It's been five years since the sudden disappearance of Cora Cadigan's mother. Five years since the case was closed before it even began.
In the final summer before the end of high school, Cora knows it's her last opportunity to find the answers she...
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"What is he doing here?"
Even behind the glazed sliding glass doors, I can see that it's him. He's leaning casually against the passenger side door of Rovey, face turned out towards the distance. I'm able to get a good angle of his jaw from here and I would keep staring if it wasn't for the fact that someone clears their throat from behind me. I mutter an apology, exiting the hospital.
Dad had fallen asleep minutes ago. It had felt like the right time to leave him for the day. I wasn't sure how many more visits I'd get until he went to rehab but I just needed to be thankful that he was here. When he went away, I wouldn't get to see him more than once every month for supervised visits. I'd be okay with that eventually, as long as he was seeking help.
My eyebrows furrow as I stride towards Rhys, apprehensively. He doesn't notice me until I'm standing right in front of him, hands crossed over my chest. His eyes follow down my body and I remember his comment about how he felt when I wore my denim shorts. I pray that I'm not blushing.
"How did you even know I was here?"
We hadn't spoken since the latest incident on the beach. I'd been ignoring all his calls and texts, unsure about what I wanted to say to him.
"Teagan asked me to pick you up. Her parents were busy."
Teagan asked Rhys? Maybe she really was coming around. Something about that terrified me even more.
"I could have gotten the bus," I involuntary snap. His jaw ticks, green eyes focusing on me.
"I'm not even going to respond to that," he grits, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts.
I was on edge, tense from my long talk with dad. I had learnt so much in such a short time frame that I felt physically drained. I wasn't sure how to cope with it all just yet and Rhys was about to get stuck in the crossfire, my mood at the lowest peak possible.
I stare down at my hands, focusing on the lines etched into my palms. "I'm not really in the best headspace right now. Dad—"
"I know," he whispers, placing a hand under my chin. "Are you okay?"
