Page 64 of One Spicy Summer

To see how much of a fuck up I am.

That’s why I rarely leave Keifer’s house. It’s been awhile since I’ve gone out into the world and I do believe I like it better this way.

One day soon, my life will end, and I’ll welcome death because we are old friends.

But until that day comes, I’ll continue to be used in more ways than one, until I’m ready for it all to end.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rygaard

One Year Later

It’s been two weeks, and I’m no closer to finding Presley than I was when I thought Agatha was finally going to tell me.

Sitting in my office on the fifth floor of Markus Architecture, I think about calling Mindy for an emergency coffee meeting.Without hesitation, I pick up my phone anddial.It rings several times before going to voicemail. I quickly leave a message, asking her to return my call at her earliest convenience.

I can't even think straight. Agatha’s words keep replaying in my head: ‘She’s in a dark place, and I don’t know how to get her back.’ Presley, always so full of life, that fiery attitude, that infectious smile, and now... this.

I glance at the clock. I wish I could leave early, but I have a potential client coming in later to go over blueprints for a new store he just purchased land for.

Chuck Wagsport. Thirty-four. Single. Worth a pretty penny. Not the worst way to spend an afternoon.

The meeting isn't for another couple of hours, though, more than enough time to head into town and start asking questions.

I consider going straight to her parents' house... but I'd risk my own parents seeing me. Is that really such a bad thing anymore? Sylvia and Phillip are long gone, out traveling the world. Decision made, I grab my things, hop into my truck, and head across town.

The house looks nothing like it did when we were kids. The lawn’s overgrown, a few windows are boarded up from the inside, shutters hang crookedly, paint peels from every surface.

The place looks... abandoned by hope.

Getting out, I walk up the cracked sidewalk and knock. No disguises today. No hiding. Let whoever answers be surprised.

Minutes pass. I’m about to turn back when the door creaks open, and out steps Rafe, looking rough.

“Rygaard?” he croaks.

“Hey, man,” I say, cautiously.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he snaps, stepping onto the porch. “What the fuck do you want?”

I raise my hands in surrender. “Whoa. What’s with all the hostility, bro?”

“Bro?” He barks a bitter laugh. “I’m not your bro. If I was, you would’ve told me what the fuck was going on.”

“What? Not you, too?”

“The fuck you mean,not me, too? Who else you been lying to, Ry?”

“I’m trying to find Presley,” I say, frustration seeping through. “Agatha, ”

“Had every right not to tell you shit!” he roars, shoving me off the porch.

I stumble back, fists clenching. “Touch me again, and I’ll lay your ass out! What happened between Presley and me is between us. I just need to talk to her. Do you know where she is?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t fucking tell you. Prick.” He grunts, disappearing back inside and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

Standing there, staring at the battered wood, I mutter, “What the fuck is wrong with these people?” Then louder, “Guess that friendship’s dead and buried.”

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