Oliver
I rap my knuckles against Rina’s apartment door again, a little louder this time in the quiet hallway.
Does she really think she can ignore me?
That I’ll walk away like none of this matters?
Not a chance.
“Come on, Rina. Open the door,” I plead.
“Go away.” Her response is muffled through the metal, but the edge in it still cuts clean through me.
“Absolutely not, babe.” Frustration crashes over me as I rest my forehead against the cool surface, willing her to open up. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this like rational adults.”
When a door creaks open across the hall, I glance over to see an older woman poking her head out. Her eyes widen at the sight of me looming outside Rina’s apartment like an unhinged stalker.
I lift my chin in greeting, trying to appear calm. “How’s it going?”
Her brows fly up, lips pursing before she vanishes back inside almost as quickly as she appeared. The loud snick of her deadbolt sliding into place is unmistakable.
“Your neighbor says hello,” I mutter.
Seconds drag by like hours before I hear the sound of scraping metal. The lock turns and the deadbolt pulls back with a reluctant clunk before the door is jerked open.
Rina stands in front of me with her long, dark hair a tangled mess, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, and her normally olive complexion a shade too pale. Before I can say anything, she reaches out and grips my shirt, yanking me inside with a surprising amount of strength. The door slams shut behind us with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“Happy now?” she snaps.
The apartment is dimly lit, the blinds drawn tight against the afternoon sun that still manages to burn faint streaks around the edges. The air hangs heavy, laced with a lingering trace of her perfume. It’s something dark and sultry that settles deep in my chest.
I take in her appearance carefully, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
Although, even like this, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Hell, she could wear a trash bag, and I’d still want her. But there’s something raw in her expression that makes her look strangely fragile. Almost as if one wrong word could break her into a million pieces.
And that’s not the Rina I’ve grown to care for.
“Tell me what’s going on.” The words come out rough, pulled tight with concern. “Are you sick?”
It would explain why she skipped work today and looks so pale. There’s a hollowness to her eyes that has me worried.
Her gaze darts away as her hands twist together before finally falling uselessly to her sides. Without responding, she turns and walks into the living area. Her body seems to fold in on itself as she sinks to the couch, as if gravity is suddenly too much to fight against.
I’ve never seen Rina like this.
Not the woman who’s all fire, fight, and stubborn pride. The woman who never lets anyone get the best of her or see her in a moment of weakness.
And now she looks… unbearably delicate.
Silence stretches between us until it becomes suffocating.
If I was worried before, it’s nothing compared to the cold pit of dread forming in my gut.
Unsure what to do, I crouch before her, my knees hitting the carpet with a dull thud. “Talk to me, baby. You’re starting to scare me.”
She opens her mouth before slamming it shut again. Her fingers tangle tightly, draining the color from her knuckles. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me it’s none of my business and to get out.
“I’m pregnant.”
