“I hope that extends to the bedroom.” Liv latches onto the safer topic and runs with it.
“It does,” I concede, just as eager to step away from my confession and acknowledge what we both know. Boone could break me, and I’m not really sure if there would be pieces left to put me back together after.
I give her a few more lewd details, nothing in the realm that Liv was hoping for, but it’s enough to satiate her for the time being before we finally hang up. It’s nearly seven, and Boone is usually back by now. We’ve been planning to go to the grocery store for the past two nights, but once he gets home, it’s a little bit of a challenge to leave.
I think about the way he touched me last night in the shower and after, and heat fills my lower belly. While my phone is still in my hand, I send him a text, asking him to let me know when he gets here so I can meet him out front. I know if he comes inside, our evening will more than likely go the way it did last night and the night before, and I’m getting tired of takeout.
I jump up when I hear a sudden knock on the door, accompanied by a male voice saying my name loud enough to travel through the apartment. It has me simultaneously lookingfor a place to hide while contemplating if I could see who it is before trying my luck and climbing out the window.
“Harlyn, it’s me, Chauncey.” He bangs on the door again. “I have a key. I’m going to open the door.”
“Oh shit, oh shit!” I backpedal, scared, but not because I don’t believe him. It sounds like the man I met a few days ago—the same one who brought me his daughter’s old tablet and joked with Boone. The reason I’m scared is because he’s here and Boone isn’t, and I don’t know what that means.
The lock snapping open seems loud, even though the sound is just a small click. Chauncey pokes his head in the door, and his face is set in a grim mask. “There’s been an incident.”
My stomach drops, and I actually feel my legs wobble. “Incident?” I question through a croak. Though my mind is reeling, I can’t fathom what could be happening, but with every fiber of my being, I know it’s bad.
Chauncey pushes the door the rest of the way open and steps into the apartment. There is at least twenty feet separating us, but that space isn’t enough to obscure his disheveled appearance. He looks so much different than the smartly put together man who sat at the counter with Boone. Even if his clothes weren’t askew and stained with a dark substance, his features, tight with worry, would tell me this isn’t a ruse or trick. Something is very, very wrong.
“Where’s Boone?” The moment the question slips out of my mouth, I want to throw up.
“The hospital. Surgery.” Chauncey’s jaw ticks as if he is stopping himself from saying anything else.
“Is he okay?” My words come out muffled from behind my hands.
“I don’t know. He made me promise to come here first.”
“So he’s talking?” I cling to the information.
“He was.”
If I thought my stomach fell when Chauncey showed up, it has nothing on the sudden drop the wordwaselicits. “What happened?” I feel the tremble that was in my legs working its way up my body until even my teeth are chattering. I know what this is, I’ve felt it one other time—the night I found my sister dead. Does my body already know the truth?
“Ambush.” Chauncey spits the word with so much venom, I’m momentarily rocked from teetering on the verge of shock. His anger, though not directed at me, feels raw, like he blames everyone, including himself.
“Is he going to be okay?” Tears well in my eyes. It feels so damn selfish to look for assurance from Chauncey, considering I’ve only known Boone for weeks while their relationship is much more established.
“He fucking better be,” Chauncey snaps, looking around the apartment like he’s avoiding my gaze, or maybe it’s the question altogether that’s making him uncomfortable. “We need to get you out of here,” he says less than a second later.
“Out of here?” I reel from the swift change in topics. I need to know more about Boone. Where is he? Can I see him? Who did this?
“He killed the bastard, but he still wants you gone.”
“I don’t understand.” I wring my hands, feeling like I’m missing something huge.
“Get whatever you need, and let’s go. I need to get to the hospital. I can’t believe I’m even here,” Chauncey mumbles the last part, clearly meant for himself.
I look around the apartment, not finding a single item that belongs to me other than the clothes on my back, and even that is questionable since Boone bought them.
“Can I go with you to the hospital?”
Chauncey stops and tilts his head to the side. “He just said he wanted you out of here.” Again, his words are spoken softly,making me think he’s talking more to himself. “Yeah, get your stuff.”
“I don’t have anything. Let’s go.”
Chauncey’s dark eyes narrow into slits as if he’s doubtful, but in the next second, he says, “Fuck it.” Before spinning on his heel and heading toward the door with me in tow.
I have to jog to keep up as we rush down the hall, bypassing the elevator for the stairs and out to the curb where his car is idling near the front walkway. Once I’m in the passenger seat, I work to level my breathing. Between the sprint to the car and the adrenaline, I’m a mess.
