It makes absolutely no sense. But I’m doing it anyway.
Decision made, I swipe the card through the slot and step into Noah’s apartment.
An overhead light pops on, and I freeze—like a deer caught in headlights.
I square my shoulders, waiting for the shrill of an alarm… or the sudden appearance of the Secret Service rounding the corner to take me down. But, when nothing happens—no alarm, no ambush—I blow out a breath and finally take in my surroundings.
A round glass table stands front and center in the foyer, displaying a gorgeous crystal vase. At least six dozen long-stemmed red roses fan out from the vase’s wide mouth, yawning for attention. It’s a striking centerpiece, and probably the largest display of flowers I’ve ever seen.
I take a moment to admire the beautiful arrangement, gently rolling a soft petal between my thumb and forefinger, breathing in the mix of fruity, floral, and spicy scents. The aroma takes me back to the day I purchased roses for Elijah. That was the night Noah saw me break down, frozen and shell-shocked as I watched Elijah and Gabriel embrace.
I sigh, biting the inside of my cheek to stop that memory from traveling any further into my psyche.
There’s a card leaning against the base of the vase, angled just so. The handwriting is attractive, neatly penned. I lean closer to read it.
Noah, my beautiful boy.
I am truly sorry.
~Gabriel.
What the?—
I pick it up and flip it over, looking for… something. Anything. But aside from the floral company’s name stamped across the top, there’s nothing.
What is he apologizing for?
The last I knew, they were head over heels for each other. Plus, Elijah made it crystal clear that Gabriel would never do anything to hurt Noah.
Yet… he did.
I scratch the top of my head, a sick feeling starting to churn through my gut. My breath hitches. I start counting to eleven—short, shaky inhales, trying to ground myself, as a storm of dark scenarios begins crashing into my mind.
This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this bullshit. It’s none of my business.
But when I reach the number nine, I feel no better than I did at one.
Fed up, I abandon my counting and slam my fist down onto the table. Water sloshes over the edges of the vase, splattering onto the glass.
Logic says I should leave the key right there—on the table—and walk out. But at the moment, I lack any and all logical reasoning.
As I move further into Noah’s apartment, my ears perk up at the faint sound of music drifting from down the hall. Soft. Sultry. Seductive.
The track fades into another—a love song this time. Slow and dreamy.
Something shifts in the air. My pulse quickens.
Is Noah home?
Is he with someone?
Someone…otherthan Gabriel?
Because Gabriel is in Spain.
Which reminds me… I shouldn’t be here either.
But that doesn’t stop me.
