Page 10 of Until You Found Me

Did her husband assume her dead after a blow that hit too hard and bury her in a desperate attempt to cover his tracks? Or did he plan to end her life on purpose? She was afraid of whoever put that ring on her finger, even if she can’t call up his name or his face. Her gut instinct survived where her memory failed. Logan wants to find that asshole and shove him underground alive like he did to his wife. Give him a taste of his own cruelty. Something tells him that fucker wouldn’t last a second before he pissed himself and gave up.

He’s imagining all the ways he could make a stranger’s life utter hell as he drives to the clinic, intending to stop in for today’s visit before dropping off the supplies. Every time he blinks, he sees her vacant stare on the road again until his knuckles are white on the steering wheel and he has to sit for five minutes in the parking lot to calm the hell down before going in.

She doesn’t need to see him like this. It isn’t her job to worry or fuss about why he’s upset. He only wants her to smile when he shows up with those promised bags of chips.

He agonizes at the vending machine after finally going inside, ultimately deciding to get every available option and a chocolate bar.

“Wasn’t sure what to get, so got one of each.” He walks into her room holding up his offerings only to be met with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She musters up the smallest smile at seeing him again. “It’s been a hard morning. I’m glad you’re here.”

No one’s ever glad he’s anywhere. No one’s ever happy to see him and that makes butterflies shiver in his chest. He drops the chips on the side table and sits across from her in the chair, waiting patiently until she starts talking.

It comes out fast like she’d been holding it in all morning until she had him as a captive audience. “They found the place where he…where I crawled out of. The nurse told me and then she said I can’t stay here. Because I’m still a Jane Doe the state won’t pay for it unless it’s medically necessary. I’m well enough that it’s not.”

“What the hell does that mean? Where are they sending you?”

“To a women’s shelter. That’s what she said. I have to leave tonight and I know it sounds crazy, but I was starting to feel okay here and I don’t wanna go yet.”

“The shelter up on Morris Street?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. You know it?”

He knows that place and wishes he didn’t. His mother only tried to leave his father once, and they ended up there. The roaches were bigger, and the crying was constant. Anything was better than watching her get beat up, but they still went from the frying pan into the fire.

It’s been years. Maybe it’s changed by now into something better.

“Spent a few nights there when I was a kid with my mother and sister, but it’s been a long time. Decades. I bet it’s different now. It’s some bullshit that they’re kicking you out of here already.”

She pauses at his comment, her face softening with sympathy he doesn’t want, and that’s when he expects the influx of questions about his childhood. Thankfully, she takes mercy on him and doesn’t push for now. He’s grateful for that when going into detail would feel too much like flaying himself open for her to see all the damaged parts and that’s not something anyone wants. He’s already learned that the hard way.

“Who’s taking you?” he continues, steering the conversation away from himself.

“No one. There’s a bus stop up the road.”

“Nah, I’m taking you.”

“You don’t have to. I can ride the bus. I’m an adult, right?” She gives him a sad smile that cracks his heart in half.

Come stay with me, is what he wants to say, despite it being completely illogical and far too forward. Just the other day he was telling himself that she’s not his problem.

“I know I don’t have to, but I’m still gonna.” Is what he says instead.

He’ll be having a talk with Audrey in a minute too, that’s for damn sure. Right now, all he wants is to offer Tessa the smallest bit of happiness or amusement. So he grabs the chips and puts them on her blanket-covered lap.

“Taste test time,” he teases. “Unless you’re not hungry.”

“I’m hungry. I ate two waffles today, but it wasn’t enough.” She tears into all three bags, reaching into the plain ones first. “Yes.” Followed by the barbecue. “Mmm, yes. Absolutely.” And finally, the salt and vinegar. “No, that’s disgusting.”

The wrinkle of her nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and he huffs out a muted half-laugh, snagging the bag she won’t eat. “Good, ‘cause those are my favorite. Now we won’t fight over chips.”

“You eat those willingly?”

“By the truckload.”

“Your poor tastebuds are screaming for mercy right now. Oh! I remembered something this morning.”

He leans forward. “What?”

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