Page 179 of Spicy Ever After

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I stare at the message and try to read it from Merrick’s perspective. A message from his sister-in-law’s boyfriend whom he’s met once.

A guy his mother saw kissing said sister-in-law within an inch of her life at a public park on their first date.

Do I sound like an unhinged stalker?

Yes. Yes, I do.

I delete the message and start over.

Hi Merrick. This is Beck Olivier, Hattie’s boyfriend. Could you or Margaret give me a call? It’s about Hattie. 337-555-8712.

Short. Not an info-dump.

Less crazy-sounding.

I press send.

Then I look back at the message I sent to Margaret four hours ago—3:30 a.m. for her.

Crap.

Me: I can’t find Hattie. Do you know where she is? Is she okay?

I cringe.

Yeah, that one sounds crazy.

I’m wishing I could delete it on her end when the message goes from delivered to read right before my eyes.

I hold my breath, watching as dots appear and disappear. Appear and disappear.

Please, Margaret. Please respond.

When the phone rings in my hand, I almost drop it.

“H-hel?—”

“Beck? What do you mean you can’t find her?” Margaret’s voice croaks with a mix of sleep and panic.

I fist my hair as her panic becomes my panic. If Margaret doesn’t know where she is?—

“Margaret. Where is she? Have you heard from her since you left?”

“I—no? She’s not at home?” I hear Merrick’s voice in the background. “Beck—I’m putting you on speaker.”

Margaret’s voice is shaking now, and it scares me so bad I sink to my boots on the front porch.

Hattie, honey, where are you?

I’ve been scared before. I’ve felt dread before.

When Mom got sick again.

When Pop got diagnosed.

When Uncle Paul gave me ninety days.

But I’ve never known brain-bleaching fear like this.

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