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“Nat, hey,” Jack’s voice comes through, sounding upbeat with an undercurrent of something that I can’t quite place. “I wanted to ask you—did you say something to Julian today?”
I pause, a spoon halfway to the pot.
“We talked a few times,” I reply, stirring the soup absentmindedly. “Why, did something happen?”
Jack chuckles softly, and I can almost picture the relieved smile on his face. “Well, he called me out of the blue. Said he wants to grab coffee next week to talk things over. He seemed... I don’t know, different. Open. Happy. What did you say to him?”
“Not much, really.” It's not a total lie. In all honestly, we spent more time doing something else than we did talking. “I just encouraged him to give fixing things between you guys another shot. I hope that's okay.”
“Of course it's okay. I'm really grateful, Nat,” Jack assures me.
A warm glow spreads through me at Jack’s words, a sense of satisfaction at having played even a small part in potentially mending a fractured friendship. “Well, that’s great to hear. But I didn’t do much, honestly. Julian’s been doing a lot of thinking, I guess. I'm glad that he reached out to you.”
“Yeah, me too,” Jack agrees, his tone contemplative. “I’ve missed him, you know? After everything that went down, I thought that was it. But maybe there’s a chance we could be friends again. If it all goes well.”
“I’m sure it will,” I say, encouragingly. “You both want to make things right, and that’s the most important step. Just be there for each other, talk things out. You’ll find your way back.”
“Thanks, Nat,” Jack says, and I can hear the genuine appreciation in his voice. “I hope you’re right. And hey, how about you? How are you doing with all... this?”
I laugh softly, the many emotions of the day forming into the only response my brain can process at the moment. “I’m getting there. It’s a process, you know? Tonight felt like a step in the right direction. For all of us, I think.”
CHAPTER 17
JULIAN
The tranquility of an early Sunday morning shatters with the abrupt vibration of my phone on the nightstand.
Glancing at the screen, I see Natalie’s name flash across it. Something in my gut tightens—an instinctual reaction to receiving calls at such an unGodly hour. I swipe to answer, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Julian,” Natalie’s voice comes through, edged with panic. Her words tumble out, disjointed and rushed, painting a picture of chaos that snaps me to full alertness despite the early hour.
“Natalie, slow down, please. I can’t understand,” I interject, sitting up in bed, my mind racing to catch up with the urgency in her tone.
Taking a deep breath, she tries again, her words slightly more coherent but no less frantic. “Someone has destroyed your scaffolding again,” she manages to say, the frustration and fear evident in her voice.
The news hits like a punch to the gut. Not again. Why can't whoever is doing this just leave us the hell alone?
“I’ll be right there,” I say quickly, throwing off the covers and starting to gather my clothes. “Have you called the police?”
She scoffs, and there’s a bitterness in her laugh that speaks volumes of her dwindling faith in the local authorities. “They’ve been useless so far,” she retorts sharply. “No leads, no help, just empty assurances.”
“Okay, okay, I understand,” I respond, trying to keep my voice even, to inject some calm into the situation. Maybe once I arrive and calm her down, I can change her mind. “Stay there, and don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Julian, wait,” Nat says before I can hang up. “There's something else.” I freeze, halfway through zipping up my jeans. “They left a message... for you.”
My blood runs cold. “I'll be right there.”
I end the call and hurry to finish dressing, my mind reeling with the implications. The repeated attacks on the Langford have suddenly become more than just vandalism—this is personal.
The possibilities of what this means fill me with dread. Who would target the site again, and why? Who would harbor such animosity against me or the project to warrant this barrage of attacks?
It's way too early to call the sitter, so poor Aria is going to have to come with me to the site. I try to wake her up as gently as I can, walking the delicate balance between conveying the urgency of the situation and trying not to scare her. But Aria's always been a good girl, and she dresses quickly, more excited than anything to be joining Daddy at work today.
I buckle Aria into her car seat, a banana in one of her hands and a granola bar in the other. She looks up at me with those big, intuitive eyes of hers, studying my face for a moment. “It was the bad guys again, wasn't it, Daddy?”
Smoothing the hair back from her forehead, I answer simply and honestly. “Probably, kiddo.”
“Are we going to go catch them?” Her little face lights up with excitement that, while adorable, also reminds me that this situation could be dangerous. I wish I had somewhere else for her to go this morning, but if she's with me, at least I'll be able to keep her in my sight.
