Page 60 of Love Rewritten

“He’s gone,” I say as softly as I can, squatting next to the booth, working the phone out of her hands. “And the cops are here.” She doesn’t move but searches for one of my hands to hold in replacement of the phone.

Two male officers make their way to the counter and the kid behind it, still stunned, simply points to us, a shaky hand hanging in the air. I stand as the shorter of the two, though just barely, addresses Abby. “Hi, are you the one who requested services?” She nods. “Can you explain what happened?” Both officers pull out their notepads and click their pens into place like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like Abby's life didn't just flash past her eyes a moment ago.

“Um,” Abby starts but her voice is so shaky that that single word barely comes out.

“Do you mind if I explain? I saw everything,” I say. The shorter cop agrees and lets me continue. Once I’m done, they take our names, get a description of Sam, and do a brief search of the area even though I told them I watched him leave. I’m not complaining. I’d rather they be diligent about it.

Abby barely moves the entire time the cops are there. I think she still gets uneasy around them. That’s been one of the hardest parts of all of this: the fact that she struggles with letting the authorities help her. Even now, after they’ve proven that they will, she still shuts down around them. They’ve given her good reason to, but I hope she comes around to the idea more even if just a little.

I haven’t asked her how she feels about the case, whether she thinks she’ll win, or even if she trusts the system enough to begin to think that far ahead. I don’t think that’s a necessary conversation or one that will benefit her for any reason.

Before the cops leave, I need to ask one more thing, one I know Abby is curious about, too. “What’s protocol in situations like this? Does he get fined, arrested, or just let go?”

The taller cop replies to us this time. I never bother to remember their names. I feel like I’ve met so many at this point, it doesn’t seem to matter until I start seeing the same ones. “There’s not much we can do. He followed the instructions on the protective order and left. So, as much as I’m sure you’d like something to happen, we can’t do anything. We checked the area. He did leave.” The other cop gets in his vehicle to leave. “This incident will be noted in his file. Give us a call if he comes back.” He pulls the handle of his car door open. “Anything else we can help you with?”

Abby and I both shake our heads. He gets in the driver’s seat, and both cars pull away, leaving us to sort through our abundance of emotions.

Chapter 23

Abby

There’saterriblestormtoday. One of the worst we’ve had this year. We were supposed to go for a group ride somewhere near the cities. That has been canceled for good reason. No one wants to ride in this weather. It’s made for a boring afternoon. Dallas made burgers for dinner. They were good, but he burned one side of all three patties. Logan said he’s never letting Dallas make the burgers ever again, and I blatantly agreed with him.

While all three of us turn into couch potatoes for the night, Meredith apparently has other ideas. My phone starts vibrating, buried somewhere in the couch. I frantically search for it, but Logan finds it two cushions away from me. He passes it to me without a sound before sinking back into his spot on the opposite end from Dallas and me.

“What’s up, Mer?” I ask, pressing the phone to my ear. I move to the kitchen to not disrupt the movie.

“Whatever it is you’re doing right now, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going out for karaoke. I’m bringing Rose. You bring Dallas and Logan, too. Drag them out of the house if you have to. It’s happening.”

“Karaoke? I haven’t done karaoke in like two years. And I’m not a good singer. You know this.”

I’m not kidding. My voice sounds like a dying pig. I can’t carry a tune to save my life. I like singing. I think it's fun. But in the privacy of a shower or the car where maybe only one other person can hear me.

Plus, after the incident with Sam, going out in public isn’t exactly high on my bucket list. I realize that it probably went about as well as it could have. No one got hurt. No fights started. He listened to the protective order. But it still rattled me to the core.

That’s still been one of my biggest concerns: if it came down to it, would he actually follow orders?

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know, Mer.”

“Please? I already told Rose you three would come with us. Besides, it’s been a week since you saw Sam. You can’t hide inside forever.”

“I mean, I could,” I attempt to joke, but it falls flat.

She groans on the other end. “It’s not healthy. You need to get out and do something.”

I look back to the living room. Dallas and Logan lie sprawled out on the couch. I think convincing them to get up is going to be just as hard. But Meredith is right. As much as I don’t want her to be, she is. I haven’t left the apartment since we got home from the burger place.

So, I sigh and ask, “What time?”

Meredith squeals, loud enough for Dallas and Logan to hear, and it forces me to pull the phone away from my ear. By the time all three of us obediently dress into decent clothes for a night out, we’re already running late. We run through the pouring rain to Dallas’s car and swipe at the trails of rain dripping down our faces.

The karaoke bar is the same one Meredith dragged me to three years ago during my freshman year. I’d gotten a fake ID just for that night. I remember being so nervous that they’d figure out it was fake and I’d get fined or arrested on the first go, but to my delight, they hardly looked at it, and I waltzed through the doors with my head held high. That was also the night I’d taken my first shot of straight, unflavored vodka. Never again.

The bar is wedged between a strip club and a bank that has an ATM on the wall outside. An odd combination along this street, but I’m sure they all get their money’s worth being near each other. The sign above the door is bright. The pink neon lighting that spells out the name of the bar “Pitchy” has dulled some since I last saw it.

Logan pulls open the gray metal door and the music hits us before we’ve taken a step inside. It’s a skinny building. The stage is on the far back wall with a few speakers, a microphone, and a large screen behind the short man who stands up there singing a song I don’t recognize.

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