Page 97 of The Love of My Next Life
“Have you seen Macon?”
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “Not since Thursday. He had the bachelor party with your dad an—”
“Have you talked to him since then?” I cut him off, and he shakes his head again, then waves for me to follow him.
He weaves to the back of the store and into a breakroom, then pulls his phone out of an ugly yellow locker. He clicks the screen, and his face falls.
“Two missed calls,” he mumbles as he dials and puts his phone to his ear. I can hear the automated message pick up immediately. I’m starting to hate that lady.I’m sorry.The person you are calling is MIA and probably avoiding you. You failed him. Please try again never.
She’s such a bitch.
Casper pushes call on a different contact and waits.
“Hey, Jules, you seen or heard from Macon today?” he says into the phone. I watch his face as his brow furrows. “Yeah, okay. Look, if you hear from him, can you call me? And have him call Lennon, okay? Yep. Later.”
He makes eye contact with me as he dials another number. From the guilt on his face, I know who he’s calling even before I hear the sickeningly sweet voice pick up on the other end. From the pause and the way his brows scrunch, I know it’s a voicemail.
“Sam, it’s Casper. I’m tryin’ to get up with Macon. You seen him? Gimme a call when you get this.”
He hangs up and then sends off a few text messages before looking at me.
“Jules hasn’t seen him, and Sam isn’t answering,” he says slowly.
He lets the silence fill in the blanks. He thinks Macon is with Sam. I can tell from the apology all over his face. Anger and jealousy riot inside me, but I grit my teeth against the desire to yell.
“Thanks, Casper,” I say, and turn to leave. “I’ll text when I find him.”
TWENTY-ONE
I parkat the curb of a three-story historic colonial surrounded by a wrought iron gate. I’ve never been here before, but everyone in town knows where Senator Harper and his perfect family live.
There’s a code at the gate, but I don’t know it, and there’s no way Sam would let me in if I hit the buzzer. I walk around the fence until I’m out of sight of the main road, and then I hike my dress up once more and climb. I get over it easily, considering I’m wearing a dress and Uggs. I stalk up to the front door and prepare myself for having to sweet-talk a butler or some other poor, mistreated house staff, but when I ring the bell, it’s Samantha Harper who opens the door.
Her swelling is gone, and the blueish bruising under her eyes is back to her perfect, prissy peach skin tone. You’d never know now that, just a few weeks ago, I broke her nose. The moment she sees it’s me, she tries to slam the door in my face, but I stick my foot out and push past her.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she screams at my back. “I’m calling the cops!”
“Where is he?” I ask as I plow through her house, walking through two living rooms, a formal dining room, and some sort of library before finding myself inside a kitchen. She’s trailing me, shouting threats as I go. I spin on her when every room on the first floor turns up empty. “Where is he, Sam?”
“He’s not here, you psycho!” she shouts. “Did you finally give it up and he ghosted? I warned you—”
I shove past her and run up the stairs, tuning out her shouting. I check two bedrooms, a study, a bathroom, and another bedroom, before she’s grabbing my arm and turning me around to face her. I swing on instinct, but she jumps back and throws her hands up.
“I said he wasn’t fucking here,” she screams, staring at me with wide, bewildered eyes. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m serious, Sam,” I say quickly. “I need to find Macon. Some stuff happened and he got into it with Claire and now he’s not answering his phone and I feel like something might be wrong, okay? I’m probably overreacting, but I just need to find him, so if you know where he is...”
Her face softens with concern as her eyes run over my face. She shakes her head.
“I haven’t heard from him in weeks,” she whispers, and the confession lifts me up briefly before dropping me right on my ass.
“Where is he?” I wonder out loud before looking back at Sam. “Do you have any idea where he could be? He was really upset. I’ve never seen him like that.”
I clamp my eyes shut against the memory of his hunched, guilt-stricken form.
“Chase...” Sam whispers, and I whip my attention back to her. “I think I know where he might be,” she says, her tone laced with worry. I nod once and push past her, heading back toward the door.
“C’mon,” I call behind me, “I’ll drive.”
