All of which adds to the steady, dark, and ugly rhythm pounding in my head.
That, and the nausea Cormac warned me about.
Trace drives us in his Mercedes, jaw locked, knuckles white on the steering wheel like he’s anxious to get home to his wife.
When we reach my building, he puts the car in park and turns to face me. “Do you want me to come up with you? Talk to her for you? Back you up? Tie her up?”
I laugh for the first time in hours. “I wish it were that simple.”
I shake the painkillers in my pocket. I took one an hour ago, and the faint buzz still blurs the edges of my sight.
“No.” My voice comes out rough. “This is between her and me.”
Trace watches me another moment, then nods. “All right, brother. Just be gentle. We like strong women, but we can’t always assume they’re made of steel. They shatter sometimes, and that’s okay.”
Be gentle. Right. Like I know how.
“Thanks.” I turn to give him a hug and then leave the car.
I pass through the lobby with my head down. The elevator ride is endless. My ribs throb with each breath. The corridor carpet pattern blurs and seems to be moving, lifting up and down.
Dizziness.Check.
I hold my breath until I’m in front of Fallon’s door, gently knocking.
“Fallon,” I say, leaning my forehead against the cool metal. “It’s me, love. Please…let me in.”
Silence shatters me.
I knock again, softer. “Please.”
Nothing.
A cold dread drops my stomach. I shove off the door, pushing back the panic. Maybe she’s in the garden. Even though it’s early, freezing, and snowy.
The snow! She’ll want to cover the plants.
I take the stairs this time, two at a clip. But the garden is annoyingly empty. Fallon’s beds look brittle and bare, their earth hard and cold. She’s not here.
Good. At least she’s not outside freezing.
I consider climbing the fence to replace her tarp, but fear I’ll fall and crack my skull open.
I keep moving, chasing shadows of her across our neighborhood to all the places she talks about. Every place I’ve ever seen her smile. The cupcake shop on the corner. No Fallon. The tea shop where she misunderstood me. No Fallon. The ornament shop where she pressed her nose to the glass like a child last week. Not there either. Even the security guard at the school hasn’t seen her.
No Fallon. Anywhere.
By the time I make it back to our building, I’m staggering from the meds. Each step is a challenge to my balance. On our floor, I knock on her door again, harderthis time.
“Please,” I say, voice breaking and loud. “Let me explain, love,please.”
Silence.
I press my fist to the door and stand there until I’m crying, and my legs threaten to buckle.
“I’ll do anything. Fallon, I can’t think straight. I’m sick and fucking out of my mind. Please…”
Nothing.
