He laughed, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “Shit, bitch. You think this be fucking New York City? Folks just step into the street and wave down a cab? You need to go back to the fairy tale you came from.”
“Maybe I do,” I said. “So you tell me. What happened? Where’d he go?”
“Why should I tell some blond bitch comes asking around about a brother?”
“I’m his girlfriend.”
“The hell you say. Your tiny princess ass couldn’t handle that motherfucker.”
“My tiny princess ass has mad skills,” I said. “Now where the fuck did he go?”
“Lady got balls,” he said with a nod that might have indicated respect. “No idea where he blew off to, but he tossed three grand at my boy Kray and bought himself a nice new bike right out from under my boy. Sweet set of wheels. Could be anywhere by now.”
“He’s right,” Sloane said. “Without the GPS, we’re flying blind.”
“So where would he go?” I ran my fingers through my hair.
“I don’t know,” Sloane said. “Why did he come here? Because it was home?”
“Maybe. Let me think.”
We took a moment to thank our informant, who actually pulled the gentleman card and told us to get our lily-white asses out of there because it was getting dark, and the next mo-fo we met might want more than to talk about my crazy-ass boyfriend.
Since that seemed like a good idea, we got back in Sloane’s Lexus and headed back toward the highway.
“Wait,” I said, and Sloane slowed to a reasonable speed as I dialed Bree in Los Angeles.
I’d hoped that she’d heard from him, but when she said that she hadn’t, I asked her to tell me the address of the house he grew up in.
“Is everything okay?”
“I hope so,” I said honestly, then promised to call her with an update as soon as I knew anything.
Sloane eased the car by Cole’s childhood home—one room on the second floor of a filthy brick building that looked ready to collapse at any moment. There was an old woman on the stoop, and when we asked, she told us that nobody was inside. I considered going in to see for myself, but when Sloane pointed out that the motorcycle Cole had bought wasn’t parked anywhere in sight, I agreed that it was better to just get out of there.
“Just go to my place,” I said, my whole body feeling heavy and battered. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was worried about Cole or simply overwhelmed by the poverty and misery of the neighborhood he grew up in. All I knew was that I wanted nothing more than to curl up and cry.
Well, almost nothing more.
What I wanted more than anything was Cole.
“We’re not that far from his house,” Sloane said, as she maneuvered her car toward Cole’s Hyde Park address. “Maybe he was heading home all along and just decided to take a detour. Let’s check there first, then if you still want, I’ll take you home.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t hopeful, and when we got to the house, we found it empty.
“Please,” I said, after I tried his phone once more to no success. “Just take me home.”
She nodded, and we headed to my little house in silence. Once there, I curled up on my sofa.
Sloane made me hot chocolate, then crouched down in front of me. “Want me to stay?” she ask.
“Yes. No.” I sat up. “No,” I said firmly. “Go back to Tyler. Maybe he’s got some ideas. Call me if you find him. I’m—” I shrugged, feeling useless. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But I’d like to be alone.”
She pressed one hand on the couch for balance, then put her other on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. “Whatever it is, he’ll be okay.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t nearly as sure. We’d come so far, Cole and I. And yet when something terrible had happened, he hadn’t come to me. He’d exploded—lost it completely if the newspaper dispenser was any indication—but I’d been completely off his radar.
I knew Sloane was right—somehow, someway, Cole would be okay. He’d work through it. He’d fix whatever problem had arisen. He’d kick his own ass and calm himself down. He would be fine. He would be okay.