Dots bounced around and around, then stopped.
Me: ???
Minutes later, a reply.
Stacy: Sorry, a doctor called about a patient. Anyway, I went down an internet rabbit hole and found something about Reed and Scarlett.
Stacy had been trying to prove I’d been wrong about Reed.
But I wanted no part of it.
Text messages don’t lie.
Me: We’ve been over this already. I need to get over him.
As I pressed send, another message barreled in with a link attached.
Stacy: When you get a chance, check out this news link from several years ago. I gotta go into the ER now. Don’t be stubborn. Read the fucking story. I’ll call you later. Love you to the moon…
Me: And back.
I stared at my phone for a few beats, going back and forth between whether or not I should click the damn link.
I hated the internet’s clickbait garbage which most of the time wasn’t true.
Shrugging, I tossed my phone beside me on the couch.
I had a date with Netflix. Period. Full stop.
Pointing the remote to my big screen television, I relaxed and began my search for something dark and edgy.
But then, as if some kind of weird sign, the movieSerendipitypopped up as a Netflix recommendation.Reed.
I shook my head. “Seriously? Just kill me now.”
In a huff, I plucked my phone off the couch, opened Stacy’s last text, clicked the news link, and read.
ABC News, San Diego
The investigation into the death of a couple on their honeymoon in Mexico has come to a conclusion. Authorities found no evidence of foul play and called the incident a horrible accident. The couple, Tyler Cortez and his wife, Cassie Cortez, were found unresponsive by housekeeping inside their room at Hotel La Playa. Autopsy results revealed carbon monoxide to be the sole cause of their deaths. The couple left behind their one-year-old daughter Scarlett, now adopted by Tyler’s twin brother Reed Cortez, tight end for the San Francisco Forty-Niners.
I sat, body shaking, tears clouding my vision as I read the news story again and again.
Tyler and Cassie were…gone?
And, oh my God,Scarlett.
I got to my feet in a panic.
Phone. Keys. Wallet.
Shoes, Giana. Don’t forget your shoes.
* * *
MyUberto Atelier on West 42nd Street may as well have been a trip around the sun.
I took a gamble in assuming Reed would be home and an even bigger one assuming someone would tell me which apartment he lived in.
