She shook her head. “I won’t blab, but wow. I’m in shock. Poor Everest.”
I clasped my phone tighter, desperate to listen to his voicemail. “I’ll just head down and stick these in the wash and grab a shower. I won’t be long.”
August nodded even though he didn’t seem too excited to be left behind with Emmy, especially when she said, “Wait. I just connected the dots. You’re Isobel’s boy, aren’t you? She showed me a picture of you.”
As she roped him into a conversation, I bounded down the stairs to the laundry room, unearthed a clean towel, tossed my clothes and August’s shirt into one of the industrial machines, wrapped the towel snugly around myself, and set the washing machine to the quickest cycle. After I rinsed the rubber soles of my white sneakers, I headed to the locker rooms that connected the indoor pool to the gym.
Only then did I listen to Everest’s message.
“Hey, Ness. I’m on my way back to Boulder. Thank you for having my back. I didn’t deserve your help. Not after what I did. Everything’s such a fucking mess. Such a fucking mess,” he repeated slower, lower. I could imagine him pulling at his dark-red hair like he used to do when things didn’t go his way as a kid. “In case anything happens to me, I left”-the word he uttered was garbled, as though he’d passed through a tunnel-“in your room”-static filled the receiver again-“under the fl-Fuck!” Air whooshed through the phone followed by a muffled thud, as though the phone had clattered out of his hand and onto the floormat. From far away, I heard him hiss, “Son-of-a-bitch found me.”
The screech of metal had me yanking the phone away from my ear, and then… nothing.
Nothing.
With stiff fingers, I jabbed my screen to call him back. The dial tone sounded and sounded. And then I was prompted to leave a message.
I hung up.
I shivered but then whispered to myself, “He must’ve run out of battery.” I prayed that was why the line had gone dead. Unless the son-of-a-bitch had caught up with him.
No, I couldn’t go there.
Everest was all right. He was on his way back. I checked the timestamp of the voicemail. He’d phoned about an hour ago. He was probably already in Boulder.
I typed: I’m at the inn. Where are you?
My thumb hovered over the send icon as I read the incriminating text above the still unsent one. I searched the wording, trying to find something about it that would prove my innocence. But it sounded like me, which meant the hacker was familiar with my speech. My pulse skittered wildly at that realization.
Or maybe the hacker had perused my phone’s contents. That was a possibility, right?
For a long moment, I hesitated to send Everest the message I’d just composed, afraid it would make me the traitor my Alpha already believed me to be. Screw it. I’d already tried phoning Everest anyway. Besides, he and I needed to talk. I deserved answers. I didn’t care what that made me. I hit send, then stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on scalding to ward away the frostiness enveloping my bones.
I spent a long time lathering away the dirt from my body; I spent an even longer time trying to untangle my hair. When I accomplished both tasks, I turned off the spray and towel-dried myself, but not before checking my phone. I was hoping Everest had messaged me back.
He hadn’t.
As I plucked a disposable comb from a tray of amenities and dragged the teeth through my wet hair, I wondered where he would go in Boulder. There were too many cameras here. He was probably hiding in a motel.
I listened to his message again. “In your room. Under the fl… ” What had he left in my room? And under what? Which word started with an fl-sound and could be found in a bedroom?
Fl…
Flowers?
Did he mean his mother’s desiccated flower-filled mason jar?
As I made my way back to the laundry room, I ran everything there was in my bedroom through my head, but nothing else started with a fl. The washing cycle had finished, so I tossed the clothes in the dryer and sat on the countertop to wait, toying with the soft terry towel as I dwelled some more on Everest’s enigmatic message.
My mind kept looping back to the flower jar, but I’d gotten rid of it sometime ago because the smell of Lucy’s dried roses had felt toxic.
I dialed Everest’s number again. The phone rang and rang inside my ear. I was about to play back his voicemail when a dusky figure darkened the doorway. The phone slid out of my fingers and clattered against the white tiles.
August crouched to retrieve my phone. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You just left me up there a long time.” As he rose, he tendered the small apparatus, his eyes roving over the screen.
I blanched, afraid he’d see Everest’s name, afraid he’d think me a traitor, afraid-
“It’s not cracked,” he said.
Pulse battering my neck, I tightened the towel around myself and reached an unsteady hand to retrieve my phone.
August hitched up an eyebrow. “Dimples, you’re worrying me.”
“I’m fine now. Just tired.”
His eyes lowered to my swinging bare legs, or maybe he was looking at the machine tumbling our clothes.
There was no way they’d be dry yet, but hopefully they wouldn’t be too wet. I hopped down, and he backed up, and then I leaned over and opened the front hatch.
As I stuck my hand inside the drum, he cleared his throat. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
I pulled out his shirt first. “My entire wardrobe’s in the new apartment.”
For some reason, he flicked his gaze toward the entrance of the laundry room so fast I checked to make sure my cousin hadn’t materialized there.
Empty.
“It’s not completely dry yet,” I said, wiggling my fingers to get his attention.
His sharp Adam’s apple bobbed as he took the shirt.
I gathered up my clothes. “Give me one more second.”
Back in the changing rooms, I yanked my humid jeans up my legs-horrible sensation-then clipped on my bra that was so damp my nipples pebbled. I plugged in the hairdryer and ran it for a full minute over my chest, hoping the hot air would warm me up.
It helped some.
When I returned to the laundry room, August had put on his shirt. I stuck my feet into my shoes, omitting the socks. I set them out to dry on the rack, then slung my handbag over my shoulder. I hesitated to fill a basket with sheets and towels, but since I was dressed and heading to Frank’s for the night, gathering supplies could wait until morning.
“I need to stop by my bedroom before I go. If you need to-”
“I told you. There’s nowhere I need to be.”
“Okay.” As we climbed the steps, I said, “You can wait for me in the car, if you prefer.”
“Whatever you want.”
What did I want?