Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- FORD
- BELL
- EPILOGUE
- ENJOY THIS PREVIEW OF PERFECT WRECKAGE
- ENJOY THIS BOOK?
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ALSO AVAILABLE FROM CATHERINE COWLES
- ABOUT CATHERINE COWLES
- STAY CONNECTED
I groaned. He was just as bad as Ford. “Do what you can.” I strode towards the closet, shutting myself inside. I leaned my forehead against the cool brick wall, taking a few deep breaths. “Get it together, Bell.” Maybe it was time for a vacation. I could empty my barely-there savings account and get myself as far away as that money would take me.
My stomach twisted at the idea of leaving Ford when all of this was going down. Sheriff Raines still didn’t have any leads. And while nothing else suspicious had happened, everyone was still on edge. I straightened, knowing if I didn’t get out there soon, Hunter really would come looking for me, and I didn’t want to bite his head off, too.
I grabbed the package of napkins and headed out. When I reached the bar, my steps faltered. Waiting there, and looking supremely pissed, were my parents. Okay, maybe my dad didn’t look pissed, but my mom made up for it. “Hey.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say. They had to have heard through the grapevine about my apartment being vandalized, and I hadn’t even gotten a call. It was a reality check. They weren’t a part of my life anymore, and chances were they never would be.
“Isabelle.” My mother spat my name like an insult. And it was.
I tried to hide the flinch but knew a flicker of it showed. “Can I get you a drink? A menu?” The entire half full restaurant had grown silent, taking in the show.
“As if I would eat here. It probably isn’t even up to code.”
“Heather…” my father warned.
Her head snapped in his direction. “What? It’s probably not.”
I clasped my hands in front of me, refusing to give in to her games. “All right. If you’re not here for a drink or a meal, why don’t you tell me what it is I’ve done to piss you off now. I can then tell you I don’t care, and you can get even more mad and leave.”
My mom’s mouth opened and closed again and again. “You—you are—did you know the sheriff came to speak with us?” I shrugged. “He wanted to know our whereabouts the night that your apartment was vandalized and the night that—that boy was attacked. I know that he’s asking because of something you said.”