Page 58 of My End
Not Boone’s.
Jake’s. Or I guess it was Stretch now.
I locked the door, curled up on the edge of his bed, and stared at the phone until the screen went dark.
I was going to sit right there and wait.
Because no matter what came next, I wasn’t letting him face it alone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stretch
We were about a mile out from the Gas Mart when Adam’s phone rang.
I was behind the wheel, whistling something that didn’t match the tension crawling up my spine. Something was off. Had been off. And whatever was coming, I didn’t like the taste of it.
Adam answered with a casual, “Yeah.”
Then silence. Just him listening.
My gaze shifted from the road to Adam’s. He leaned forward, elbow braced on the console, a little too still.
“Uh huh,” he muttered. “Right.”
Another long pause.
“Got it.”
He hung up.
I didn’t say anything. Just kept driving. “All good?” I asked finally, keeping my tone flat.
Adam glanced at me and then back at the windshield. “No.”
My stomach dropped.
Adam pulled out his phone again and tapped quickly, pressing it to his ear. He didn’t say a word the second time. Just listened, nodded, and hung up again.
We pulled into the Gas Mart. Adam didn’t move.
I got out and started pumping gas.
My mind was racing. Adam hadn’t acted any differently since we left that morning. The errands had been the usual, food, wine, smokes for Kevin, and a load of other bullshit, but something was definitely changing. I could feel it pressing against my ribs like a loaded gun.
I climbed back into the SUV and slammed the door.
Adam slipped his phone back into his pocket.
I didn’t start the engine.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?” I demanded. “You’re the fucking chef, and it seems like you know a hell of a lot more about what’s going on than I do.”
Adam chuckled under his breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “That is exactly what I’ve wanted everyone to think. Just the chef who likes to cook and talk.” He reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled a handgun.
My eyes widened. “Jesus.”
