Jackson

The steering wheel creaked under my grip as I made another slow turn down Maple Street.

Nothing.

Noah’s truck wasn’t there, and neither was he.

I’d already checked the school lot, the old park behind the football field, even the strip near the gas station where he liked to park when he needed to think. Every single place came up empty.

He wasn’t answering my calls, and each time his voicemail kicked in, my chest got a little tighter.

It wasn’t just about the ...