Page 28 of Rescued By Midnight

Alice glances around.

“She could just be tired, right, Wonderland?” Landon’s voice is falsely chipper, like hey, this could happen to anybody.

But no, it couldn’t happen to anybody. And even if it did, nobody else matters. This is Alice we’re talking about.

“I think—this sounds crazy.” She closes her eyes.

“Crazy or not, we want to hear it,” Landon says.

Her voice is so soft, I almost can’t hear her. “I think it was the chickens.”

“The chickens?” I ask.

She covers her face with her hands. “I know how it sounds, but he had chickens. Abe had chickens. And I heard them at the house over there, and it made me think I was back in Abe’s cabin.”

“Who the fuck is Abe?” I demand, even as Landon is shaking his head in warning.

“My kidnapper.” Alice lets out a shaky breath. “I called him Abe. It wasn’t his real name, but I needed to call him something.”

I can’t imagine living in close quarters with someone for thirteen fucking months without knowing their name. Of course she had to make one up for him.

“Abe had chickens,” I repeat. “Is that something the police know?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I told them that. Does it matter?”

“They’ll be the next to tell you, after us,” I say, “that every detail matters.”

She reaches out to hold my hand. I let her do it, but as soon as she lets go, I pull away.

ALICE - NOW

Two days after our failed trip to the foothills, I wake up with the sun. Faint light streams through the tasteful, gray curtains covering my bedroom windows. Although I’m embarrassed about fainting the other day, the guys haven’t made me feel weird about it. If anything, Landon has been more attentive.

Cody’s been more aloof. I don’t know how to ask him what went wrong. Maybe our friendship was more in my head than it was in reality. Or maybe, when I cut off that friendship at Brayden’s urging, I severed it irreparably with Cody.

I check the time on my phone and see another text notification from Brayden. It’s time to put on my big girl pants and call him back.

“Alice.” His exhale is so loud, I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Finally. What has gotten into you? Where are you staying?”

We’ve texted several times, where I’ve explained I’m staying with friends, and I was safe, and I didn’t want to get into it with him. Every time he’s called, I’ve ignored it.

“I already told you,” I say. “I’m in San Esteban with friends.”

“What friends?”

It’s a valid question, because I stopped having friends outside the church after I married Brayden. There were never many, just Landon and Cody, and a couple of people I used to hang out with from Carol’s Closet.

I ignore the question, though, and plow ahead. “I still need space. You need to stop calling and texting me.”

“You’re my wife,” he snarls. “And I need to pick you up so you don’t miss your therapy appointment. Elder Wattle will be beside himself with worry.”

Oh, boo hoo. Is he going to have to find someone else to judge from behind his big-ass beard?

I adopt a grateful tone. “Please tell him that I’m all right, and I appreciate his concern, but I have plans to see another therapist.”

“Another therapist?” Brayden sounds this-close to losing his temper. As if he has the same realization, he takes a deep breath and lowers his voice. “Alice, Elder Wattle is accredited with the Seven Blessed Days to administer counseling and therapy for our church members. You won’t find a better therapist than him.”

“His methods don’t work for me.” I try to sound casual, but arguing with my husband feels wrong. I’m breaking all the rules, and my brain feels like it’s full of swarming bees. “After my sessions with him, I felt worse, not better.”