Page 22 of Kings Don't Break

Her brows knit. “So… what?”

“You never used to wear makeup before.”

“Blake, that was ten years ago.”

I’m no expert by any means. I don’t know shit about the junk women put on their faces. The only reason I’ve picked up on the makeup she’s wearing is because I’m standing so close, but I swear I see something on her jaw. That can’t be… can it?

She seems to sense what I’m zeroing in on and tucks her chin into the scarf that’s wrapped around her neck. “I have to go. I can’t be doing this. Not around you.”

“You haven’t answered me—you alright? Kori? Kori!”

But my calls fall on deaf ears.

She’s already spun away from me and shot toward the dented and dinged Geo Metro. I don’t get the chance to chase her this time; the instant she’s got her car door open, she’s throwing herself inside and locking it.

I watch, flabbergasted, as she twists the key in the ignition ’til she forces the dying engine awake with a loud whine. She guns that little toy-sized car out of the One Stop parking lot at a speed I didn’t even know it’d be capable of. Smoke from the overheated engine and burned rubber of the tires hazes the air.

I run my fingers through my golden mane, feeling like the last five minutes have been some of the most confusing of my life. One thing’s for sure—something’s up. I’m certain of it.

I know my girl. I know everything there is to know about her. Which means I know when she’s troubled.

I won’t let it go ’til I figure out just why.

An idea comes to mind at once. Possibly a Hail Mary but worth a shot. I return to the lobby of the One Stop Autoshop, flashing a smile at the female clerk behind the desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say in my casual tone, adding a jut of my chin. Her expression softens like she’s about to let out a dreamy sigh. “That lady that was just here—mind if I take a look at the forms she was filling out? She dropped something in the parking lot and I’d like to return it to her home address.”

* * *

Korine lives on 4729 Riddell Road. It’s on the nicer side of town, where real estate developers have recently come in, knocked down decades-old homes, and put up rows of modern houses that look fancy and uniform but lack any real character.

I drift to a slow stop half a block down from her house. Before coming to check out her address, I swapped my truck out for my bike, figuring it would offer a better chance to scope the place out from afar.

Double car garage. The neatest lawn I’ve ever seen. A shit ton of windows both on the first and second story. Some kind of neutral shade I bet has a nauseating name like dove gray.

I shake my head.

Sure, it’s a nice place. The kind of home you’d see on fucking HGTV. But even taking in the home at a distance, it feels fake.

There’s no warmth. No sign of Korine. Both figuratively and literally.

Figuratively because I know my girl. And I know she always said when she bought her own home, she wanted it to have charm. She wanted wind chimes and a fruit and vegetable garden. She wanted a basketball hoop out front in the drive. This house has none of those things. None of the things Korine said would make her house a home. It’s nice and new but plain and sterile. Ice cold.

Literally because she’s not around. She must’ve gone somewhere else after the One Stop.

I’m about to pop a U-turn and ride off when the garage door slides up. A car begins backing out from inside.

Tension lances through me. Much of it shoots to my jaw.

Black and white with a badge painted on the side and a bar of blue and red lights up top.

It’s a cop car. Korine’s married to a cop!?

The shock paralyzes me. I’m left sitting immobile on my bike for so long the car backs out of the drive and then disappears down the other end of the road. I snap out of it only when a cold breeze happens to blow past me.

I rush to switch gears on my bike, kicking at my shift lever. My heart’s pounding as I roar down the block after him.

Tracking him down becomes my sole purpose. Seeing him for myself to make sure I’m not going insane.