“Yes… I know it’s been a while but…” Becca faltered for a moment, her face flushing, wondering if she’d made a mistake in calling. What if he didn’t want to help her?

“Are you okay, Becs?” he asked. Becs. Only Christian called her that. Never Becca or Rebecca. Just Becs. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe she was asking the man who broke her heart to help her. The world was a cruel and mixed-up place, but she wasn’t going to back out now.

“It’s Ash. She’s gone, Chris.”

“Someone took her?” he interrupted, his voice stern, already switching into cop mode.

She wanted to say yes. The only way Ash would ever leave was if someone took her against her will. “No. She ran away. Left a note and everything.”

She braced herself for more questions, but Christian didn’t ask a single one. “Send me all of Ash’s pertinent details, height, weight, date of birth, and a current photo. I’ll put out a missing person’s report ASAP and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Maybe less.”

She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. That he would be willing to drop everything and help her. That’s who he was. She wondered whether his fiancée was there, if he’d tell her where he was going, if he’d told her all about how their marriage crumbled. Those thoughts were eclipsed by memories of Ash. There was something comforting in his take-charge demeanor. She needed that. “I can’t lose her, Christian,” Becca whispered.

“You won’t. We’ll find her, just hang in there, Becs. I’m on my way.”

Heartbroken, Becca sank down onto Ash’s bed, gazing at the framed black-and-white photos covered the walls. The first summer Ash came to live with them, Becca insisted that she take a class, something to keep her busy and out of trouble while Becca and Christian were at work. Ash reluctantly enrolled in a photography workshop, and to both their surprise, a passion was born.

Becca lingered on one of Ash’s photos, her favorite, an artsy portrait of Becca and Freud, one of those magical Southern California days, a perfect seventy-five degrees, no traffic, and a gentle surf. A few days after it was taken, Ash relapsed, returning home high off her ass and crying. It was Christian’s breaking point. She could still see him now, glaring at Becca, the bitterness and resentment seeping out. “You want to pretend Ash will fix everything broken inside you, but you’re kidding yourself. No matter how much you try to make it so, she will never be yours.” She’d done her best to prove him wrong, but here she was, sitting in Ash’s room, Christian’s words echoing over and over in Becca’s head like a terrifying prophecy. She will never be yours. She will never be yours…

MO

MO