Page 29 of Someone Just Followed You

Dylan nods slowly. ‘You think we can find Ella?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘But wouldn’t it be wild to use social media to get to the truth, rather than to tell a bunch of lies?’

Chapter 35

Kirsten

My head hurts. Why does my head hurt? I try opening my eyes, but bright sunlight floods in, so I screw them closed again, roll onto my side, away from the window. My brain throbs. What the hell is wrong with me?

But slowly, it starts to make sense.

Garrett took the twins to his parents for a sleepover last night. He said they’d invited him, but I knew that was bullshit. He was just scared I’d make him fold like a pancake on the twins’ social media ban if he stuck around, which I totally would have done. I guess that’s why his absence was so frustrating. Frustrating enough for me to drive over to a liquor store and buy myself a bottle of wine, as it turned out. Maple and Dylan were hanging out downstairs, so I was forced to sit on my bed like a broke student. And somehow, drink the whole bottle.

And what the hell was Garrett thinking anyway, telling those two teenagers they didn’t need to do any filming when practically everyone on the internet was salivating for more content from them? When they got back from their little outing, hungry, because of course Maple still expects me to stock the fridge twenty-four-seven, they point-blank refused to do any filming. If Dylan wasn’t here, I’d have made Maple see sense, but it’s more delicate when there’s a guest in the house. Which meant I had to get all my footage covertly. I filmed just enough to keep the story alive I think, but they didn’t make it easy for me.

I spent the rest of the day getting the twins’ unboxing video filmed. It should have been a breeze – the airplane launchers are a great toy – but Aspen was still angry about missing out on camping, and Ash was tired and emotional. After a few aborted attempts, I called time-out and suggested we bake cookies instead (which of course I filmed and uploaded because fuck you, Garrett), and that put smiles on their faces, thank goodness. I think the sugar rush helped too, because the next attempt at the unboxing video went like a dream.

‘Daddy, where’s Mommy?’

As Ash’s voice floats up the stairs, I realize it must be late, the three of them back already, so I reach for my phone: 9.13 a.m. Damn, it is late. Especially in hardworking, God-fearing Utah. I push up to sitting and release a groan. Why do I think drinking is the answer when it so clearly isn’t? This is my mom’s fault for being a bad role model.

As I unlock my phone screen, I notice there’s a new message on Telegram. I hesitate. Did I message Blake from that modeling agency last night? Yes, maybe I did. My heart clicks up a gear as I try to remember what I said, how I worded it. I have the tendency to overshare after a couple of drinks.

With growing unease, I click into the app and see that the message is indeed from Blake. But instead of reading it, I scroll up to remind myself what I wrote. There are five photos of Maple. Two of them are from last week in Vegas, and the others are photos I’ve taken at home when she’s looked particularly gorgeous, the last one in that Abercrombie Kids bikini. Stunning.

Nothing to regret so far. I read the message I sent with the photos.

Hi Blake,

This is Kirsten, Maple Clark’s mom. It was so good to see your email – thank you so much! Yes, Maple is absolutely looking to further her modeling career, and your agency sounds perfect for her. I am including 5 photos of Maple, but I have thousands of others, of course, so please just ask if you’d like to see more. What are the next steps? Would it make sense for you to meet Maple in person? I really think you’ll fall in love with her if you do!

I grimace a little at my last sentence; maybe ‘fall in love’ sounds a bit desperate. But then again, isn’t that how everyone in the fashion industry talks? No, this is just my hangxiety. I shake the worry away and scroll down to Blake’s response.

Hi Kirsten,

Thanks for the photos. These are perfect, although feel free to send more anytime. I think it would make sense for me to meet Maple. Thank you for offering that. I just need to figure out how best to arrange it. I’ll be in touch again soon.

Perfect. She thinks the photos are perfect! I throw back the duvet. Dylan is leaving this morning, and I’m impatient to have Maple all to myself again. Having him here has been amazing for Maple’s profile, but she has become even more classic teenager since he arrived, and I’m feeling a loosening of control that I’m not really enjoying. So it’s time he left. Especially now I’ve had this good news from Blake.

Chapter 36

Him

He can barely climb into his truck, he’s so tired. But he’s got a new job starting today, and he can’t afford to be late. He hoists himself in, then leans back against the grimy headrest to catch his breath. As his heavy eyelids droop, he sees the images again, and despite how he’s feeling, they make him smile.

Because they’re the reason he stayed up most of the night staring at his laptop. The five photos that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from. He enjoyed zooming in on the bits he wanted to see more of, stroking her young, fresh features through the screen. Yes, it had made him yearn for things beyond his grasp, and that had brought a certain amount of frustration. But it was worth it.

She is worth it.

He drops the old Ford into gear and pulls out of the trailer park and onto the I-11 highway. His life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. He had dreams once. Ha! Imagine that. A fuck-up like him believing he could make something of himself in Vegas. He’d known within a year that it wasn’t going to happen, but he’d kept pretending for another ten or so. Drugs are good like that, making you think that anything’s possible when evidence to the contrary is staring you in the fucking eye.

He’s done with that now though. Moved on. He knows who he is, what he’s capable of, and what he isn’t. He’s got weaknesses, yeah, but there are worse men than him out there. So if everyone just leaves him alone, doesn’t question why he goes straight home after work every night, except that one night a week when he feeds a habit too good to break, then life will be fine. Not perfect, but fine.

Except now he knows it could be more than fine.

He grips the steering wheel, fights the urge to press hard on the accelerator.

Jesus, he wants access to her, real physical access.