I’m not usually one to take a bath, but my muscles burn so badly a quick soak will do me good. I grab a beer, set up my laptop for the Formula One pre-practice show, and get into a tub full of hot water.
Too bad that not even the bliss of cold beer sliding down my throat as my muscles relax can stop my mind drifting to Blair’s tearful voice.
TWELVE
Cody
MUFFLED YELLS SEEPINTO my otherwise peaceful condo while I spread out on the couch, watching the Singapore Grand Prix practice session, my hair damp as I text back and forth with Mia.
Her favorite driver hit the wall at the third turn... she’s not pleased with my comments.
I sit up, eyeing my door as if that’ll let me hear better, but I can’t make out any more sounds.
Bug: That was unfair! Your guy pushed him off the track. If this was the race, he’d get a five-second penalty.
Me: He left him enough room.
Another sound reaches my ears, and I sit up again. It’s hard to make out, but someone’s definitely shouting. A man judging by the baritone. The words are muffled, nothing but gibberish hitting my ears. It’s clear where they’re coming from, though—Blair’s condo.
I mute the TV, trying to hear better.
“Get out! Get out now!” Blair wails loud enough to carry through the walls.
Andbang! Something heavy hits the ground. Glass shatters. Then again, and again, and my heartrate soars.
I dash to the entryway as the noises intensify. Through the peephole, I spot a man in a suit standing in Blair’s doorway.
“Enough!” he barks, the word laced with brutal disdain. “You’re acting like a fucking child, and that won’t fly with me. You should know better by now. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight. Wear what I gave you, and fucking behave. Tonight was unacceptable.” He slams the door, marching down the hallway, shoulders squared, fists clenched.
Without thinking, I yank my door open. The guy turns, his eyebrows furrowing.
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask.
He shoots me a scowl, his lips meshed into a hard line until his eyes spark with recognition. He reins in his temper, face turning neutral faster than I can blink. “This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Hayes.”
So he knows who I am. Of course he does. Fucking perfect. It’d be great if I knew whoheis. He looks young. Thirty, maybe thirty-five, and vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
“I think it does concern me, considering I live next door.”
“My apologies for disturbing your night,” he drawls, weighing every word like a British aristocrat but without the accent. “It was a genuine misunderstanding. Please give my best to your brother.”
Which brother? dances on the tip of my tongue. I have six, and they each have about six million friends. It’s not easy to guess who he means, but a quick appraisal of his bespoke suit hints that this guy has more money than common sense, which suggests he’s friends with Nico. That would explain why he looks familiar. I must’ve seen him with my brother somewhere.
Not waiting for anything else on my part, he bobs his head once in a respectful gesture and stalks away, disappearing behind the corner.
I stand there, wondering whether I should check on Blair. There was something in her voice... a sense of despair that’s hard to ignore no matter how much I want not to give a shit.
Seems I’ll always give a shit if a woman’s hurting.
You’ll regret this, I think as I take four steps and stop before her door, quietly knocking three times.
Nothing.
Complete, utter stillness. Not one sound from inside, even though I know she’s there. Gritting my teeth, I knock again, my knuckles barely tapping the wood.
Nothing.
She probably doesn’t want to talk, but at least I fucking tried not to be an asshole. With a clear conscience, I turn back toward my condo when her door creeps open.
