The sound of an infomercial woke him. He rubbed his eyes, wiped the drool from his mouth, and checked the clock—12:05 P.M.
It took a second for Tyler’s mind to catch up to where he was. As if a flash of lightning hit, everything that had occurred earlier zapped into his head.
He grabbed his phone. His stomach dropped, and his chest tightened. He didn’t bother checking the bedroom; it’d be empty. He prayed Jarod was okay.
At about 12:30 P.M., a whistle echoed, announcing Tyler received a text. Tentatively, he picked up his phone. The text had come from Jarod. All he said was, I need some time. I’m sorry.
A weight lifted off Tyler’s chest. Jarod was safe. Tyler didn’t have a clue where he was, or why he was sorry. If anyone should apologize, it should be Tyler, not Jarod. Tyler didn’t ca
