Page 86 of Fragile Hearts

“Sure,” I say, glancing at Sloane as I mouth the word ‘police’ to her.

“They had CCTV in the shop, which was good, and we were able to get a partial image of the person who attempted to pawn your laptop,” he says, and when I look at Sloane again, I can tell she wants to know what’s going on.

“Okay, hang on, I’m just putting you on speaker, so my girlfriend can hear.” I set the phone down on the table, which is outside and quiet enough that no one else is going to hear this conversation. “Alright, we’re good to go,” I tell him.

“So, as I said, we got a partial image of the person,” he continues. “A woman, actually, with long blonde hair. The person working at the shop described her as about five foot four. Said it appeared as though she was on something.”

When I look over at Sloane, her eyes close, her head falling. I’ve never seen or met her mom, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this description fits what she looks like.

“Sloane, I was wondering if you had any photos of your mom,” the officer asks. “So we can show them to the shop attendant.”

“No,” Sloane says, blowing out a breath. “I don’t have any, but that definitely sounds like her.”

“And you said you don’t have an address for her?” Officer Pearson now asks.

“I don’t,” Sloane replies, her voice flat. “Up until last week, I hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. I have no idea where she’s been. Did you try the number I gave you?”

“We did. It’s been disconnected. It was a prepay, so I guess when it ran out, she didn’t top it up.”

“Shit,” Sloane mumbles.

“So what now?” I ask, reaching over to take her hand.

“There’s not a whole lot more we can do at this stage. We’ll keep looking,” the officer says. “But in the meantime, if she makes contact with you, let us know?”

“Will do,” I reply.

“Thanks. And your friend at the shop has your laptop. Says he’ll hold onto it for you.”

“Thanks,” I reply before we hang up.

“Fucking hell,” Sloane mumbles, her head falling to rest on her arm.

“Babe,” I say, moving around to sit beside her. “We don’t know it’s her,” I add as I wrap my arm around her, even knowing it probably is.

“It’s her,” she says, her voice muffled.

I drop a kiss to the top of her head. “Even if it is, that doesn’t change anything.”

Sloane lifts her head. “Doesn’t it?” she asks, her words laced with frustration and maybe a little anger. “She came after me because of you, Owen. Because she knows who your family is, and she found out about us, and fuck, what if, what if...”

“Hey, hey,” I say, pulling her close. “Stop.”

Sloane huffs out a breath, her eyes closing as her head falls to my shoulder. I rub my hand slowly on her back, wishing I could take all of this away from her.

“I just want her to go away and leave us alone,” she murmurs, the frustration now replaced with resignation.

I rest my cheek against the top of her head. “And I want you to stop thinking any of this is your fault. It’s not, and I still love you, and nothing is going to change that.”

She lifts her head, her watery eyes meeting mine. “One day something might,” she whispers.

“Nope, never,” I reply, shaking my head.

“Owen, you don’t know that,” she says.

“Sloane, babe,” I say, my hand cupping her chin. “I love you. That’s not going to change.” I drop a kiss on her lips before she can argue with me, kissing her deeply until she eventually pulls away, a small smile on her face now.

“You don’t know that,” she says again, but it’s more playful this time. “But thank you for saying it anyway.”