“Noted,” he said coolly. “Though I expect pragmatism over sentiment next time.”
My stomach twisted under the weight of their combined relentless gaze. The meeting dragged on. Minutes turned into hours. Numbers, projections, more bloodless plans to feed their greed. A sentiment I’d never shared.
I glanced at my watch. It was seven forty-six already. My gut turned to lead. Sin was supposed to be mine tonight. I’d planned a date. A real one. To show him what he meant to me. That this was real. I promised him. He’d given me another chance, and I knew I was going to ruin it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again. Another message. Then another. I didn’t need to look to know who they were from.
By the time the meeting ended, I barely remembered what had been discussed. I stood before anyone else, offering a stiff nod, and bolted for the stairwell, choosing concrete over the chrome, running instead of waiting for the elevator and another opportunity for my father to drag me back in.
My lungs burned as I hit the parking garage. My hands shook as I finally checked my phone.
Sin
Still waiting….
Sin
You said an hour. That was hours ago.
Sin
Don’t do this again, Theo.
Sin
I can’t keep doing this.
Sin
Fuck this! I’m out!
No. I wouldn’t accept this. I called him immediately, and it went straight to voicemail. I tried again. And again. Nothing. Just the impersonal voice of the factory setting voicemail.
The drive across town blurred—red lights, headlights, city noise fading into the static roar inside my head. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think clearly. I was losing him, and the only person to blame was me.
When I got to his building, I jumped out of my car, abandoning it haphazardly against the curb. Impatiently, I pressed the button for his apartment. The intercom buzzed relentlessly without answer.
I glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was coming this way so I could slip in behind them, but it was deserted. Frustrated, my hands fisted my hair, yanking against the roots. Then I remembered that sometimes the building super propped open the door at the rear of the building and thanked God for his stupidity. I sprinted around to the back, finding the door ajar, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The lights in the stairwell were blown out. I climbed the steps two at a time. By the time I reached Sin’s floor, my lungs wereheaving. The third floor hallway was dim, quiet. The scent of cooked food and smoke permeated the air.
I pounded on his door. “Sin!” My voice cracked. “Open up. Please, I’m sorry?—”
Nothing. So I tried again. And again. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. I rested my forehead against the wood, breathing hard, my fists curled so tight my knuckles bleached white.
The sound of a lock disengaging to my right drew my attention. I turned to find an elderly woman leaning on her doorframe, wrapped in a pink robe. Her expression was unimpressed.
“Can I help you?” she asked dryly.
“I—no. Sorry. Just…” I gestured at the door.
She studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. “There’s no one there, sweetheart.”
“He has to be.”
Her lips pressed together. “He left about an hour ago. Got my groceries for me, bless his heart.”
My breath caught. “That was…”
