Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(72)

It rings once.

Shit! He’s answering it.

I can’t breathe.

It’s not him. It’s a recording saying the number is no longer in service. I don’t understand. I call him again, dialing the number with the area code.

Again, the same recording.

Next I call Sherri.

“Hey, Swayze.”

“Hi, Sherri.”

“How are you doing? The girls sure had fun getting manicures and pedicures with you and your mom.”

“Yeah, um … me too. Hey, I was just seeing if you knew anything about Griffin’s phone. I tried texting him and calling him, and it says the number is no longer in service.”

My legs bounce off the side of the bed, filled with out-of-control nerves. She doesn’t respond.

“Sherri?”

“Yeah, Swayze. Listen, sweetie …”

Nothing good ever comes after the words “listen sweetie.” My legs still so all my body’s focus goes to listening.

“He has a new number.”

“So it has his new area code instead of this one?”

Another awkward silence.

“Sherri, what’s going on?”

“Do you need to get a message to him? I could relay it.”

“I’ll do it if you give me his new number.”

“I’m sorry. He asked me not to do that. I’m really really sorry, sweetie.”

Wow …

I feel like the loner sitting at the lunchroom table all by myself, catching the occasional “sorry sweetie” glances and hand-fisted-over-the-mouth snickers.

So this is a clean break?

Wow …

“Tell him …” I shake my head. If he were truly worried about me and my safety, he wouldn’t have cut all ties. Not with me living by myself, knowing Doug has been taunting me since Erica died—since he murdered her. “Never mind. There’s no message.”

“Swayze—”

“I have to get ready for work. I’ll see you later.” I end the call.

No tears. I’m done being sad. I’m pissed off. Hurt. But seriously pissed off, whether I really have any right to be or not.

We didn’t end badly. We ended with a long night tangled in each other’s bodies.

And then … nothing.

He left. I let him. But I didn’t think he would do this.

This doesn’t feel like love or even self-preservation. This just feels cruel.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR





I stop. I just … stop.

For the next month I function in robotic mode.

No psychiatrists.

No mention of Griffin to my mom or anyone else.

No prolonged contact with the Calloways.

When Scott comes over to clear the drive, I give him a polite wave and set a cup of coffee on the workbench in the garage for him. When Sherri calls to see if I want to come to dinner or have lunch on the weekends, I always find an excuse.

Nate doesn’t ask me about anything.

Not Doug.

Not Dr. Albright.

Not the hypnosis.

Nothing.

In fact, he doesn’t say much at all. He’s become the employer I needed him to be months ago.

Polite.

Grateful.

Friendly.

Professional.

A month without mentioning Daisy.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten her or the parts to that life that reside in my mind. Something happened to me that day. And I’m not sure if it was Doug’s death or the total loss of connection to Griffin.

I guess I’m still trying to figure out how I got to this place in my life. Or maybe I’m trying to figure out exactly what place this is.

My mom is the only person who knows about Doug. She needed to know that her daughter was safe. Then I needed her to promise to never mention his name to me or anyone again.

“Look at you go, pumpkin.” Nate grins as he walks in the house and sees Morgan standing up to the sofa, hips gyrating to keep her balance. Her grin is the brightest light I have ever seen.

Hands down she is the best thing in my life at the moment. I want her to be smart, but not too smart. Popular but kind. And I want her to meet a boy just like her daddy used to be, but I don’t want some sick bastard killing her before she can truly live life.

Just random thoughts. Wishes upon stars. Prayers to an unknown god.

When Nate comes over to pick her up, she lunges for me. ME. I shouldn’t gloat, but I need this. I need something.

“Who does Morgan love?” I hug her, smirking at Nate. “Swayze. That’s who.”

He takes her from me, shooting me an evil glare that doesn’t totally hide his smile. “You’re fired.”

I laugh. “I have her five days. You have her two and maybe one to two waking hours in the evenings. What do you expect? Of course she thinks I’m awesome.”

“She got wobbly and fell in your direction, and you read awesome out of that?”

“Don’t be petty about it. You think I’m awesome too.”

“Whoa … your hungry ego has a voracious appetite today.”

“I’ll bet you three hundred dollars I can get you to say I’m awesome.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Now we’re betting on your awesomeness or lack thereof? And not the typical hundred-dollar bet, but the interesting amount of three hundred dollars?”