Page 41 of If Love Had A Manual (Skeptically In Love #2)

I lean against the counter, watching her hum softly under her breath as she flips pancakes, unaware of how intently my eyes are fixed on her.

All I want to do is drag her back upstairs, pull that damn T-shirt off her, and bury myself inside her again.

But the phone she’s been ignoring for the past ten minutes keeps buzzing. She lets out a frustrated huff and silences it completely.

I raise a brow in question, but she won’t meet my eyes. “You should probably get that.”

“It’s my father.”

That pulls me up short, but it rings again.

“Damn it. He wouldn’t be this persistent if something weren’t wrong.”

She swipes to answer, pacing as she lifts the phone to her ear.

“Hello... What?” She glances at me. “I was busy.” A pause. “Since when?... No, she hasn’t called me. Have you tried calling her?” Her fingers tighten around the phone. “Okay, I’m only asking. I’ll call her now. I might know where she is.”

She barely hangs up before she’s moving, heading straight for the stairs at a pace that has every nerve in my body firing.

I follow hot on her heels.

By the time I catch up, she’s in Rosie’s room, swapping my T-shirt for the extra clothes she keeps here. It’s methodical, and my gut tightens at how practiced she is at rushing out the door like this.

“Lena,” I say carefully, as she shoves her feet into her trainers. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s my sister.” She exhales, tying the laces so tight, her knuckles turn white. “She’s missing. I need to go.”

“Missing? Where?”

What a stupid fucking question.

“Never mind. I’ll take you.”

She shakes her head, already halfway past me. “Rosie’s going to need a nap soon. You should stay.”

The fuck I should.

I reach for her wrist before she can make it down the stairs. “Lena?”

She stops.

“I know you’re in a hurry but get your ass back here.”

To my relief, she obeys.

I cup her face, tipping her chin up as I press a quick kiss to her lips. “You need to calm down.”

Her hands fist my shirt so I pry them away, loosening her fingers and massaging them. “You’re shaking. I thought you knew where she was.”

“I do. I think. I just haven’t spoken to my father in a while.”

My jaw clenches so hard I’m surprised I don’t crack a tooth.

“Christ,” I breathe out. “Did he ever—”

“Hurt me?” she finishes, her gaze flickering down. “With his words, yes. But not physically. He was always a gentle giant in that way.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better.

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let go completely because she’s in no state to drive.

“Rosie can nap in the car,” I say. “Let’s go.”

“Wes, you don’t have to—”

“Don’t argue with me, baby. Get your ass in the car.”

With a fractured exhale, she nods once and grabs her bag.

I lift Rosie from her playpen and tuck her against my hip as I breathe a silent vow: We’ll fix this, Lena. Then we’ll figure out the rest.