“I should probably call my dad.”
“Why?” Stormy asked.
“He was supposed to pick me up after dinner.”
Jordan pulled out his phone.
A second later, he frowned.
“That’s strange.”
“What?”
“My battery died.”
Stormy checked the time.
“Maybe he’s already outside.”
Jordan walked to the front window.
Instead of smiling, he frowned.
“I don’t see his truck.”
At that exact moment, my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice came through, older now, rougher than memory, but unmistakable. “I’m sorry to bother you. My truck broke down about two streets over.”
