I sigh, knowing that I need to get back to therapy.Immediately.Tomorrow.Twice a week.Three times.Hell, Dr.Bennet can just set up a cot in his office, and I’ll lie there between sessions and yoga classes and whatever else he thinks might keep me from combusting.
And I desperately need to avoid people for the next six to one hundred months.
Especially children.
It’s not that I hate kids—I don’t.I love my nephew Arlo.He’s adorable.He smiles with his whole face.He reaches for me with this trust I still don’t know what to do with.But the crying?The teething?The constant need for attention?I swear he drained whatever life force I had left.
Roderick asked if I wanted to babysit next weekend so he could take Kit out on a getaway date.
I considered faking a knee injury.Or malaria.Ended up offering to pay for a good babysitter.Eddie’s assistant found me the best in the city.And when Kit casually mentioned Arlo’s birthday in June, I felt something inside me threatening to bolt.I’m going to need an excuse so bulletproof NASA engineers would be impressed.
A retreat?A work emergency?Nope, that wouldn’t fly.I don’t have a job, but I could say that I’m starting a new band.Yes, that’s it.Starting a new band with a name that sounds too important to cancel.
Nah, I wouldn’t be able to launch it before his birthday.Also, I don’t want to deal with new people.I have trouble socializing as it is.
Yeah, Tibet sounds promising.People don’t argue with Tibet.Altitude, spiritual enlightenment, yaks.
“Sorry, I’ll be hiking near the Himalayas in June, rediscovering my center,” sounds far more respectable than: “I cannot endure another baby meltdown without losing whatever’s left of my sanity.”
The car slows as we near my building—a tall glass high-rise overlooking the bay.My penthouse sits on the top floor like a crown I never asked for, but it’s mine.My sanctuary.My ritual.My structure.
And structure matters.It keeps me from unraveling completely.It gives me something to hold onto when my mind veers into the dark on a random Tuesday before I’ve even had coffee.
But the best part isn’t the view or the privacy.
It’s my neighbor.
Lina.
I won’t admit it to anyone.Not even my therapist.
Lina Lafferty is a saint disguised as a person.A little nosy, yet somehow warm enough to make an entire hallway feel less like an empty corridor and more like someplace meant for living.On good days, she knocks, asking for sugar—always with a hopeful smile and a story tucked somewhere behind it.
I know it’s an excuse.I think she knows I know.And I still invite her inside, hand her the sugar, and listen, because she seems alone.Too lonely.Life choices, she said.Things you need to do for family that at the end ...weren’t.
Mrs.Lafferty is the type of person who remembers birthdays without trying, who waters plants that aren’t hers when someone’s out of town, who waves at everyone like she believes the world responds to kindness.The entire building loves her.
Mrs.Lafferty is someone so nice, but lonely.I hope someone visited while I was away.Maybe tomorrow I’ll knock on her door, asking for something or another with the excuse that I don’t have groceries.That’s a problem for another day.
The sedan eases to a stop.The driver shifts the car into park, and I’m still staring ahead, thoughts spinning around me like someone took the snow globe of my life and shook it without warning.
“We’re home, sir,” he says softly, like I might need the reminder.
I want to tell him that I’m not “Sir,” just Alec.I don’t.Instead, I open the door.Cold, crisp air rushes in, carrying the scent of the bay.The breeze moves across my face and settles me better than any breathing exercise my yogi ever forced on me.
I step out, boots hitting the pavement.Another step.Then one more, and the door shuts behind me, cutting off the violins.
But I don’t move toward the lobby.
I stand there, taking in my reflection in the glass, daylight stretching across the windows behind me.The city keeps moving, unaware.And I realize my mind hasn’t stopped unraveling since the runway—talking, spiraling, running circles around itself.
Not exactly the triumphant return of a man who has his life sorted out.
I inhale slowly to take a moment where I remind myself I’m here and safe.I take a step forward when the driver calls out, “Sir?Your bags?”
Right.Yes.Bags.I didn’t even notice when he dragged them out of the trunk and beside me.
“Yeah,” I say, waving a hand.“I’ve got it.Thanks.”
