Page 81 of Until Forever

She shakes her head while wrapping her arms around herself. “I didn’t see anyone’s face. They were in one of those black Sprinter vans, one like the catering companies drive with the tall roof. There was one guy in the back, the one who took my baby, and at least one other person to drive. The windows were blacked out.”

“Okay, this is good. Did you happen to see any tattoos, or maybe you heard one of them say anything?” Cobi asks softly.

She shakes her head again. My throat tightens at the change in her posture as it all seems to finally fall into place for her.

“I think they knew Jasper.”

“It was Scar,” I repeat because it doesn’t seem Cobi heard me the first time. “But I don’t know them,” I glance at her with a pleading tone.

She raises a hand, letting it tentatively hover in place. “No. Brandon said to you that JJ went withyourfriend.”

“Baby.” I try to touch her, but she pulls away.

“He said it. He told you it was the man with the scar on his face. What did you do?” she stutters, but the accusation in her voice is venomous.

“Latoya, I swear this—” I step forward again, only for her to retreat even farther. A knot forms in my throat, but I swallow it down and force her to me, holding her to my chest. “I swear to you, I will give my life to find him.”

“What did you do, Jasper?” she cries, her head moving side to side. “Why would they take my baby?”

That stings, hearing her refer to him as only hers. But I can’t blame her. No, I didn’t cause this, but I should have protected him. I came back into their lives, and because of that he’s gone. Because of my father, he’s gone. And just like that, the things my old man said to me about ruining her resurfaces in my mind.

“Look at me. I’m going to get him back. I promise.”

She jerks away again, pain evident behind her eyes, defeat and exhaustion claiming her.

“Latoya.” Cobi is gentle with her. “Can you tell me what your son was wearing?”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slowly remove it. A text dances across the screen from a number I’ve never seen before. I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand over my nose then click on the alert.

931-555-4321:You know he really does look like you. Maybe now you’re ready to reconsider.

Red flares across my vision, and I fist the phone, the screen cracking in the process. My pulse races, and everything fades into the background. I stumble back with my teeth clenched while digging into my pocket for my keys.

I trip over a rock but gather my balance. “I’m going to find him,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else.

The need to do something takes over, and I speed to my truck. Standing here, talking about what clothes they wore or what direction they went, isn’t going to get my son back. This is on me, I’m the only person who can fix it.

“Jasper,” Cobi calls out, but I ignore him.

The truck shifts as I slam the door, and all the voices drown out when I rev the engine. I back out of the space and throw it into drive, my body jerking so hard I strain my neck.

“Jasper, don’t do anything stupid,” Cobi yells as I peel out of the lot.

Fumbling with my phone, I attempt to keep one eye on the road and dial my father’s number. The call goes to voicemail, so I try again, throwing the phone after it goes unanswered.

“Fuck.” I slap the steering wheel.

I swerve in and out of traffic, speeding through a red light, completely unfazed by the driver I almost hit. Nothing else matters right now. A row of cars ahead of me causes me to slam on my brakes. I glance around, growing more impatient with each passing second.

When I see that the other side of the road is clear, I press the gas and drive down the wrong side of the road, whipping my Chevy into a right turn just as the light turns green. Drivers blare their horns and I’m met with a slew of curse words.

But I keep going, watching the speedometer increase, and zone out to the sound of my engine roaring to get up to new speeds. My father’s block is just up ahead, the same run-down houses from my childhood line the street. Kids play in the yard for summer break, completely unaware that one of their peers has been taken. Drunks stumble down the sidewalk while teens ride their bikes in the road.

I pull up behind his beat-up car, the bumper of my vehicle tapping the trunk of his. I’m out before I can fully park the damn thing, not bothering to close the door. The porch creaks when I step on it in one motion. I snatch the screen door open, and it falls off the hinges. His front door is open, much like it always was when I lived here.

The stench of alcohol hits my senses, and I’m not surprised. Even knowing it’ll kill him,, he still hasn’t quit. To think I wanted to help him and felt bad that I wasn’t a match.

“Hey,” he screeches from his old tattered recliner. “What the fuck you do to my door?”

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