Used to the way my brothers would get up and leave on a moment’s notice, I do what I always did and continue on. Even without knowing a single detail, left completely in the dark, I go through the motions to keep myself occupied.
The shower helps somewhat as I let the warm water run over me. I wash the lingering grime and smells away,cataloguing a few well-positioned bruises along my hips, and smiling faintly at the sight despite myself.
As my hands drift along my body, I close my eyes and easily recall how Wyatt had done the same, like it was the last time, but it isn’t quite the same. Not even while the scent of his body wash surrounds me like a quiet reminder.
The subtle ache between my legs grows warmer at the mental images, and it takes all of my willpower not to do something about it.
Remembering that I have somewhere to be, I eventually get out and towel off before pulling on a pair of soft leggings, a sports bra, and a relaxed hoodie. All the while I move through the condo, I half expect Wyatt to appear in one of the doorways, both irritated and apologetic for the interruption.
But he doesn’t.
Downstairs, the place feels even emptier somehow. The kitchen is vacant, and I don’t even find coffee in the machine, or his usual mug sitting in the sink. There’s no evidence he even entered the space this morning.
With a frown, concern springs to life in my chest, sharpening into something I can’t will myself to ignore.
So, I send a text. Just a standard:where are you?
I try to eat something simple while I wait for some kind of response, regardless of how badly I just want to sink into the couch and stare at my screen. Spiraling won’t help, regardless of how tempting it is to slip into.
If there’s one thing my brothers drilled into me growing up, it’s that panic is useless, and it doesn’t get you anything but killed.
Maybe that’s a bit extreme for this very moment, but the fact still stands. Worrying won’t help me.
Eventually, an alert on my phone—one I mistake for a text from Wyatt, only to feel my heart sink—reminds me of my spin class starting in half an hour.
Initially, I debate skipping out just in case, but the longer I consider sitting alone in the condo with my thoughts, the less appealing it becomes. At least it’ll be a controlled environment, with routine and familiar faces to keep my spirits up.
It’s normal, and something I desperately need.
So, I grab my things and head out, sure to keep my phone on me at all times.
The driver’s already waiting when I step outside, giving me a tepid greeting as usual while he opens the door for me. He’s polite and professional, scanning the street in a way that suggests he isn’t merely a driver. The usual fare.
Roman had threatened to send one of his own guys over if Wyatt didn’t assign me one, and before I knew it, the man arrived the very next day.
Our small talk is brief as we both get in, and the car pulls onto the highway soon enough. I watch as the usual buildings pass by with my phone in hand, aimlessly tapping a finger against the screen every so often, as if a message might’ve slipped past my notice.
But still, nothing.
I type out another text, only to delete it before I can press the send button. A weird combination of shame and worry shifts in my gut at the thought of sounding too needy, regardless of how badly I just want to hear from him.
For a second, I’m irritated with myself for being so concerned.
He’s a busy man, and he can’t answer me on a whim just because I need reassurance.
With a deep breath, I urge myself to relax.
Luckily, the drive isn’t too long, and soon enough, I’ll be in class sweating off all the annoying thoughts that only grow stronger as time passes.
With the building just a short two blocks away, the car eventually slows in the middle of the street while a few others do the same up ahead.
“Something wrong?”
The driver doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he peers through the glass with a small crease between his brows, then he checks his mirrors. “Just traffic.”
His tone comes across nonchalant enough, but I can’t get past the way he keeps looking around like it isn’t just typical congestion.
So instead of letting it go, I lean forward and try to get a better look at what’s going on.
