Page 108 of If Love Had A Manual

By the time I catch up, she’s in Rosie’s room, swapping my T-shirt for the extra clothes she keeps here. It’s methodical, and my gut tightens at how practiced she is at rushing out the door like this.

“Lena,” I say carefully, as she shoves her feet into her trainers. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s my sister.” She exhales, tying the laces so tight, her knuckles turn white. “She’s missing. I need to go.”

“Missing? Where?”

What a stupid fucking question.

“Never mind. I’ll take you.”

She shakes her head, already halfway past me. “Rosie’s going to need a nap soon. You should stay.”

The fuck I should.

I reach for her wrist before she can make it down the stairs. “Lena?”

She stops.

“I know you’re in a hurry but get your ass back here.”

To my relief, she obeys.

I cup her face, tipping her chin up as I press a quick kiss to her lips. “You need to calm down.”

Her hands fist my shirt so I pry them away, loosening her fingers and massaging them. “You’re shaking. I thought you knew where she was.”

“I do. I think. I just haven’t spoken to my father in a while.”

My jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised I don’t cracka tooth.

“Christ,” I breathe out. “Did he ever—”

“Hurt me?” she finishes, her gaze flickering down. “With his words, yes. But not physically. He was always a gentle giant in that way.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better.

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let go completely because she’s in no state to drive.

“Rosie can nap in the car,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“Wes, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t argue with me, baby. Get your ass in the car.”

With a fractured exhale, she nods once and grabs her bag.

I lift Rosie from her playpen and tuck her against my hip as I breathe a silent vow:We’ll fix this, Lena. Then we’ll figure out the rest.

Forty

Lena

The drive to the assisted living facility is quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy on my skin. My mind is already in overdrive, replaying every time Tess has run away, every fight, every misunderstanding, and I hate it.

Wes grips the wheel with one hand, his knuckles faintly white, but he doesn’t press me for details. Not yet. I’m grateful for that because I don’t have the bandwidth to explain everything while my head is busy spiraling with worry.

He pulls up outside the building, and as soon as he shifts into park, I catch the flicker of uncertainty in hisexpression. “You think she’s here?”

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