I sit up fast, clutching the blanket against me like it can block the flood of memories rushing in. His touch. His voice. The feel of him holding me all night. I press a shaky hand to my mouth. I swore to myself I wouldn’t go there again, not after his rejection.
What the hell have I done?
The bedroom feels too big now, too full of him. His jacket is still draped over the chair. His watch sits on the bedside table next to the folded note he must have left. I pull it closer, the handwriting sharp and neat.
Stay here today. Rest. Don’t open the door to anyone but me.— W.
I read it twice. Maybe three times. The message is simple, but the tone… that’s not the same man who barks orders in the office. It’s protective. It’s almost gentle.
I climb out of bed, pulling his shirt tighter around me. It swamps me, and I pull the material to my nose and inhale before dropping it, mortified. I’m smelling him like some crazy stalker.
I head into the kitchen, it’s spotless, of course it is. He lives like he’s allergic to mess. But there’s a half empty mug by the sink, a sign he didn’t even finish his coffee before leaving.
I move through the rooms slowly, touching things I shouldn’t: the marble counter, the floor-to-ceiling tinted-glass window that looks out across the skyline, the black-and-white photo of a woman with soft eyes and a sad smile.
His mother,I think.There’s a resemblance in the eyes. She’s beautiful.
I feel small standing here, surrounded by everything that is him, all power and silence and control. But it won’t last. He’s going to return at some point and freak out; it’s what he does.
I go back to the bedroom and take my phone off the side. Dropping down in the comfy chair by the window, I tuck my feet under my backside and call Court. She’ll know what to do.
“I left you three messages,” she barks the second the call connects. “And then that fuck face picked up my call. Are you still with him?”
I let out a small, amused laugh. “You told my boss he was highly punchable.”
“He is.”
“And that he was a walking red flag with no emotional intelligence.”
“I also threatened to stab him in the eye, but in my defence, I was worried about you.” She takes a breath. “Lee, are you okay?”
The worry in her voice has me choking with emotion. “No––yes. I don’t even know anymore. Jordan blames me for Isaac. Mum didn’t disagree. And then I ended up calling my boss for help by mistake.”
“How?”
Another laugh escapes. “He’s saved in my phone as Cunt.”
She giggles too. “Holy shit, Lee. What a mess.” There’s some rustling her end, and then I hear traffic, like she’s stepped out. “Jordan is looking for someone to blame. He’s upset. And your mum, she’s just broken right now. But they need you, you’re holding them together.”
I stare out over the skyline. The sky is greyer than usual, matching my sombre mood.
“I should be upset; I should go round and sort it out but all I can think about is…” I trail off feeling selfish.
“Your boss?” she guesses.
I groan out loud, rubbing a hand over my tired face. “Yes!” I wail. “My brother is dead and my family hate me, and I’m thinking about him.”
“Why don’t we meet?” she suggests. I hear her whistle, and then a car door opens and closes. “Okay, I’m in a cab. Where shall we meet?”
I hesitate. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I mutter, remembering Warren’s note. “He said I should stay here today. Rest.”
There’s a beat of silence before she scoffs. “Are you serious right now? You’re gonna listen to your boss?”
“He was nice enough to pick me up last night. Which reminds me, where the hell were you?”
“Meet me at Café Nine and I’ll tell you.”
I check my watch. It’s two in the afternoon. I could slip out and be back before Warren gets home. “I don’t have anything decent to wear.”
