Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 8

I feel my face darken and screw up as I pinch the space between my eyes.

  Nothing worth fighting for is easy.

  Sensing my irritation, the agent continues. “What I can tell you is that I have the contact details of the current owner and I’d be happy to pass on your message of interest to them,” she says politely.

  “This is kind of an emergency,” I practically growl down the phone, realizing it’s not the way this agent does business.

  “I have your number, Mr. Fox. I’ll let the owner know. Goodbye,” she clips before hanging up.

  A few deep breaths of my own and I refocus. If I wet my pants at every refusal or hang up, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

  I have to admit though, it’s been a while since someone hasn’t heard of me, hasn’t bent over backward for me once I tell them who I am.

  I’m all fuckin’ humbled. Very Zen. Now let’s get down to bringing Rachel back, shall we?

  My instinct, my gut feeling is to shower and get dressed than just drive out to her house, put her over my shoulder, and bring her back here.

  The caveman in me sees no problem with that, but if Rachel really wanted to be here, she would be wouldn’t she?

  I can’t force her to be here with me if she doesn’t want to.

  Even though a huge part of me is convinced that’s exactly what she wants.

  It’s why I’m so confused about all this.

  Should’ve told her. You almost did, had it on the tip of your tongue.

  I wince at the thought, because I know I should’ve told her.

  Who’d believe it though? That whole love at first sight thing. Isn’t that just something they put in movies to make people think they really stand a chance?

  I know it’s the truth though.

  I do love her, loved her the split second I laid eyes on her. Before I even knew her name I knew I loved her more than anything else.

  I wait for Valentine to bark, reading my mind like he does sometimes and yelling at me when I forget to include him in my thoughts.

  Of course, I love Valentine too, but Rachel’s the one. The missing part of me I’ve waited for my whole life for, I just know she is.

  Puffing out air from my cheeks, I consider some other options, most of them involve me driving down there and either bringing Rachel home or ruining my chances more than I already have.

  “Dammit, I have to do something!” I growl, forcing myself upstairs for a shower, determined to let an idea come that means I can get her back.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rachel

  If I’m already imagining hearing his dog after less than an hour, how am I supposed to get through the next few days packing and moving without being haunted by the memory of Conor?

  Truth is, I can’t. I know I can’t.

  I can hear my dad snoring sound asleep in no time though, he really has been up all night and I know that the past few days he’s hasn’t had much sleep with all this moving to get ready for.

  Remembering what dad said about hiring extra help, I feel less overwhelmed but still have to face up to packing all the stuff I’d rather not have strangers handling.

  Telling myself it’ll be something to take my mind off Conor, I set to work after another quick double-check that there definitely isn’t a handsome wolf-dog lurking out front, calling for me and wanting to take me home to his master.

  There’s not a whole lot of ‘me’ to pack. I’ve hardly unpacked most of my stuff from college, just things I use most often.

  What’s left behind in the closet is all stuff I haven’t even thought about in years, let alone had to go through and sort out.

  Not surprisingly, nothing clothes-wise would even remotely fit me anymore, so I start a pile of the best quality things that can go to a thrift store.

  That takes care of about eighty percent of my wardrobe.

  The rest is silly stuff. Shoeboxes filled with the past, a childhood I don’t even really remember much. I’ve never been one to hang on to things but one day I might have kids of my own, so it would be nice to show them something about their mom when she was little like them.

  No need to open them either, I know exactly what’s in ‘em. Photos of me growing up and a whole bunch of photos of me and my dad with sharp edges down one side.

  Years ago, when my mom walked out on us, I cut her out of every photo I could find.

  It would hurt my dad if he knew, so I keep them out of sight.

  I think it’s because of her I hate fighting with my dad. Hate fighting with anyone. I don’t have a clear memory of it, but from what my dad’s told me, they had some pretty nasty arguments before she finally left.

  I used to want to be a mom, just so I could do a better job. But then I grew up and grew out, making me think it’s a little hard to become a mom and a loving wife when you can’t even get a guy to look at you without making a joke or looking away in shame.

  Conor changed all that.

  For all of one whole day. And what do I do? I walk away from it all, just like my mom did.

  Shit. Maybe there’s no hope for me, maybe we really are all just like our parents, doomed to repeat the same failed patterns over and over.

  I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, feeling about as low as I can go when I force myself to get up and keep going.

  “Way to cheer yourself up, Rachel. Yay me,” I murmur to myself, checking the time and realize just how long I’ve been sitting here moping about the past and a future I probably never have to worry about.

  Dad’s right, there’s a stack of food in the refrigerator but after that closet clean out, I don’t feel like eating.

  After, I tell myself. I can pack up a little more, keep busy and-

  Moving my jacket off the bed a card flutters out of the pocket and lands face side up right at my feet.

  Conor Fox.

  It’s not the man himself or his picture, but it sets off everything in me I’m trying hard to forget.

  Picking it up, I thumb the card’s corners, as if I can somehow materialize an answer for what I should do.

  Like rubbing it for luck.

  I’d rather be rubbing him.

  Groaning a sigh, I shift myself to the tiny room opposite my dad’s office. The one room I know he wouldn’t have even started on yet. The general junk or storage room of our household. Everything he never looks at or even uses but can’t bear to part with.

  It looks like dad has made a start though, I notice some boxes with their lids off, dusty handprints where he’s probably tried to busy himself through the night.

  I feel a pang of guilt again, with the hollow feeling for a lack of Conor in my life now worse.

  Scanning the contents of the box before I put the lid back on, I nearly drop the photo as I snatch it from the pile.

  Letting out a sound of disbelief, I have to blink, rubbing my eye with a dusty hand as I try to tell myself it can’t be.

  It’s an old photo of my dad, probably from his college days, I’m guessing.

  But it’s who he has his arm around that knocks the wind out of me, making me feel faint as I have to lean back against the wall and slide down it so I’m sitting.

  My knees up to my chest, I sit staring at the photo stunned.

  It’s Conor Fox alright. That smile, his chiseled jaw, and of course, those arms.

  It’s unmistakably him. A younger, perfect version of the man himself, if there ever could be such a thing.

  It’s hard to tear my eyes from it, but I flip it over. Dad always marks his old snapshots.

  Conor and me, spring ‘97

  I feel my chest tighten, tears of nostalgia for a time before I was even born.

  These two guys aren’t just college buddies. They’re best friends, I can just tell.

  Closer than brothers.

  My dad actually looks happy for once, and Conor’s deep and penetrating eyes are shining with pride, his huge arm around my dad who doesn’t look too shabby himself I must say.

  But what ha
ppened? How could such close friends not be anymore?

  Jesus, I told Conor who my dad was yesterday. His questions all make perfect sense now, and then the fact that someone just happened to call our house late last night?

  I hear the phone ringing, but I’m too absorbed to even bother with it. It’ll be someone for dad, it always is.

  I’ll let his machine get it.

  Scrambling to find more photos of Conor, with or without my dad, I’m fresh out of luck but I know I’m pocketing this one.

  I’ll treasure it.

  Even though it leaves me with more questions than answers, it makes my mind up on one point at least.

  I have to see Conor again. I have to know what happened between him and my dad.

  The sound of heavy steps followed by my dad’s gruff voice breaks the moment.

  He’s gotten up and answered the phone himself, making me wince.

  I guess he’s already packed the answering machine.

  I hear him grunt some and then listen as he shuffles up the hall, finding me sitting in the doorway of the spare room.

  “Hi,” I murmur, watching him rub his eyes and groan, half-asleep still.

  “The moving guys will be here soon, they’ll pack everything up today, sweetie. I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when they get here will ya?” he asks me, “Or maybe not. See if you can all manage without me, I’m beat,” he adds with a yawn.

  I squeak a reply, not wanting to say or do anything that isn’t going to make him head back to get his sleep.

  I have a million questions though, and if dad’s asleep there’s only one other man alive who could even begin to set things straight for me.

  What a pity I walked out on him a few hours ago because we’re moving tomorrow.

  If I don’t do something, I’ll never know.

  I’ll never know what could have been between Conor and me, and I’ll only ever get my dad’s side of how thighs panned out between the two of them, even if I do get up the courage to ask him.

  But what to do?

  I’m stuck here now, waiting for the movers and I feel like I need Conor more than ever.

  So much for distracting myself so I could get over him.

  I’m shaking like a leaf, but I don’t care what happens now. I need him like air.

  I dial his number on the house phone once I realize I haven’t charged my cell, my heart in my throat as I listen to each dial tone until it cuts out.

  I call again and then once more.

  Either he’s out or just not answering his phone.

  Shaking my head, I know this is crazy. I’m gonna be public enemy number one with my dad and there’ll be hell to pay.

  But I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

  Sorry dad, I really am. I’ll try and explain it all to you soon.

  Kissing the photo I have of him and Conor, I slip it into my jacket and head back out after tacking a note to the front door for the movers.

  It’ll take some walking, but I know the way this time.

  Even though it’s still cold out and snowing now, I don’t mind at all. It almost feels like walking home somehow.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Conor

  “Valentine, Valentine!” I call louder. Stopping myself when I hear the rising anger in my voice. I’ve never been mad at him for a second in his whole life.

  If I start shouting now it’ll only scare him.

  It’s not his fault I messed things up like this. I’m not even mad at him.

  I’m mad at myself.

  At my own stupidity.

  “Valentine, C’mon boy,” I call out again. The friendly, regular call that always sees him come running.

  It’s three for three now.

  And this time, before I even have time to feel the stab of panic or worry, I know he’s gone. He really is gone this time.

  I just feel it. The house feels suddenly empty.

  I feel empty, knowing somehow that even before I took a shower or called for him he was already gone.

  This whole business with Rachel has him as messed up as I am, he can pick up on how I’m feeling.

  Swiftly moving from floor to floor and checking the back yard then the front, I even check the cellar which is always locked.

  I walk to the edge of the driveway, go a little way up the street.

  Nothing. It’s like the whole world feels emptier without him nearby, and worse than before somehow.

  For the first time in years, I feel truly alone. I could have lived with it back then, but since Valentine came into my life and now since having that one magical night with Rachel, it’s not an option to continue without both of them.

  There’s only one place I can think of he’s gone. Only one person he’d seek out that wasn’t me.

  And in a single, sweet moment I understand what he’s given me.

  I hope that’s what he’s up to. It’s the only thing that would make sense.

  The best chance at action I couldn’t come up with myself. Valentine’s given me the perfect reason to go to Rachel, to tell her what I should have yesterday, and also to get my dog back.

  The flashing thought of having to confront her father doesn’t phase me anymore.

  The thought of Rachel never coming back here, let alone to the same city is unthinkable.

  It’s only taken me a few moments and the events from this morning to make me see what I really want, no matter what.

  I’ll go to her, and I’ll tell her everything. Right after we find Valentine and I claim her as my woman, and in that order.

  Grabbing my keys from the rack, I have to decide between Mustang or Dodge before pulling the door to the garage closed behind me.

  Bringing Valentine and Rachel home, I’ll need the Dodge. Valentine takes up just as much room in the Mustang as I do.

  Punching Rachel’s address into the GPS from memory, I pull out of the garage and grip the wheel as I wait for the gates to slide open.

  I feel like flooring it, to get to her as fast as I can, but I also need to keep my eyes peeled for Valentine.

  A part of me still expects him to come trotting out from behind a bush any second, that sly grin on his face yet again.

  It’s started to snow too, which doesn’t make looking for him any easier as I cruise the neighborhood the streets closest to my house first.

  I can’t see him anywhere, and after a while, it’s clear I won’t even if he’s in plain sight.

  He’s the kind of dog who blends in and will shy away from traffic noises. Unless I’m out calling him, there’s little chance he’s gonna just appear waiting on the sidewalk for me.

  With a low growl of my own, I feel the Dodge spring to life under me. I keep my eyes peeled, but juggle between the road, looking for Valentine still and keeping track of where I’m headed via the GPS.

  Once I see the area I’m headed to, I understand a little more about both Rachel and her dad’s situation.

  I can’t judge people for where they live, but I know this neighborhood wouldn’t be at the top of anyone’s list if they had a choice.

  The stretch of the freeway I’ve just traveled under separates a lot and I realize too just how much I’ve grown used to my own little piece of the world, with its gated communities and tree-lined streets.

  Watching for a turnoff and a wolf-like dog at the same time, I see a flash of pink from the corner of my eye as I pass.

  My foot finds the brake without me having to even look twice, and I feel the car turning once I see nobody coming the other way.

  It’s Rachel.

  I’d know her anywhere now, having replayed her body in my mind a million times already in just one day.

  My heart’s in my throat suddenly. She’s walking away from the direction of her house which could mean only one thing.

  She’s coming back to me.

  I slow down and watch her head half-turn once she hears the low growl of my engine, making her walk a little faster.

  I ease the w
indow down and drive up next to her, grateful that she stops walking once she sees it’s me.

  There are no words, just a sound she makes. Her face a mixture of emotions that I can’t help but feel in my own chest.

  Putting the car into park, I struggle to free myself from it fast enough to take her into my arms, lifting her up and turning as I hold her.

  Breathing her in and swearing to myself I’ll never let her go again.

  Not ever.

  She tries to speak but I silence her with a kiss. I don’t want to talk right now, I just want to feel her next to me. Feel her mouth on mine and taste her on my lips.

  When I finally set her down, I hold her face in my hands, feeling how cold she is and frown.

  Her eyes move past mine to the empty car and she gasps, “Where’s Valentine?”

  I feel myself having to hold back my emotion, I can’t even bring myself to say it at first.

  “I was hoping he was on his way to find you,” I finally manage to tell her.

  “He’s gone, Rachel. I can’t find him anywhere. Will you help me?” I ask her, but she’s already halfway to the passenger side of the car before I join her.

  There’s no awkwardness between us, everything that happened this morning is forgotten because we both know it doesn’t matter now.

  I have half of what I came for and feel lighter already knowing she’s with me from now on.

  One glance from her tells me everything I need to know, her hand over mine before I shift the car into gear cementing our bond.

  “We’ll find him,” she reassures me, telling me to follow her directions back to her place.

  “If he’s gone this way he might already be there,” she adds, infecting me with her optimism once I recall how it was Valentine who went and found her in the first place and brought her to me.

  “I hope you’re right,” I muse aloud, “and when I do find him, once we get home…” I start to tell her, but I know she’s already thinking the same thing.

  “Let’s just get Valentine first, I should never-”

  But I won’t hear it, I hold my hand up and shake my head, trying to keep my eyes on her, and looking for Valentine and on the road.

  Her directions are on point. More than the GPS and in no time we’re out front of her place, a removal van out front with a couple in blue coveralls stamping their feet while they warm their hands.