The flirty tone from earlier is gone when he says, “I don’t know why you’d want to. That dude’s fucked.”
“Fucked?” I repeat, eyes widening.
“Mm-hmm.” He raises his hands and begins backing away from the door. Fromme. “I don’t want anything to do with any of that shit.”
“That shit?” I parrot once more, stupidly.
He nods.
“What … shit are you referring to?” I ask, but he shakes his head vehemently. “Look, I— do you know where I can find him?”
He blows out a harsh breath, running a hand through his messy hair, then shrugs. “Probably hanging with that sketchy dude Lucky.”
“Okaaay,” I say slowly. “Where can I find this Lucky?” I ask.
“You can’t,” he says, giving me another once-over. “I mean, you shouldn’t. He’s not a good guy.”
Well, that’s …alarming.
But after being ignored for months, I’m resolved to finding Riley and having it out with him. Clearly, he doesn’t want anything more to do with me, but after everything we meant to each other, everything I thought we meant to each other, he owes me at least that. I’ve come all this way, and I’m going to get an explanation for his behavior. I’m going to get some closure if nothing else.
Closure.
The word causes my heart to twist painfully in my chest, but, after a summer of devastation, of walking around like a zombie, I need it. I don’t think I can move on without it.
So, here I am. Looking for the man who broke my heart. And at this point, I’m not too proud to beg, either.
“Please,” I say. “I really need to find Riley.”
He sighs, then plops heavily onto the unmade bed, and I take a moment to cast my gaze around the surprisingly spacious room. There’s a twin bed against each of the east and west walls, both flanked by a dresser on one side and a desk on the other. Along the north wall, there’s a large center window. Little light is getting into the room, however, because it’s partially blocked by a large flat-screen TV on a stand directly in front. Several dark bean bag chairs are strewn before it with multiple video game remotes cast haphazardly on the floor.
Moving my eyes around the room for another pass, I notice, with disappointment, that both the desk and bed across from Jeff’s are indeed bare. I stare at the stripped mattress for a long moment, letting sadness, anger, and concern war inside me.
“Told you before,” Jeff says, “that dude’s fucked. You should stay far, far, away from him,” he advises.
“I can’t!” I snap. “He’s my—” but I cut myself off abruptly, unsure how to finish that sentence. He’s my what, exactly?
My boyfriend?
Jeff leans back on his palms as recognition flares in his eyes. “Oooh, shit,” he breathes, then cringes. “You’re Steph?”
I nod.
“Shit,” he repeats. And … there’s that look again. The one I’ve become so very familiar with as of late.
Pity.
“Alright,” he says quietly, then points a finger at me.
“Alright?”
“I want it on record that I don’t think this is a good idea,” he starts, and I nod again, more eagerly this time.
“Noted.”
He expels a harsh breath then clamps a hand around the back of his neck, watching me, clearly uncertain about whether or not he should share the location with me, and a flicker of real fear ignites in my chest. What the hell has Riley gotten himself into?
Ultimately, Jeff must decide I deserve the information, because he pushes back to his feet and strides over to his dresser, picking up his phone and typing. “I don’t know the actual address …” he murmurs, moving closer to me as he scrolls. After a moment, he appears to find what he’s looking for, tilting his phone so I can see he’s pulled up a map. He works the screen, zooming it in on what appears to be an industrial area. Train tracks run through a collection of large rectangular buildings that appear to span entire blocks.
