Aside from the porch lights, the front of the house is dark. No lights on inside that I can see, but that doesn’t mean anything. For all I know, she goes to bed early like my parents.
“I have a key.” Nick turns to me and I hand him the keyring, nerves stretched taut.
Shit is getting real.
Please let this be a false alarm.
Nick strides up to the door, me and the officer close behind, and with shaking hands, he slides the key into the lock.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Nick
This can’t be happening.
The phrase has been stuck on repeat from the moment the security company called to deliver the news: there’s no answer. Three tiny words. Three inconsequential fucking words. And yet they have the potential to destroy my entire world.
Again.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
I need to pull it together, but fear has a death grip on my heart, and though it’s racing, I can’t outrun the panic. My hands shake as I turn the key, and I will myself to be strong. There’s a part of me, the selfish bastard part, that’s glad Scarlett is by my side. I don’t know what I’ll have to face inside or how I’m going to deal with it, but her steady presence is a blessing at this moment.
The bolt slides back with a loudthwack, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs.
You’ve got this, Hart.
Easy words to say, harder to believe. If something has happened to Mama Hart, I’ll never forgive myself. I should’ve tried harder to get her to move into the city with me. Should’ve gotten her a better security system. Checked on her more often.
Fucking fuck. What kind of son leaves his mother all alone in the burbs and only visits once a week? This is all my fault. I should’ve balanced work and family better.
Get your ass in there and check on Mama Hart.
Just as I reach for the doorknob, a pair of headlights cuts across Mama’s yard, illuminating the front of the house.
I turn to look, and for an instant I’m blinded by the bright lights. White dots pepper my vision, making it impossible to focus on the scene before me. I blink them away and stare in disbelief as a cherry-red Thunderbird convertible roars up the drive and parks next to my SUV.
What the hell?
My heart thumps like a jackhammer as the car idles in the driveway, its occupants cloaked in shadow. The passenger door of the Volvo is wide open, and the interior light casts a soft yellow glow on the new arrivals. I squint and I can just make out their forms.
There are two people in the vehicle. One male, who’s completely unfamiliar. One female I’d know anywhere.
Mama Hart.
Thank Christ.
My shoulders sag at the sight of my adoptive mother, the adrenaline spike fading as relief surges through my veins.
She’s fine.
Better than fine. Riding top down in the dead of winter. With a man.
A man who doesn’t get out of the car to walk her to the door but kisses her goodnight as we all stare in wonder.
