The old building in the middle of nowhere looks like it’s from a Charles Dickens novel and I’m about to be confronted by the Ghost of Christmas Past.
I push the old wooden door open and step into the warmth of the bar. It’s quieter than usual tonight, but the Thursday punk band plays their usual set.
A bunch of kids around Angelica’s age dance to the music, but I don’t know any of them personally. I nod to Poppy behind the bar as I stomp towards her, the snow in my hair melting with the heat of the pub and running down my face like beads of sweat.
I rub a hand over my forehead, wiping the moisture away. “Have you seen Angelica?” I ask Heather, another barmaid.
“She was here earlier, hanging out with the band.” Heather points to the singer at the other end of the room.
I’m so incensed as to her whereabouts, I’ve every mind to step onto the makeshift stage, interrupt their set, and find out where she went, but before I do, I grab the arm of a local girl who I’ve seen in here before. Her long black hair sways as she turnsaround and her violet-haired friend yells at me to keep my hands to myself.
I hold them up in surrender. “I’m looking for Angelica. Have you seen her?”
