"Fucking fuck."

My hair is flung out around my bed, like a halo surrounding me. I stare up at my phone resting between both my hands.

"Who the hell are you?"

Suffice to say, I didn't sleep a wink last night. How could I when so much was on my mind? Who was this guy buying the gum? What was his connection to my mother?

Most importantly, was he my dad?

It had been the question I'd asked myself most as I lay awake, staring at the hours tick by.

I didn't seem much of a resemblance. I mean, he had brown hair, but so what? That meant nothing.

"Who the—"

My phone begins to vibrate in my hand. Ryan's stupid, annoying face pops up on the screen.

I'd taken the photo whilst we were still together. I'd never changed it because despite the circumstances of our break up, I loved this photo of him.

I'd taken it from above, sitting on his lap. His eyes were tightly closed and he was smiling so widely. It'd been two weeks before our break up.

Despite being completely and utterly pissed off at him, I couldn't deny that he looked handsome. There was something just so personal about this photo, something that reminded me that my relationship wasn't all bad with him.

We just happened to be better off as friends. And that was okay.

"Hey," I answer quietly, keeping my resolve. I didn't want to talk about our fight. I didn't want to think about it at all.

"So, when were you going to tell me about what you found yesterday? Or were you just going to leave me out entirely?"

I sigh, clenching my teeth tightly. "Are you for real?" I scath. "You're seriously going to start another argument with me after what happened at the beach?"

"I—"

"Fuck you, Ryan," I hang up, harshly pressing the red button.

I fling my phone to the end of my bed, turning over to lean against my side. I watch the summer breeze simmer in through my open window. The large dreamcatcher I had hanging next to it was blowing in the wind.

My phone begins to ring against my duvet cover but I don't both glancing at it. I already knew who it would be.

When the ringing ends, it only picks up again. I reach for my pillow, screaming into it. Dad was home and even though he was probably pissed, I didn't need him to hear my inner turmoil becoming external.

It continues to ring and I pick it up. "Ryan, I swear—"

"Before you hang up, just hear me out."

"I don't want to talk about what happened."

"Neither do I," he agrees.

"Good," I humph.

"Good," he repeats.

"What did you want then, huh?"

"Don't sound mad," he sighs.

"I'm always mad at you. It's impossible not to be."

"Wes told me about the guy in the footage," something rustles on the other end as he moves around. "Can I come over?"

"I guess," I sigh. "Just don't be a dick and don't get on my nerves, okay?"

"I can't promise anything, Ceeks. I definitely can't promise anything."

No more than twenty minutes later, Ryan is walking up my driveway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts.

"Took you long enough," I grouch, my arms folded over my chest.

"I'm a slower walker when it's hot. I need to take more breaks."

I roll my eyes at his dramatic demeanour, opening the door further for him so he can pass.

"Friends, again?"

"Sure," I shrug. "Until we fight again."

Ryan grins, pulling me into a bear hug and crushing me half to death. "Thanks, Ceeks."

I could hear Teagan in my head, telling me I wasn't dealing with this healthily. But I didn't care right now. I had more pressing issues to be concerned with.

Dad is fast asleep on the couch when we walk past. I watch Ryan's disappointed expression spread across his face, my father succumbing to his addiction.

"Any improvements?"

"Nah," I wave it off. "Nothing's changed. Just same-old-same-old Brett."

"Brett?" Ryan frowns. "Ceeks, you know that just because he isn't your bio father, doesn't mean he's not—"

"I know that," I say harshly, walking into my room and shutting the door behind me. "Let's just hope that my real father isn't a fuck up too."

"Ceeks..."

"Enough with the pity, Ryan. That isn't why you're here."

I walk over to my desk, back turned to Ryan. He lays down on my bed, staring at the fan as it swirls around and around, circulating the limited cool air in my room.

I riffle through the papers on my desk. It was growing increasingly messy since this summer. It tended to do that when I began looking for mum each year.

"Have you seen Rhys since—"

"No," I interject. "And we aren't going there. It'll only lead to a fight."

"But—"

"Ryan," I sigh. I turn around to glare at him. He throws his hands in the air, surrendering.

I find the picture Tom printed yesterday under a few articles I was looking at about disappearances nearby.

When mum first went missing and people began to suspect she had 'run away', I started looking into cases like hers. It was something I'd always done, especially lately with the leads I had been getting this year.

"Here it is," I say, passing the paper to him. "You probably won't recognise him, though."

He gingerly grabs the paper, propping himself up on his elbows. "Have you shown this to anyone besides us?"

I roll my eyes. "If you're asking if I've shown this to Rhys; no. Shut up about him."

"You know I don't want you hanging around him."

"Just look at the damn picture."

"You know I'm serious, right? I hate him. Especially after the party—"

"I know!" I throw my hands up, exasperated. "You'll never let me forget it."

Ryan seems to be satisfied despite not giving him a clear answer. He glances down at the photo, staring at it from every angle.

"Hmm," he frowns. "Definitely familiar."

I bite my lip, nervously. "We've all said the same thing. I think it has to be someone from New River. Especially when you look at the cap he's wearing."

"The cap? Oh. OH."

"Oh?" I perk up, suddenly alert. "Oh?"

"Oh shit," he says under his breath, his hands holding the picture tighter. "I— I know who this is."

"You— wait, what? You're serious?"

"Yes!" he says, eyes wide. "This guy he's— shit."

"Ryan!" I say, exasperated. "Spit it out already!"

"The logo," he points to the man's cap. "It's from the New River accountancy."

"What?"

"Yeah," he nods, "Yeah. I know him."

"How?" I whisper, shocked that this was all happening. This was real.

"He's my parent's accountant, Ceeks. Shit."

"What's his name, Ry?"

He looks up at me, eyes flicking between the paper and my face. He shakes his head, in awe with himself.

"It's Marcus Wainwright. The best accountant in New River."