AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Making my way toward my car, I pull out my phone and call my mom. She answers on the second ring. “Hello!”
I can't help but smile at the exuberance in her voice. She sounds like she's doing incredibly well. “How are you doing, Mom?” I ask.
“I'm doing really well. Thank you for calling.”
“Is dad back yet, or has he called you or reached out?” I can't help but be worried as I say the words.
“No, sweetie. I'm sure he'll call me when he's ready. He's been on much longer business trips before.” The way she brushes it all off makes me sick to my stomach. Why is she covering for him? And what if something actually is wrong?
“Okay, let me know if you need anything, Mom. I love you,” I say, before hurrying off the phone. With my heart slamming in my chest, I scroll through my contacts trying to figure out what to do next. I see Michael's name and feel a flutter in my chest. He's been such a good friend, supportive, understanding, patient. He's been there for me, even when I felt like no one else was.
Of course, he's also been more than a friend. My cheeks heat up as I think about our kisses and the time we’ve spent together. We've grown closer than I ever expected.
But we haven't defined our relationship yet. We haven't put any labels on anything or made it official, except when we tell people we have a boyfriend or a girlfriend to get them to leave us alone, which is more convenience than anything. Maybe it's time. Maybe I should tell Michael how I feel about him.
Instead, I scroll right past his name and try to call my dad again, hoping that he'll pick up.
He doesn't, and the call goes to his voicemail, which is now full.
Sitting in my car, I end the call and drop my head back against the headrest. “Ugh, Dad, where are you? Why won’t you pick up?” Obviously, he's not going to answer me, but that doesn't make me feel any less annoyed or frustrated.
So I scroll back to Michael's number and tap the call button. When he doesn't answer on the first ring, I'm surprised. By the fourth ring, I'm worried. But maybe he's just busy. I can't help wondering what he's doing and what he's up to.
Still, the knot in my stomach over my dad not answering continues to grow. There's a lump in my throat that makes it hard to breathe and my lungs ache with every breath. We were never close, but he never just ignored my phone calls for extended periods of time. Being able to call him and talk was one of the few things he was actually good at. Of course, we would only talk about business and other safe topics.
Since his mailbox is full, I send him another text, even though I can hear his voice in my head saying, you know, I don't do all that crap.
Hey, where are you? Call me when you can.
I know better than to wait for a reply. Instead, I look up the non-emergency line for the local police with trembling fingers. Taking a deep breath, I dial the number. When someone answers on the other end of the line, I say yes, I'd like to report my father missing.
When I finally get off the phone, I decide to try to call Michael again. I need him more than ever, his voice, his touch, his comfort. But again, he doesn't answer.
Unsure what else to do, I turn over my engine and point the nose of the car toward the Club Red. If nothing else, maybe I'll catch Sandra or Laurel there, a couple old friends I haven’t talked to in a long time. I'd love the chance to catch up and take my mind off everything I'm stressing about right now.
When I make it to the club, I realize it looks like the place hasn't changed. At the front door, the bouncer nods at me before stepping aside and letting me in. I can't help but wonder if they've upped the security here.
Inside, the front room is completely different, with a stage set up with several poles, women dancing, and a bar. The front room doesn't look like anything more than a strip club - a deceptive appearance, or this place has changed a heck of a lot more than I thought.
The loud music vibrates down to my bones, the flashing lights alter my perception of reality, and the smell of alcohol fills my nose. At least that part hasn't changed.
I turn to make the beeline for the bar, then stop dead in my tracks.
I’d recognize the back of that head anywhere. I’d purposely memorized it just to avoid another awkward moment between me and a stranger like I’d experienced at the wedding when I’d mistaken another man for Michael.
He's sitting there beside another guy, and I can hear them laughing and talking.
But Michael hates Club Red, he told me himself. What a silly thing to lie about. I don't understand what the point is. I check and make sure there are no new messages or calls. There aren’t. Inside, I'm torn, trying to decide if I should confront him or walk away.
By demanding the truth, I might be making a mistake, causing myself pain, or wasting my time. But then again, can I walk away without knowing the truth? What if there's an innocent explanation to all of this?
First, I dial Michael's number. I'll have some kind of an answer if he pulls his phone out of his pocket and refuses my call versus if he doesn't do anything at all.
As the phone rings, he doesn't slow down his conversation with his friend, and I feel a slight sense of relief. Maybe he doesn't have service in the club, or maybe his phone is set to silent. And maybe I'm overreacting. It's not like he's in here doing what most people do at this club, right? He's just sitting at the bar with what looks like a buddy, laughing and having a drink. Do I really care if he spends time with his friends? Not at all.
I do wonder why he told me he doesn't come here and refused to go with me, but I'm sure there's a very good reason.
But before I can approach, a woman walks up from his side and I immediately know her.
