Practically rips his claws across my ribcage like, “WHERE IS SHE, YOU ABSOLUTE FAILURE OF A MATE?”
I reach the front door.
Knock once.
Twice.
I try the handle.
Locked.
Of course.
Damn it.
The lights are off inside, and the closed sign hangs a little too smugly in the window, like it’s freaking mocking me.
I jog around the side, dodging a snow pile, and try to peer through her apartment window upstairs.
Nothing. Dark. Empty.
“She’s gone,” I mutter, chest tightening.
I missed her.
I lean back against the cold brick wall, tux jacket flaring open as I let my head fall back and stare up at the sky like it’s got answers.
Big flakes of snow start falling, slow and soft.
Figures.
My first real shot at happiness in decades—not just a hook-up, not just a maybe—but the real deal.
The kind of bond you only get once.
The kind of woman you can’t forget even if you tried.
And I blew it.
All because Bobby wanted to go joyriding on ice like he was Vin Diesel on a budget.
I should’ve called her sooner.
Should’ve gone to her first.
Should’ve explained that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care—I left because I did care.
Too much to even think about inconveniencing her by waking her up.
And that scared the shit out of me.
But now?
Now I’m just standing here like a tuxedoed idiot in the snow, heart in my throat and a tux that smells faintly like antiseptic because I changed into it in the damn hospital bathroom.
I pull out my phone.
Stare at her contact.
