The Keys to Jericho by Ren Alexander

Author:Ren Alexander [Alexander, Ren]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Ren Alexander
Published: 2015-01-03T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Tuesday morning at the construction, I do get a text this time from Kat, saying she’s not going to be there. She can’t keep sidestepping me. She needs to be here. I need her to be here.

Even though she sent me a text, it’s a flimsy lie to shut me up; however, I never give up, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

Not bothering to ask Dash if he heard from Kat, I drive to her apartment to find out for myself. When I round the corner to her building unit, a bolt of color snags my attention and I slow down, seeing a red truck sitting in her driveway.

Pulling up behind it, I notice the sports window decals, boat hitch, and a pine-tree air freshener, hanging from the rear-view mirror.

This reeks of belonging to a person with a cock and balls.

What the fucking hell is Kat doing with another man in her apartment?

She promised me.

After 10 minutes of watching her apartment, nobody comes out her front door. Every second I sit, staring at the walkway, I have to fight the compulsion to not go up there, knock on her door, breaking up whatever the fuck they’re doing.

God, I can’t think of what they’re doing.

This is how she tries to cover up her regret of fucking me? I’m a split decision away from kicking open her door, ripping off his goddamned balls, and cramming them into the bastard’s mouth. And she’s the one who’s fucking sick?

Picking up my phone, I text her to casually ask how she’s doing, but she doesn’t reply, which isn’t surprising if she’s…busy.

Jesus. It’s killing me that I may need to take a number.

Fuck that shit.

Throwing open the car door, I get out, set on finding out who’s in there, but before I shut the door, I realize I’m acting like a jealous…boyfriend.

Shit. Not happening.

I dig my hands underneath my hat, staring at her front door from the edge of her sidewalk, torn on what to do. This is the very thing I used to do in school, watching her carry on with her day like I didn’t exist, when in the next breath, she was smiling and saying hello to me, and ripping out my goddamned heart.

Grudgingly, I get back into the Nissan and gun it out of the complex, pissed off at myself for getting carried away, yet again, and nearly acting like a prick…yet again.

At the build, I was severely distracted, which begged people to constantly question what was on my mind. It became so bad that even Tony, who’d rather try to read Braille with his hammer, asked me. After that, I took off for the day, again, sitting at the park, watching paddleboats drift along the water. Unfortunately, that allows for the hurt to also drift into my veins more. Keeping my trip short, I went home, spending the rest of the afternoon staring at the TV, but refraining from drinking, since my dad will fire off his own set of questions, and his aren’t easy to answer.

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