The door opens slightly and wide brown eyes peer up at me through thick glasses. These frames are blue and the hair is blonde, but there’s no doubt this is Josie’s other sister, Tillie. “If you would, please come in and have a seat so we can verify your identification. You can’t be too careful these days, you know.”
A little boy stands in the entryway and points me to a chair in the living room. I walk my way over, take a seat, and lean my crutches against a bookcase. The boy—Milo, I’m betting—picks them up and carries them off.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Vandaele—if that’s even your real name—we’ll take good care of these.”
I can’t wait to tell Josie how far these kids are taking the true crime thing. I can picture us snuggled up on the couch later, laughing about it.
If she doesn’t kick me out.
Iris appears out of nowhere and holds her hand out. “Keys, phone, and wallet, please. Milo will run these through the system, and we’ll get them right back to you.”
I play along because this is fun.
Until it’s not.
About a second after Iris runs off with the most important things I own, Milo and Tillie start running around my chair in circles. I’m worried they’ll trip over my leg and this stupid brace, and that’s why it takes a second for me to realize what they’re up to.
I came to Silver Creek to beg Josie’s forgiveness and ask for one more chance at forever.
And now I’m tied to a chair in her living room.
My hands are free, but just barely. I’m sitting here like a T-Rex wondering what the hell just happened, but I don’t think I’m getting an answer anytime soon, because the trio of terror has run up the stairs.
A few minutes go by and I feel like I’m being watched. I spot the older girl, Tillie, sitting on the steps. Okay, this could work. I give her my best smile. “Hey, you’re Tillie, right?”
She nods.
“Josie talks about you a lot. Do you know where she is?”
Tillie shakes her head and starts walking back up the steps. A second later, she turns around. “Do you hydrate regularly?" she asks.
"Uh, yeah. I'm...I'm an athlete, so I take pretty good care of myself," I tell her, because dammit, I still am an athlete—an injured one, yes. Will I ever play college hockey again? It seems unlikely at this point. But Coach gave me a lot to think about. And considering I'm all tied up at Josie’s house right now (and yes, I had pictured this scenario in my head, and no, this isn't how I envisioned it), I guess I've got some time to think things over.
"Oh, good," Tillie says, nodding and pulling me back to the present. "The average healthy adult male can survive for up to three days without water, so you should be fine. Plus, Josie's only at the Stop n' Shop, so she shouldn’t be much longer. We'll get started right after she gets home."
Then she's gone, leaving me to wonder what the hell we're going to "get started" once Josie gets back. This is fucking nuts. I mean, did I expect winning Josie back (for the second time) to be easy? Nope. But I thought the hard part would be talking to her and convincing her I deserve another chance, not keeping the blood flowing to my fingers as I'm bound to a damn chair.
I wriggle around a bit, but it's no use. And since I don’t have my wallet, my phone, or my crutches, getting my hands free isn’t going to do much good.
I hear the creak of a door and then a bang as it slams shut. Slamming doors isn't really Josie's style, but maybe my assholery has pissed her off so much that she's become callous and careless about wood fixtures and noise levels. A guy can hope.
"Jos, is that you?" I call as a tall lanky teenager comes into view. His dark, curly hair is a few months past needing a trim, his jeans hang low on his hips, but still only brush the tops of his feet. He toes off his boat-sized sneakers and leaves them in the middle of the entryway as he heads toward what I can only guess is the kitchen. My view is pretty limited, but I recognize the sound of the fridge opening and the tell-tale sound of a soda can being opened and the crinkle of a chip bag.
The kid—it’s gotta be Zane—saunters into the living room ready to plop down on the sofa until he spots me. I give a nod, because, well, I can't fucking wave.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks, grabbing the remote and settling in.
I'd be a little alarmed at his casual response, but after being essentially kidnapped, it's kind of refreshing.
“Hey, you play hockey, right?”
He gives me a weird look, and I can’t blame him. “Look, I’m Van, Josie’s boyfriend. Technically ex-boyfriend because I was being a total asshat. That’s actually why I’m here, to apologize. But I think I’m in the middle of a game with your younger brother and sisters. Do you think maybe you could help me out?”
Zane walks over to me, looks me up and down, and gives me the middle finger. He swipes the remote from the back of the couch and flips through channels until he finds the one he wants. Great. There’s a giant purple dinosaur singing on the screen. Ididn’t even think this show was on anymore. He lobs the remote across the room and into a basket of blankets, then he looks me right in the eyes. “You think I'm helping you? Guess again, dickface. You made Josie cry. I'll let the little kids carry on with their plan, whatever it is.”
I’m two episodes into the worst TV show ever when the door opens again. An older, slightly shorter version of Zane walks in. His coat and hat are covered in snow. He glances right past me and does a double-take. “Wait, you’re not Mr. Bilson,” he says, his face scrunched up in confusion.
“No,” I say. “Is he tied up somewhere, too?”
