“You always will be.” The answer came without hesitation. “This barrier between us… It’s on me.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, her fingers trembling as she opened the door. “And that’s why you need to leave.”
His pants were still undone. “I can’t go anywhere like this.”
She gestured to the door next to her.
He stepped into the tiny washroom and quickly dealt with the condom, saddened at how a moment of intense passion had become painfully awkward so swiftly. In the hallway, she stood by the open door, waiting.
“If you need to tell me anything important in the future,” she said, not looking at him, “send someone else. I can’t do this again.”
Tears she couldn’t hide shimmered on her cheeks.
“Julia—”
“Please,” she insisted, voice breaking. “Just go.”
As soon as he walked through, she closed the door. The click of the lock echoed with finality.
Leland didn’t move. The hallway closed around him—carpet worn thin, a fluorescent bulb stuttering somewhere down the corridor, raised voices behind a neighbor’s door. He stood there staring at the door, wondering how he’d managed to fuck this up so badly.
He’d come to warn her. To protect her. Instead, he’d left her in tears.
That would stay with him. She hadn’t slammed the door, hadn’t raged or thrown anything, even though it was justified. She’d softly closed it, accepting that it was done.
He hadn’t come to make it worse. But he’d known, somewhere beneath all his careful reasoning, exactly what would happen. That was the thing he couldn’t outrun: he always knew.He was the one who had drawn the line. He was the one who kept crossing it then retreating as if that was the same as restraint.
The question that had been burning at the back of his brain for weeks pushed its way forward. Who was he really protecting? Her? Or himself?
Leland knew the answer. That was why, in an explosion of furious energy aimed entirely at himself, he drove his fist into the wall. The drywall gave way with a crack and a cloud of dust. Pain shot through his knuckles. Less than the Lexus. Not nearly what he deserved.
He didn’t head for the elevator. He hit the stairwell door hard enough that it banged into the wall. The narrow concrete steps spiraled down in dim gray, lit only by thin strips of moonlight leaking through the small landing windows.
Negligent landlord, negligent maintenance, negligent everything, he fumed.
He took the stairs fast, boots striking hard, each flight a valve that released nothing. At the bottom, he shoved through the fire exit. It didn’t even chirp.
Crossing the lot in long, agitated strides, he reached his Durango. His hand closed around the wheel the second he dropped into the driver’s seat, gripping until the leather creaked. He breathed deep. Once. Twice. Not calm. Not even close. But steady enough to drive.
The engine turned over easily, and he pulled out. He didn’t slow as he hit Alec’s number.
“Yarborough,” a sleep-roughened voice answered after three rings.
“Put Emily on.”
“Leland? Do you know what time it is?”
“Just do it.”
Movement. Rustling sheets. A softer, more alert voice came on the line.
“I’m here. What happened?”
“She’s not coming back.”
Silence.
“I told her about The Underground. Told her everything. I think it scared her.”
