Page 64 of Property of Player

“Do we need to go close the bar?” I ask.

“No. Pete’s got it covered.”

“Good.”

“I saw someone drop you off earlier. Where’s your car?”

“Player picked me up at the house the other day. It’s still there.”

“I’ll drop you off then.”

“Thanks.”

When we walk to the parking lot and get into the car, I check my phone. There’s a text and a missed call from Player.

PLAYER: We’re stopped at a motel outside Indianapolis. Call if you get a chance. Miss you, babe.

I decide to call him back later when I’m alone.

Kayla drives me to Mom’s place and idles in the drive.

Opening my door, I look at her. “You want to come in?”

“No, thanks. I’m exhausted. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can go back up together.”

“All right. Goodnight.”

I walk to the door, and she pulls out.

As soon as I slide my key into the lock, I realize the door is already unlocked. The neighbor and paramedics probably didn’t think to lock up in all the commotion.

Entering, I throw the deadbolt and flip on a light in the foyer. I’m halfway across the great room when I realize a man sits at the dining table, and I freeze, a gasp of fear escaping my lips.

It only takes me a split second to realize it isn’t any man.

“Randall, what are you doing here?” I hiss. My dickhead ex-boyfriend has made it clear he doesn’t want to let me go. Apparently, he’s way more serious about that than I hoped.

“Did you think I didn’t know where your mother lived?” He takes a drag off his cigarette, the burning ember flaring.

“We’re over, Randall. I told you that.”

“We’re over when I say we’re over, Taylor. You think I put in two years of my life putting up with your shit just to let you fucking walk out on me? Think again.”

“This is my mother’s home. You can’t be here.”

“Yet here I am, and I’m hungry, so go into the kitchen and make me something to eat.”

“You need to leave. Now.”

He stands, and I instinctively retreat two steps. That only makes him smile. In a split second he’s on me, his hand in my hair, yanking my head back.

“Get in the damn kitchen. And make me something to eat.” He doesn’t raise his voice. It’s threatening enough in the cold, low tone he uses. His fist tightens. “Go ahead. Piss me off more than you already have. See what happens.”

“Okay. I’ll make you something. Let go of me.”

He shoves me toward the kitchen, and I stumble. My mind is racing. How did he find me? I was so careful never to let him know about Delaware. And now I wonder what else he knows.

“Where is your mother?”