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Though I do notice Jamie’s pjs are looking a little small. He’s always been a smaller kid, but he’s been going through a growth spurt recently.

My heart tightens in my chest so hard I think it might explode.

You will get him back. You will get him back. He’s safe. She wouldn’t hurt him.

I repeat the words to myself over and over as I grab a pair of leggings and a Weezer T-shirt and tug it all on. Then I take a deep breath and make my way back to the living room. Everyone is standing when I walk in.

“Hey sweetie,” my dad says as I approach, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m going to cry again,” I warn him. “I just want to go home.”

Everyone looks at each other and then back at me.

“Actually, we were all talking about it,” my dad goes on. “And we think it’s best if you aren’t alone tonight.”

“Okay…” I say as I pull away from him. “And who did you all decide I am staying with? Because if the answer is Tucker, I think that might be a little overkill.”

Tuck chuckles as I knew he would, though I am actually dead serious about this.

“Actually,” Marcus steps in. “We decided you should stay with me.”

My eyes widen. Then I blink and look at my dad. It’s a cat’s out of the bag moment. Granted, if he paid attention to any company or even industry gossip at all, he’d know that everyone assumes we are a thing. Still. He hasn’t seen us together.

But as my dad looks back at me, a warm smile crosses his lips, and he nods.

And for whatever reason, seeing that approval from him brings the smallest amount of warmth to my heart.

* * *

Marcus’s house feels too big. Too cold. Too lacking. There are no dishes in the sink from the morning’s pancakes. There’s no Hot Wheels cars scattered all over the living room or lined up for racing along the banister. There're no Cheerios in the corners of the kitchen floor that have escaped the Swiffer for months on end. There’s no fresh air, Blueberry Suave, monkey-bar hand smell lingering in the furniture.

There’s no Jamie.

“I don’t understand why I can’t stay at my own place,” I let out as I plop down on Marcus’s couch. Even though I kind of do.

“Because it’s a crime scene,” he says. “And I don’t know that being there alone would actually be good for you.” I look up at him, and he rearranges the statement. “I mean, you wouldn’t be alone. I would be there.”

I nod and let my head fall back on the couch. It’s the strangest sensation. Between the panic and crying and fear and push and pull of emotions, I am so exhausted that it feels like I have been awake for a week straight. But at the same time, there is no chance I could fall asleep. Not with Jamie out there.

Fear-induced questions flood my mind the moment I crack the door open.

Is he afraid?

Did he see Brittany get hurt?

Did they have a booster seat in their car?

Was he in the trunk, for that matter?

Is he still afraid?

Alone?

Fed?

Oh God…oh my God. My baby.

“Hey…” Marcus must be able to see my thoughts racing through my mind because he is suddenly next to me, pulling me into his arms. “We have to hope for the best. We can’t think about the worst.”