Worried, I run through the first floor like a lunatic, terrified that Cassie or Gus wandered outside and got lost, but I find them sitting in the sunroom together. I don’t remember closing the door to this room when I left earlier, but I seem to be suffering some major scatterbrain moments today—probably because I keep thinking about Jude and how incredibly hot the sex was last night. If only it wasn’t shrouded by his devastation over his sister and his attempt to drown himself in whiskey.
Relieved the pets are safe and sound, I give them each a kiss, then head upstairs. As soon as I walk into my room, I stop short and blink several times. My brain has been thrown into that confusing, surreal state of not quite processing what my eyes are seeing.
My room is completely trashed.
The closet is open—one of the doors hanging off the hinges—and my clothes and hangers are strewn all over the floor.
The dresser drawers are open, the contents dumped out in a big heap.
My nightstand is toppled on its side with the little drawer pulled out.
My heart leaps up into my throat as I whirl around, trying to take a mental inventory of my belongings and recalling what was where.
The little teddy bears are gone.
My laptop is gone.
My little cup of cash is gone.
Even my stack of losing lottery tickets that I’ve been saving just because Jude gave them to me is missing.
My small collection of jewelry—including my wedding band—is gone.
With my heart thundering and tears springing up in my eyes, I run down the hall to Jude’s room to find the same exact mess.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Someone broke in and robbed us!
As I stand in the middle of his room, overwhelmed with a wave of panic, the sound of breaking glass coming from the garage tears me out of the panic-induced haze.
I bolt downstairs, grabbing my cell phone from where I must’ve left it on the kitchen island, and then blast out the back door. I run toward the garage and push open the side door that’s ajar—without even thinking about who I might encounter inside.
I gasp as a hooded figure comes around the side of the Corvette wielding a hammer and smashes it down on my beloved car’s windshield.
“No!” I scream in horror.
The person turns to me, still holding the hammer above their head, ready to strike again.
My blood goes totally cold when our eyes connect.
“Erin?” I say in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What the fuck does it look like, bitch? You think you can just move into my house? Into my room? And turn my brother against me? Fuck both of you!”
She brings the hammer down on the windshield again, and the glass cracks into a spider web.
I rush at her and grab her arm. “Stop it!” I scream. “Are you crazy?”
She stares at me with wild eyes, and that’s all the answer I need. She is crazy. We wrestle for the hammer, both of our hands grasping the handle, screaming horrible obscenities at each other. Finally, I wrench the hammer from her grasp, and she falls back into one of Jude’s metal tool chests. As she grapples to get up, my gaze lands on two pillowcases near the door. One from my bed, the other from Jude’s—both stuffed with what I’m sure are our belongings. I run for the pillowcases with Erin on my heels, screaming at me like a rabid animal. I grasp the thin material of Jude’s pillowcase, and it’s heavier than I thought it would be. Erin catches me by my hair and whips me backward. Yelping in pain, I clutch Jude’s things like my life depends on it and wrench my hair from her grip. Rolling onto my back, I kick my feet into her legs and gut just as she’s about to spring on top of me.
“You fucking little bitch,” she shrieks, clutching her stomach. “I’ll kill you!”
Scrambling to my feet, I push my hair out of my face and try to catch my breath.
“Just get out of here!” I yell, not realizing she’s picked up the hammer I dropped, and before I can duck, she smacks me in the head with it. Stunned, I fall into the fender of my car, and everything goes dark.
Chapter 36
Skylar
Thank God for nosey neighbors.
One of them heard the ruckus of me and Erin fighting and called the police. They found me lying on the garage floor bleeding from a blunt-force head wound, still clutching the pillowcase full of Jude’s stuff.
I have no regrets. There was no way I was letting Erin take anything from Jude.
I had my first ambulance ride, my first stitches, my first concussion, and now I’m lying on a hospital gurney—with a headache bigger than Texas—waiting to be discharged.
What the hell is happening to my life?