1
Gigi
“Oh my gosh, we’ve been robbed!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as soon as I stepped inside our apartment. My tiny heart broke when I saw what they’d taken.
I had to lean on the back of the couch for fear my knees would give out.
My eyes once again found the empty spot on the wall. “No, no, no, no, no,” I muttered while tears sprang to my eyes.
Dad’s guitar.
Why out of all the crap in here would they choose an old, banged up guitar to steal? The only thing that had true sentimental value to me.
The sunlight shined off my laptop that sat on top of the island—exactly where I’d left it this morning. Why would they take an old, worthless guitar but leave a laptop?
Not that my laptop was top of the line.
Speaking of top of the line laptops, my wet eyes searched around madly for Beau’s expensive one.
I spotted it on the couch and let out a loud breath.
Then I looked up again at where the guitar should be and sniffed back my tears. I dropped my bag on the floor and hurried back out the door to see if anyone saw what happened.
Racing down the stairs, I wiped at my blurry eyes, unable to stop the steady stream of tears.
“Gigi, what’s going on,” I heard Trey’s voice call from across the courtyard. He raced over to where I was standing. Despite the fact that I hadn’t spoken to him since he and Beau had shown up at our place with lipstick all over them—I fell into his arms.
“What the hell, honey,” he said, squeezing me tight into his arms. I swear if he hadn’t been there to hold me up, I probably would have collapsed on the ground.
I let out a loud snuffly, snorty, sob and tried to speak. “My, my, my dad’s guitar—it’s gone. Someone took it right off the wall.” My heart actually physically ached at the thought of it being gone forever. Or of never hearing Beau play The Hip on it again.
“We’ll find it. Do you think you could have left it anywhere else in the apartment?” he asked, his voice soothing and warm as he rubbed my back.
I shook my head and said, “No, it always goes back on the wall. Always.”
And it did.
I knew this because every night—when I was at home—before I went to bed, I touched it and looked at the pictures on the wall. It was a small ritual that I loved.
And needed.
And now I’d never be able to do it again.
That thought sent me into another crying fit. No matter how much my body shook in Trey’s arms, he didn’t let me go—in fact, he only held me tighter.
“G, let’s go upstairs and I’ll help you take another look around,” he said into my hair. His voice was so soothing and comforting, I almost did exactly what he said.
“No, I can’t go back in there. I should call the police.”
“What the fuck’s going on? And why are you calling the cops?” I heard Beau’s voice, and I twisted around toward him. He had the puppies on leashes and they were jumping on top of each other.
“Someone broke in,” I said, my voice hitching a few times as I spoke.
His face contorted into a frown. “Are you okay? Jesus,” he said, then handed the leashes to Trey before he pulled me into his arms. “What did they take? And how the hell did anyone get in here unnoticed with all these cameras around?”
Beau’s familiar arms felt just right—like home. He held me tight to his body as we swayed. “Dad’s guitar,” I sputtered out, rubbing my forehead into his chest.
He stopped swaying. “Geneviève, they didn’t take your dad’s guitar,” he said into the side of my neck.