The detective seems to sense my discomfort and tips his head at his colleague. “Jones, go and see if you can get us an update on when we can take Mr. Beaufort with us to assist.”
He doesn’t say assist in identifying Natasha’s dead body, for which I will be eternally grateful. Molly might not understand yet who Natasha was to her. But I don’t want her to have any more reasons than necessary to remember this moment.
The officer heads down the hallway toward the front door, the sound of his radio faint as he talks with someone over it.
“Good morning, Miss Beaufort.” The detective smiles kindly at Molly, but my grip remains firm on her.
“Hello,” Molly answers shyly.
The officer returns, but hangs back near the hallway, making a signal to the detective, before he turns his attention back to me.
“Is there someone you can call?” he gestures to Molly.
I nod. They want me to go with them now. Wherever they’ve taken Natasha, they’re waiting for me to confirm it’s her before they do anything else.
Clearing my throat, I reach for my phone, pulling up my father’s number first.
“I’ll call my family,” I tell the detective. “They’ll all want to be here.”
44
TATE
My hands shake,creasing the envelope that’s clutched so tightly in my palm that I swear my skin will have nail marks in it by the time I let go.
The elevator doors slide open, and I step out, heading to Sullivan and Molly’s door. A route that’s so familiar, yet feels so alien to me today. This is the last time I’ll come here. Once my signed letter cutting all ties with Liberty Records is received, then that’ll be it.
I will no longer have any reason to talk to Sullivan Beaufort.
And every reason to still love him and his daughter so much that my body physically aches at their loss from my life.
I could have taken the letter to Kyle Drayton. That would have been the sensible thing to do. Sullivan might own the label now, but I don’t know how involved he is with the actual running of it. Besides constructing contracts and tours to get ex-girlfriends out of the city and away from him, that is.
But something told me I had to do this. Delivering this last confirmation that we are over is what I need. A sort of closure, even though I know it’s going to hurt like hell.
I want Sullivan to look me in the eye one final time as I leave his life for good. I need him to understand that even though he did this, that I’m okay without him. That I. Will. Be. Okay.
Taking a deep breath, I reach to knock on the door, but the sound of notes drifting from inside halt me.
He’s playing Chopin’sFuneral March. The foreboding notes ring out like deep bells, signifying the end of something.
His despair seeps through the door like a living breathing entity until my legs go weak and I have to reach out to steady myself.
I clutch the envelope to my chest as I listen. Each note rings out sharply like he’s striking the keys so hard they’re in danger of splintering from his touch. The piece isn’t complete before the notes merge into one another un-ceremonially like they’ve been slammed all at once.
I sink back against the door as silence engulfs the air in a thick cloud.
The only sound is my shallow breaths and pulse in my ears…
…and crying.
Swallowing hard, I turn my ear to the door and strain to hear the faint muffles.
Sullivan’s crying.
It’s barely audible, but it’s real.
My heart flies to my throat and I force back a sob. This isn’t anything to do with me. Whatever he has going on the other side of this door is his private business. He closed me off from being a part of it months ago. If I was ever really a part of it to begin with.
