Chapter 24: Addy

Addy was sore. Not in a bad way, though. She was sore in a very, very good way. For the first night in a long time, her sleep had not been restless. She hadn’t tossed and turned or had nightmares. She hadn’t even thought of Ryan. She had laid sound asleep, instead, warm in Jay’s arms, a feeling in her gut so new, so exciting—so unlike anything she had ever felt with Ryan.
But had that been love? No, she didn’t think so. Not anymore. Was this love? Probably not. They had only known each other for days. But lusting after Jay was so different from loving Ryan. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake—like seeing a celebrity on TV and knowing you could never have them, but wanting them, anyway. It was a feeling of not knowing how she had lived without him for all those years.
The sound of a slamming door woke her in the dark. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she stared up at the ceiling for a moment, tangled in blankets and sheets. A moment of confusion overtook her, and she strained to see something—anything—in the dark. She saw only tiny dots of light in her vision. She wasn’t warm anymore. She was rather cold.
Something was wrong.
“Jay?” Addy sat up abruptly, feeling a moment of panic flutter in her chest. The clock on the nightstand read 5:43 AM. She leaned over, feeling around in the dark for reassurance. Her hand grasped a coat of short, mangy, non-human hair. The dog. She leaned over and clicked on the lamp, dread filling the pit of her stomach. Looking over, she saw Vegas curled up next to her, now filling the spot Jay had been only hours ago. His tail thumped against the bed as she stared, but he didn’t bother getting up. The rest of the room was empty and quiet. Too quiet. Addy swung her legs over the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom, hoping—praying—that she was wrong. She pulled it open and peered in, sick with a feeling of emptiness. The bathroom was dark. There was nowhere else to go.
Jay was gone.
Addy closed her eyes, feeling nauseous as she closed the door and retreated to the bed. On the nightstand, lit up by the alarm clock, was her cell phone. Under that, a hand-scribbled note. She scooted the phone aside, her fingers trembling as she picked up the piece of the paper and read it.
There was no other way.
Your credit card is in the pocket of your jeans.
Rent a car and go home, be safe. Take care of the dog.
Break up with that piece of shit.
I’m sorry for everything.
Jay

She put a hand over her mouth, fighting back the tears. Why was she crying? Wasn’t this what she wanted—to be free of him? It seemed like only hours ago that she had wished death on him. This deranged, psychopath who had put a gun on her and forced her away from home, away from her family, away from her life?
Addy tossed the note aside and picked up her phone, pushing the power button to wake it up. On the main screen, thirty-two missed calls, eighteen voicemails, and fifty-four text messages bombarded her. Without checking them, she set the phone back down and took a steadying breath, fighting the pain that pressed at her lungs. Had she loved him? No. Fine, she loved Ryan. She was marrying Ryan. Lust and love were different. Maybe she loved Ryan and just didn’t know it yet. What was this to her? What had this fiasco with Jay turned into? A story.
Yes, a story to tell the grandkids.
Addy turned the phone off without checking any of the notifications. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not yet. She couldn’t handle the guilt—the shame.
Addy slipped it into her pocket instead and double-checked the Levi’s holding her credit card. Then she picked up the local phone book and skimmed through it, searching for the car rental company. With a steady hand, she dialed the number from the landline and reserved a car, all the while fighting to keep her voice steady. The nice woman on the other line even offered to send someone to pick her up at the hotel. She replaced the receiver and stood up, gathering what little belongings she had with her. On the dresser, soaking in a beer bottle full of water, were the roses, the ones Jay had bought her the night she’d realized what he meant to her, the night they’d spent in Mesquite. She touched a red petal gently, observing the brown beginning to form on the delicate leaf. She picked up the bouquet, gave them one last smell, and tossed them into the closest trash can.
“So long,” she said. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

The Nevada skies were beautiful. He could give the shitty state that much credit. Miles and miles of city streets and tourists lay out in front of him, but the image of the sun coming up over the horizon was mesmerizing. If he could wake up to a sky like that every day, he’d be a happy, happy man—well, almost. He wasn’t sure if a beautiful sky could replace the woman he’d left lying back on the bed. Nothing was as beautiful as her, not even this.
Jay leaned down to click on the radio for some background noise, hoping to drown out the sound of Addy’s voice in his head. Yes, he was an asshole. He was a prick. He was a bad person. He’d left her lying there, sleeping like an angel, her complexion washed by the moonlight that had been coming in through the window. He’d left her there, abandoned her after everything he’d put her through. He was no better than her fiancé, the one she spoke of so bitterly, the one who had played her all those years, forced her to feel like shit. She’d tried to hide it, of course, but he’d seen right past it. Addy was unusual, guarded. She was so, so guarded. And yet, he could still see straight into her soul. And she could see into his. Nobody had ever done that—nobody had ever made him feel that way Addy had made him feel in the moments he’d been around her.
That had been the scariest part of all. Never in Jay’s life had someone read him as she had. Never had someone pointed out his flaws or challenged him as she did. He was a flawed human —he had his difficulties and good days and bad days—but man, she had made that clear to him. She had told him what she thought of him, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Jay ran a hand through his dark hair, making a mental note to chop it when this was over. Over. Was it going to be that simple? Was his intention to waltz straight up to Laurel and say, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m the son of the man you killed. I’m the one you blamed it on, remember? So, let’s be fair—wanna tell the cops everything?”
Yeah. That would blow over.
Jesus, how had he gotten himself into this? And beyond that, how had he even gotten this far? He was sitting in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard with a hostage back in the bed, and he was still home free. A part of him wasn’t even prepared for this. He’d planned on being caught and hauled away halfway to Nevada, where he would have then begged and pleaded and tried to convince them he wasn’t guilty. Now, here he was, in the city still driving a stolen car and still thinking about the woman who had turned his life upside down.
Why was it that life never seemed to go as planned?

Addy stared at the road in front of her, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the wheel of the rented Pontiac. Trust Ryan to come out the hero in the end. It had been he who had convinced her to put ten percent of every paycheck into savings. Thanks to him, she’d had the money to rent this fancy red car and go home. Even after the car, she’d still have enough left in her savings to get a room for the night—even two. And a fancy dinner. Yes, a fancy dinner. She wouldn’t miss fast food and diners, that was certain.
The cell phone on the dash was a black screen of nothingness. She couldn’t bring herself to turn it back on, couldn’t face that most of those texts and missed calls and voicemails would be from the one person whom she was supposed to care most about in the world. She couldn’t bring herself to look at those messages, in fear she would feel nothing for them—for him. She thought of her fiancé, envisioned his handsome face and charming smile. She imagined his strong arms around her, holding her, his laugh—such a good laugh. A comfortable laugh.
And that’s where it ended. Comfortable. A comfortable laugh, a comfortable hug, even a comfortable kiss.
A familiar relationship because comfortable was giving Ryan too much credit. It had not been comfortable with Jay. It had been terrifying. Demanding. Overwhelming. Compelling. When Jay had touched her, her skin had burned with tension. When he’d kissed her, her lips had tingled, and her body craved more. During the time spent together, it had become clear to her then that some people bring out the worst in you, and others bring out the best—and then there are those remarkably rare, addictive ones who just bring out the most. They make you feel so alive that you’d follow them straight into hell, just to keep getting your fix. That’s who Jay was to her. He was her drug. He was her addiction.
Could she let him go now? Just let him leave, unsure if she would ever see his face again? What would he do? Would he find Laurel? Get his confession? Would the police get him first? This woman, this murderer, was she—dangerous? Would he get hurt—or worse—killed? Was he innocent? Yes, she believed he was. She believed that he was innocent. But would he make it out of this? And if he did, what would happen to him then? The idea of never seeing his face again, never feeling his skin against hers, made her dizzy with dread. She was walking away from all of it. Hasta la vista, baby. Catch ya on the flip side.
See you fucking later.
“Stop judging me,” Addy said. She looked over at the passenger’s seat, at Vegas, who was staring her down with those sappy brown eyes. His tail thumped against the seat, and he whined at her. “He left me. You got the short end of the stick, dude. I don’t do dogs.”
Vegas whined again and lay down on the seat, resting his head on his paws. She rested one hand on his head, thinking of the night Jay had found him in the bushes. That was the night they had grown closer, becoming something more to each other than two perfect strangers. That was the night she had fallen for the stranger in the rain.
Cursing herself, Addy leaned down to turn the radio on, hoping the music would avert her attention elsewhere, off Jay—away from his beautiful face and his charming smile and his cute laugh. Away from the way she felt when she was around him, both physically and emotionally.
“But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more…”
Addy didn’t know how far outside of Las Vegas she was. Everything looked the same to her here, but she spotted what looked like an abandoned telephone booth on the side of the freeway off in a graveled lot. She cranked the wheel to the side and stepped on the break to pull off, shading her eyes from the sun that pounded in on her, her skin lighting up with heat as she pressed the receiver to her ear, listening to it ring.
“Seattle Police Department, how can I direct your call?” The woman’s voice sounded congested as if she had a bad cold. Addy caught the receiver between her ear and shoulder and turned to peer out the window of the phone booth, admiring the way the light from the sun made the fiberglass shimmer. From the car, Vegas was watching her intently, as if terrified he would be abandoned again—just as she had been.
“Hi,” Addy said, turning away. “I’m not sure who to talk to, but I’m an old friend of Laurel Dexter’s.” She paused, resisting the urge to throw up all over the booth. “I lost contact with Laurel a few years back and am trying to get a hold of her. I heard about the accident with her husband Malcolm and her sweet step-daughter Ashley—I was hoping I could get some contact information for Laurel.” There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and Addy felt her stomach churn.
“Are you a family member of Mrs. Dexter?”
“No. Not family. We went to school together,” Addy caught her breath, wondering how convincing she sounded. “I know she must be going through a tough time, and I wanted to offer my comfort and condolences personally. I hope you understand.” She slapped a hand over her forehead as the woman on the line sighed, feeling like a complete and total idiot.
“Do you have information pertaining to the case?”
“No, no I don’t.” She cleared her throat, tempted to hang up the phone so she would stop humiliating herself. “I did hear though—about the son. What a tragedy..” She rested her head against the cool pane of the fiberglass window, closing her eyes. Thinking about him made her body heat up, and she felt as though she was on fire. “Listen, if you don’t have any information, that’s fine, I just—”
“I can’t give out her whereabouts, ma’am, but I do have a contact number that may help you,” the woman said. “Will that work?”
Smiling, Addy pulled the folded piece of paper from her back pocket, the paper that Jay had left her with his abrupt goodbye scribbled on it. She unfolded it, grabbed a stray pen, and flipped it to the blank side.
“That would be fantastic, thank you.”