“Wanna go upstairs and forget about the world for a little while?” Rebel asks in a low, sultry voice, and despite my better judgment, I feel a tiny spark of pleasure.
“Not right now, baby.”
Rebel looks hurt, but what can I do? I don’t want people to talk about what a pig I am, fucking around while my son’s mother is missing.
This is all such a mess.
“I just feel so guilty,” I explain, not wanting her to feel bad.
“It’s not your fault that she’s been taken,” Rebel protests.
“I feel like it is, though. Right before she went out, I’d decided that on January 1, I’d tell her we’re done. I know it’s irrational, but I feel like that had something to do with it. And now continuing to do things behind her back when she could be…”
I don’t finish that thought. I run my hand over my unshaven chin and face to regain some composure.
Rebel rubs my back soothingly. “You shouldn’t feel guilty for deciding to break up with her. You deserve to be happy. And please don’t feel like we’re doing anything wrong. We’re meant to be.”
She traces her finger over my neck tattoo. “My name is still under these vines, inside your skin. You were mine first. Marissa was simply keeping you safe for me.”
Something about this conversation is ramping up my anxiety. I glance over at Rachel, but she’s busy cooing at DJ, who’s jammed his entire fist into his mouth and is drooling all over it.
“No matter what happens between Marissa and me, I still want Junior to have his mom, you know. She’s a good mom, I won’t take that away from her.”
For a moment, Rebel looks like she wants to object to that, and I feel my fists clench in anger, but her next words and their tone surprise me.
“It’s hard for me to talk about this. I can’t even begin to explain to you how I felt when I saw her wearing my cut.”
I refuse to feel bad about this.
“You were gone for six years at that point, Bell. Marissa told me she was pregnant, and honestly, I was desperate to tie her to me somehow so she would keep it. I opened my closet and gave her the cut. Don’t make this out to be something that it’s not.”
“Okay.”
I see Rachel frantically waving me over before I can respond, so I immediately make my way over to her. She seems to be finishing up a phone call. Junior is on her lap, gnawing on her sleeve.
“Alright. Alright. Will do. Thanks again, Nickie. I owe you big time. Big time. Bye.”
She presses her phone against her chest and closes her eyes.
“A colleague from the hospital just called me. A woman matching Marissa’s description was dropped off at the hospital earlier. She’ll let me know as soon as she can find out more, but it’s a good chance it’s her.”
“Is she alright?” I ask, then wonder, “How did they know to call you?”
Rachel looks at me like I’m an idiot. Again.
“I gave all my colleagues Marissa’s description and told them to keep an eye out. No questions asked.”
“Thanks, Rach. I mean it.”
She doesn’t look up from Junior’s face. “Let’s head over there right now.”
“Give me a second,” I say, and run over to where Rebel is talking to Prez to tell them the good news.
“Bring her to the clubhouse when she’s discharged,” Prez orders. “We need to find out who’s behind this.”
“What if she’s unwell or wants to go home? Can we interrogate her there?”
“Tell her it’s unsafe until we get who did this.”
