“Thanks,” I mumble. I should be showing more gratitude to the man who picks up our calls night or day, but that’s what we pay him to do.

“Jesse —” he speaks with caution now and I know exactly what he’s going to say.

“I know what I’m doing,” I snap, letting my emotions get the best of me.

Twelve years earlier …

“Kyle? It’s one o’clock in the morning,” I whisper, rubbing my eyes.

“Jesse listen, I’ve been watching the house —”

“What the fuck man, where —”

He cuts me off, “Don’t you ever stop talking?” he says and I know he would be rolling his eyes. “Listen to me Jesse, this is important. I — I saw my Dad. I’m going in there.”

“Going in there? What do you mean? Kyle, c’mon this is ridiculous. Let’s call the police.”

There is a pause before he speaks again, and when he does he’s angry, “He was the fucking police!” I flinch at his words. “I know this sounds dumb, but I want you to promise me that you will look after Meadow. If something happens to me, you need to look after her; Mum’s a wreck and Kinsley needs someone in her corner.”

Kyle’s little sister follows us everywhere; sometimes he gets annoyed with her but little does he know I like having her around. Surely he knows I will always look out for her?

“I — uh, yeah. Of course Ky but —” most boys our age wouldn’t share our feelings, but Kyle and I, we tell each other everything —“I’m scared.”

“I know, but if it’s really my dad? I can’t not take this chance. It’s been two years and everyone else has given up on him.”

There is a moment’s silence between us, but that’s the thing with me and Kyle, we don’t need to speak to communicate our thoughts. He knows; it’ll always be her.

“I’m going to leave my backpack in the same spot we watched from on the night you came with me, do you remember? Come and get it if anything happens.”

Chapter Thirteen

Kinsley

Tonight’s shift at the bar is dragging. The low hum of

conversations and clinking glasses feel distant, almost muffled, as if I’m just a fly on the wall. I blink a few times in an attempt to bring myself back, as the sound of someone drumming their fingers on the bar in front of me becomes more prevalent.

“Sorry,” I say leaning across the bar to speak over the music, “What can I get you?”