Love Rents A Room
Chapter 79: She Disappeared

Chapter 79: She Disappeared

JD found a quiet spot near the announcers’ booth, observing the lively crowd. Joanne was seated with Liam—more like she had claimed a seat there. He had to admire her audacity. She always seemed to get what she wanted, one way or another.

He didn’t know many people here, but he figured he could at least take some pictures. His camera lens swept across the bleachers before landing on Fiona—Liam’s wife—perched among her too-polished friends.

JD recognized their type instantly.

The flashy designer labels, the oversized sunglasses, the carefully curated laughter—it all screamed new money. He had been raised among people who sneered at their kind, and truthfully, he understood why. There was an artificiality to them, a need to prove something.

His gaze flicked to Joanne.

She’s new money too.

Yet, she didn’t carry herself like that. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. If anything, she acted more like a middle-class workaholic than someone with wealth. And for some reason, that never put him off.

Odd.

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the women were loud.

They were badmouthing Joanne right to Fiona’s face, implying that by allowing Joanne to sit with Liam, she was practically handing her husband over on a silver platter.

JD exhaled sharply. Seriously?

To Fiona’s credit, she pushed back, insisting that there was nothing between Liam and Joanne. But it was clear she was hesitant—afraid of losing face, of alienating her friends.

JD had heard enough.

He stood and moved to another spot, one that had a better vantage point for photos—and, more importantly, was far from that conversation.

After a while, a break was called. (What’s the official term for a break in softball? He made a mental note to look it up later.)

Liam, ever the showman, took charge of the entertainment.

The kids performed dances and songs, their enthusiasm infectious. But there was still extra time left to fill.

Liam grinned into the mic.

"And now—for your entertainment—our very own Joanne Smith will be playing the fiddle! So grab a partner, ’cause it’s time to dance!"

JD’s eyebrows lifted.

Joanne plays the fiddle?

She had a violin back at the house, but he had never actually seen her play it.

How good was she?

He didn’t have to wait long.

Joanne wasn’t even pretending to be modest about it. No coy reluctance, no Oh, I couldn’t possibly! nonsense. Someone handed her the fiddle, and she took it with the confidence of someone who knew what she was doing.

A few kids rushed to place wooden boards at the center of the field, getting ready for a tap dance.

Then, Joanne set bow to string.

The first few notes rang out, clear and sharp.

She missed a note—maybe two—but it didn’t matter. Because what she lacked in practice, she made up for in fire. The music was alive, pouring from her fingers with a kind of effortless energy that pulled the entire crowd into its rhythm.

Cheers erupted. Feet stomped. The kids on the wooden boards began tapping in time, their shoes drumming against the planks in perfect sync with her bowing.

JD found himself grinning.

He had to admit it—this was the best performance of the night.

As the last note rang out, the cheers were deafening. Joanne gave a small, theatrical bow before handing the fiddle back.

She was smiling—bright, confident, radiant. The picture of someone unbothered, unaffected. But unseen by the crowd, a pair of dark eyes burned with hatred, locked onto her.

He called himself Johnny now.

Hidden among the sea of faces, he clutched the box cutter in his pocket, his fingers tight around the handle. She had no idea.

All he needed was to find her alone.

Then, she would finally pay.

***

The match resumed, and JD found himself caught up in the game—surprisingly invested, considering he never cared much for softball. The energy of the crowd, the raw excitement of competition, even the casual banter between spectators—it was a good distraction.

Until an annoyingly familiar voice yanked him back to reality.

"For someone who just went through a terrible breakup, she’s enjoying herself a little too much..." Nina scoffed, her tone dripping with malice. "What a bitch."

JD’s brows furrowed as he turned—when did she get this close?

Before he could react, Nina slithered closer, pressing her hand onto his thigh, rubbing slow circles as she leaned in.

JD stiffened.

She smelled like cheap perfume and alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Then again, so did most people here.

He clenched his jaw. "Breakup?"

Nina’s lips curled into a sneer. She leaned in further, her breath hot against his ear, the scent of whiskey laced with something sickly sweet.

"She got cheated on..." she whispered, her fingers creeping dangerously higher.

JD barely heard her.

His focus had already shattered the moment he glanced toward the bleachers—Joanne’s seat was empty.

His stomach twisted.

The words cheated on rattled in his brain, but so did something far more urgent: Where the hell did she go?

He jerked away from Nina, stepping back abruptly. "I do not appreciate this," he bit out, his voice tight with disgust.

Nina pouted, batting her lashes. "Oh, come on—"

JD ignored her completely. His gaze swept the crowd, scanning for her—for that unmistakable figure, that golden-brown hair that caught the light just right—

Nothing.

A pit formed in his chest.

His feet moved before he could think, striding toward the parking lot.

She wouldn’t just leave, would she?

But when he got there, his heart sank.

Her truck was gone.

JD exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His gut twisted, a deep, uneasy feeling settling in his bones.

He needed to find her. Now.

JD pulled up outside the pub, expecting to find her drowning whatever pain she was in at the bottom of a whiskey glass. But the place was dark.

Closed.

Of course.

Most of the town was still at the game, drinking straight from their coolers or sneaking flasks past security. If Joanne wasn’t here, that left only one option.

Home.

JD swallowed hard. He didn’t know why his chest felt tight, why his fingers clenched around the steering wheel with bone-white knuckles. He just knew something felt wrong.

Really, she’d be fine, wouldn’t she? She was Joanne. Strong. Unshakable. The kind of woman who took betrayal on the chin and still stood tall.

But still...

His foot pressed down harder on the accelerator.

The truck rumbled as it tore down the dirt roads, gravel spitting beneath the tires. The vast open land stretched around him, the night air thick and cool, but his skin burned with unease.

Please be there, Joanne...