Page 113 of Losers, Part I
His grip had hardly been frail though.
“You’re Jessica Martin, aren’t you?” His use of my full name jerked my attention back. I nodded, before quickly realizing I shouldn’t have confirmed it. “I thought so. I recognize you from church. You used to go with your mama.”
The last time I’d attended a church service was at least ten years ago, despite my mom trying everything to get me to attend. “I haven’t been to church in a long time, sir.”
He smiled. His teeth were brown, gums red. “Neither have I.” His eyes roamed over me, giving me an uncomfortable feeling, as if his gaze was covering me with slime. “You’ve grown up into quite the beautiful young woman. That blonde hair…” He reached out, confusion and surprise keeping me rooted in place as he caught a strand of my hair in his long fingers. “Like an angel.”
Hurriedly backing away, I said, “I have to go,” and walked away without another word.
Getting my keys out of my purse immediately, I nestled one of them between my fingers like a weapon, thankful for all the shops and people nearby. Reagan didn’t follow me, but I heard what he called after me.
“Have a good day now. You be careful out there.”
My feeling of unease remained for the entire walk home. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see the old man again every time I turned my head. Thankfully, my mom’s car was gone as I approached the house. Only once the door was shut and locked behind me, and I’d double-checked that the security system was set, did I feel any better.
Why was Manson’s dad still hanging around? His son wanted nothing to do with him, and as far as I knew, he didn’t have a house here. What did he want withme? Why and how did he even know who I was?
I pulled out my phone, staring at my reflection on the screen. I didn’t like to go crying to anyone for help, but I had a terrible feeling in my gut that something was really off. Who the hell grabbed a stranger like that? The way he’d talked about remembering me, the way he’d touched my hair…
I shuddered, then pulled up Vincent’s number and dialed.
He answered after only a couple rings.
“Hey, baby.” He sounded sleepy despite it being midway through the afternoon. The huskiness in his tone was instantly alluring. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much,” I said, wandering through the house with my phone at my ear. I took a quick peek at my dad’s office, but the door was shut, and I could hear the news playing from inside. I didn’t want to blurt outI called you because I was scared!but I also wasn’t sure what else to say. “Just, uh…called to see what you’re doing, I guess.”
“Oh, you know how it is. Sleeping in, getting high, eating snacks in bed. Thinking about your sexy ass. Degenerate things.” He chuckled. “I started a new painting today. I’ll show you next time you come over.”
It was remarkable how quickly he could put me at ease, how the stress felt as if it was melting out of my muscles. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and trudged upstairs, flopping down onto my bed.
“Why’d you really call me, Jess?” Vincent said, his voice gentle. “Don’t lie.”
I sighed, feeling guilty that he didn’t believe me about calling to chat, then feeling even guiltier that he was right. “I saw Manson’s dad again today.”
His voice was instantly more alert. “Where?”
“At the cafe. It was The Toasted Bean, off Fair Street and Westlake. I don’t know what was up with him. I ran into him when I was leaving and he grabbed me —”
“He fuckingwhat?” There was a thump, as if he’d suddenly moved or dropped something. “Where are you? Are you all right? Are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes, yes, I’m okay. I’m at home.” I was surprised by the alarm in his voice. “But it freaked me out and I didn’t know who else to call.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m glad you did. Manson knows he’s backin town and he’s not happy about it. I actually…I kinda fucked up, Jess. I forgot to tell him and he found out because he saw his dad’s truck parked near your house.”
My eyes widened as I sat up. “Near my house?”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not…I don’t think it meant anything. I think it just scared Manson, you know?”
“Yeah, well, this old man is starting to freak me out too,” I said, pulling my curtain aside and staring out at the street. “He knew my name, Vincent. He knew exactly who I was.”
“Fucking hell.” Vincent took a deep breath, sounding as if this was the last thing he’d wanted to hear. “Look, Jess, you have to be careful, okay? Reagan isn’t safe. I don’t know how much Manson has told you, but that guy is a fucking shitbag. I wouldn’t put it past him to start something if he knows you’ve been spending time with us.”
Dread roiled within me as I replayed the incident in my mind. The way Reagan had looked at me, how hard he’d gripped me — yeah, he wasn’t a safe person. And he’d seen me that day with Vincent, so it was likely he’d made the association between me and them.
Vincent went on, “If you need to go someplace, call us and one of us will drive you. Seriously.”
“I’d be calling almost every morning,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll be careful.”