“That would be what's wrong.” I took a shaky breath. “He's not here.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Juliette shook her head and spoke again, “He has to be. I'm sure he's somewhere.”
“His things are gone.”
Juliette's mouth took on a familiar stubborn set. “Let's go see what our parents say.”
Heat flooded my face. “I don't want to get them involved.”
“Come on.” She took my arm and the two of us went downstairs. Our parents looked up in surprise, but she spoke before they could. “Did Cross go somewhere? We can't seem to find him.”
Dad shrugged and turned his attention back to the television even as he answered, “He said he was being called away. I'm surprised he didn't call you.”
My nails dug into my palm. “He didn't. Thank you.”
I turned and practically ran back up the stairs. I heard Juliette following, but I closed the door. I didn't want to talk to her at the moment. I wanted Cross. And that was the problem. When I was upset, he calmed me, soothed me. He was the one who'd taken care of me when Juliette had been kidnapped. He'd made sure I was safe, protected me.
I never thought I'd need to be protected from him.
I laid down on the bed, phone in hand, and debated about calling him. I was torn between wanting to hear his voice and not wanting to make the first move. He'd been the one who'd done wrong. It shouldn't have been up to me to try to make things right.
But I had to respond. I couldn't let him think that I hadn't even noticed he was gone. I wouldn't do that to him. And, if I was being completely honest, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he'd hurt me.
After forcing myself to think things through, I wrote out a text. Then re-read it to make sure I wasn't sending out some emotional shit that could come back to bite me in the ass. I had to be an adult about this. Communicate.
Call me when you land. I don't want to have this conversation over the phone, but I need to know you've arrived safely, and we need to set up a time to talk when I get back.
I didn't expect an immediate response if for no other reason than Cross was in the air now, but I couldn't stop looking at my phone. I forced myself into the bathroom, into the shower. I resisted the urge to hurry, to run back to my phone and see if he'd texted while I was gone. But by the time I was done, there was still no response. I didn't know exactly when he left, but I reminded myself it was highly possible he hadn't gotten back yet.
And I kept telling myself that until well past midnight. Even if Cross had left shortly before Juliette and I had gotten back, the plane should've landed. It was a four and a half hour flight. I then started to tell myself that he might not have checked his phone right away.
When I woke up just before dawn, however, I saw that my message hadn't only been delivered, but that it'd been read too. He was ignoring me. I squeezed my eyes closed even though I knew I wouldn't get back to sleep. I pressed my hands to my chest, trying to fight the rising nausea. He wasn't even going to give me the courtesy of a reply.
I could feel the tears coming and pressed my face into the pillow. I couldn't stop them, but I could keep anyone else from hearing them. When I finally stopped and raised my head, the sun still wasn't up, but there was a message on my phone.
It was from Juliette.
I managed to get you a seat on my flight if you're coming back to LA.
Right. Because I didn't have a return ticket. I hadn't thought I'd need one. I'd come on a private plane with Cross and planned on returning with him.
Now I had to decide if I wanted to return at all.
I put my hands over my eyes. I'd been there before, wondering if I should stay in LA or stay where it was safe and let my parents take care of me. They would, I knew. I could go downstairs and tell them that I'd made a mistake, that I wanted to come home. They'd let me live here until I earned enough money to get my own place.
And they'd never let me forget how I'd screwed up, how I'd failed. They'd constantly be there, telling me how to live my life, how I was disappointing them.
I'd lose the freedom I found in LA, lose my friendships. I'd lose a job that I cared about and enjoyed. And I'd be leaving behind a sister who needed me now more than ever. No matter what happened with Cross, I couldn't leave Juliette.
I refused to let a man chase me from my home and my family.
I got up and headed for the closet. I'd need to get dressed and pack quickly if I was going to make the flight.
Home wasn't Zanesville, Ohio, not anymore. And LA wasn't home because of Cross. It was where I belonged.
And I was going home.
Chapter Nine
Hanna
I took an extra dose of Dramamine so I could sleep for the whole flight home. I did it as much for Juliette as for myself. I didn't want to talk about any of it and she had enough on her mind than to worry about what I was going through, but I knew she'd try to help anyway. So I slept, and she got to spend the trip thinking about whatever it was she needed to think about.
Thanks to the time difference, we got back to California when it was still morning, but I knew better than to try to find Cross right away. When I told Juliette that I was going back to the apartment with her, she told me that she thought it was a good idea.
“I'm surprised,” I said as we went to the baggage claim to get my luggage. “I would've thought you'd be encouraging me to go fix things. I thought you liked Cross.”
Juliette followed me to the taxi line. “I do,” she said. “But I only like him for how the two of you are together. He fucked that up, so I'm with you.”
I swallowed hard and spoke past the lump in my throat, “Thank you.”
The next morning, I considered calling first, but since Cross hadn't answered any of my previous attempts at contact, I doubted today would be any different. I did send off a text so I wouldn't completely surprise him, but there wasn't any response.
I had a key, but I knocked on the door instead. After what happened, I wasn't so sure I'd be welcome coming in as if I had the right to be there. It wasn't my home, no matter how much time I'd spent there over the last few months. When no one answered, I relented and used the key. If Cross wasn't there, I'd get some of my things and leave him a note telling him that I was done trying to reach out to him.
When I stepped into the living room, however, Cross was there.
He was sprawled out on the couch, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. His hair was a mess, and when his eyes flicked up to me, they were bloodshot. I didn't need to smell the reek of alcohol to know he was drunk. The half dozen empty bottles scattered around told me all I needed to know.
“Hanna.” He slurred my name as he forced himself up into a sitting position. “You're here.”
All of the things I'd thought about saying, the questions I wanted to ask, moved to the background as anger came forward.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped. “Seriously, Cross, have you lost your ever-fucking mind?!”
He frowned as he tried to stand, stumbled, then managed to get to his feet. “You don't need to yell. And I don't need to explain myself to you. This is my house and I'll get drunk if I want to.”