Page 52 of Ablaze

DEAN

I stare at my phone, at the two unanswered riddles I’ve sent over the course of two days. They’ve been read but not answered. Where the fuck is she?

I turn my head to look out the side window of my truck, still parked in my driveway, before scanning the clock on my dash. Eleven-twenty-one AM. If I swing by the bakery, I can still make it in time to meet Jessie. She’s been wanting to have a picnic at the park near Heavenly for the past couple of weeks, so I told her I’d be game for it today since it’s my day off.

We still don’t live together–not for the lack of her insisting, though. After the way things ended with Nora, and the several times Jessie and I have broken up over the past couple of years, I’m just not ready to have her in my space all the time.

I like where we are now–together but not always together. I have my independence and space, and so does she. Moving in together would change all of that. Plus, the woman already wants all my free time. I’m just not ready to give her all my space, too.

Fuck it. I need to check on Mala. I don’t know why, but my gut doesn’t feel right. She’s never left a message from me unanswered after having read it. Never. I even called her last night on my way home from work, but she sent me to voicemail after one ring.

Something isn’t right. I can feel it inside my ribs as sure as the air I’m breathing.

But I saw Rohan yesterday at work, and he didn’t say anything. I know he’s been adjusting to having a baby, and now busy with getting ready for his and Samantha’s wedding, but surely if something was wrong with Mala, he’d know. He’d tell me.

Making my decision, I reverse the truck out of my driveway.

Twelve minutes later, I’m parking outside Doggy Bag Café before running up the steps to the front door. The familiar chime on the door rings, announcing my welcome and getting a couple of yips from the dogs eagerly waiting with their owners in line for their mid-morning snacks.

I scan the indoor space for Mala, but don’t see her anywhere.

“She’s in the back,” Betty hollers over to me, noting me lingering near the front door. She hands over the next customer to Blake, the new barista Mala hired after Jessie had quit. She rushes over to me, her silvery white curls bouncing over her shoulder. “Dean . . . can I speak to you for a moment?” She tilts her head toward the opposite corner, a crease forming between her brows. “Privately.”

“Sure.” I shuffle behind her, my stomach tightening with each step.

Betty takes a deep breath before regarding the doors to the kitchen in the back, and I wait on labored breaths. “I . . . Well, it’s really none of my business, Dean, but I thought I ought to tell someone, and I haven’t seen Rohan in a couple of days.”

My brows pull together. “What is it? Is it something to do with Mala?”

She nods, her eyes glistening under her glasses. “I can’t be sure but, um . . . I think something happened between her and Warren. I think she’s slept at the bakery the past two nights.”

I stare at Betty, not able to grasp her words completely. A snake-like feeling crawls up my spine and my hands fist at my sides. “She slept here?”

Betty purses her lips, blinking back tears. “I’ve never seen her so . . . sullen. She’s such a fun-loving girl, always sharp and witty. It’s like . . . like the light inside her–her whole personality–is dimmed. I’ve asked her if everything is alright, but she won’t talk to–”

I’m walking toward the back kitchen where Mala is before Betty even finishes her sentence.

My hands connect with the double doors, and I find Mala on the other side of the island with her back to me. She turns to see who’s entered before her teary eyes widen and she quickly turns back to wipe her face.

I’m in front of her in a flash, even though she’s trying to dodge me by turning this way and that. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?” I grit out.

My hands grasp her shoulders and Mala winces audibly.

It’s as if I’ve been burned. I let her go, knowing inside my gut, inside every fiber of my being, that that bastard did something he’ll pay for, even if it means I’ll go to jail for the rest of my life because of it.

“Go away, Dean,” she whispers, closing her eyes and turning her head to the side. Her wet lashes flutter under her lids. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

I close the gap between us, locking her in place with my arms around her, grasping the edge of the island. “Look at me, sprinkles.” I try to ease the sheer fury wrapping around my words.

I wait for her to open her eyes and when she does, I make sure she sees exactly who she’s talking to. It’s nothing I need to worry about? Is she fucking kidding me? She must be, because if she only knew . . .

“I don’t give a single fuck if you broke up with that asshole. I don’t give a single fuck if you spend two years or ten with him. I’m fucking raging because you spent the night here instead of calling me. I’ll even put that aside for now. But–” I place two fingers under her chin, turning her head to me since she stopped looking at me again. “But if that motherfucker laid one hand on you–”

She shakes her head almost violently. “No. Dean, I . . . I’m fine. Okay?” Her eyes shift and I know–I fucking know–she’s lying.

Why the fuck is she lying? And on behalf of whom? That douchebag motherfucker with his overpriced car and his stupid-ass grin? The grin he makes sure to flash at me when he knows she isn’t watching? That grin that fucking gloats, “I have what you want, and I’ll never let it go.”

She’s trying to cover for that motherfucker?

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