Kidnapped Love

Chapter 19

Chapter 19:

The latch clicked softly behind me as I stepped into the quiet foyer, the muted sound a stark contrast to the turmoil in my chest. A small wave fluttered from my fingertips, almost an afterthought, as Derek's car pulled away from the house. His taillights bled red into the growing dusk, and an uneasy sensation coiled within me. We'd been something official—something real—for barely twenty-four hours, and already I'd cast a shadow over us, a miasma of doubt and discomfort between us.

My hand trembled slightly as I fished my phone from my pocket, thumb swiping across the screen with practiced hope. But the hope crumbled; no notifications, no digital reassurances. Trish's silence echoed louder than any text tone. It wasn't like her not to respond, especially not when I needed her perspective on the mess I'd made of things with Derek. The possibility that she might be holding a grudge for nudging her towards Ron gnawed at me, adding weight to my already heavy heart.

I let the strap of my overnight bag slip from my shoulder, the fabric thudding against the hardwood floor as if in judgment. The house seemed to hold its breath, walls pressing in with quiet scrutiny. My back met the cool surface of the wall with a soft thud, and I leaned my head against it, closing my eyes against the stillness. A deep sigh escaped me, fogging into the air as I fought against the urge to let go completely, to let the disappointment wash over me.

What could I do? What words could unfurl the knot of misunderstanding between Derek and I? I had pierced his pride, unwittingly questioned his honor by casting aspersions on someone he worked closely with. Guilt clawed at my throat, and I tapped my forehead lightly against the wall—a penance for causing this rift so early on, for challenging the trust we were supposed to be building.

In my mind's eye, I replayed our conversation, searching for the exact moment when the light in his eyes dimmed. Each word I had spoken felt like a stone thrown, each question a step back. I needed to mend this, to find some way to bridge the gap before it widened too far. But how could I convince him it was concern—and not distrust—that fueled my questions?

There were no easy answers, only the echo of my sigh in the empty hallway and the fading warmth where Derek's presence had once been.

The shrill ring of the phone snagged my attention, yanking me from a whirling pit of regret. I lingered, letting the persistent buzz reach a fever pitch before my hand finally grasped the receiver. "Hello?" My voice emerged, a tired whisper.

"Hey, is Ron there?" The inquiry came from an unfamiliar masculine timbre.

Peering around the bare corner, I noted the void where my brother should have been. Yet his truck squatted outside, a silent testament to his presence. "I'll have to check. May I ask who's calling?"

"Yeah, this is Carter. Is this Akila?" Recognition dawned like a slow-burning lamp in the fog.

"Oh. Hey!" A spark of warmth kindled in my chest as I clutched the white corded lifeline. "How are you?" His concern felt genuine, a soothing balm on my frayed nerves.

"I'm alright. Give me one second and I will go check if Ron is in his room." Cradling the phone on the end table, approached his bedroom door, knocked once, twice—yet silence was my only answer. With a twist of the handle, I began my descent into Ron's domain.

"Ron?" My call echoed, rebounding off the walls. No reply. Reaching the sanctum's threshold, I found him sprawled on his bed, engrossed in glossy pages, headphones cocooning his ears from the world. His gaze flicked up, registering my presence. Headphones slipped away as he quizzed, "What's up?"

"Carter is on the phone." The words hung in the air, a bridge between two points of solitude.

Magazine abandoned, Ron unfolded from the bed like a lanky shadow trailing me back to where the conversation awaited. He offered a simple "Thanks" before the handset met his ear. "Hey what's up man?"