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THIRTY-FIVE

Nick

My tension coils tighter in my chest with every mile toward the private airport. My jet isn’t here, but I don’t give a fuck. I call my pilot anyway. I want a plane tonight. No delay. No excuses.

“Find me something. I’m flying to New York now.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’m in the air. I send one message to Aiden and Chase.

Nick: I’m leaving. Tell coach I won’t be on the flight back tomorrow.

I can’t look at another headline. I can’t stomach another photo. I shut my phone off and stare out the window, nursing a whisky that does nothing to calm the fire burning in my chest.

How did we go from dancing at our wedding, waiting to move in together, to this—over nothing?

The nine-hour flight is the longest of my life. Every minute drags like an hour. My thoughts rage like a storm I can’t silence.

When we finally land, the driver is already waiting. No words. Just a nod, and we take off. Straight to Sierra’s place.

I punch the code. Still the same. The door unlocks and I step inside.

There are boxes everywhere.

“Sierra."

No answer.

I search every room. Empty. Too quiet. The place feels cold, deserted—like she was never here at all.

I call Thalia. No response. Call again. And again. Finally, on the third ring, she picks up.

“Where’s Sierra?” I snap. No hello. No small talk. I’m done playing nice.

There’s a pause. Then her voice, hesitant. “Nick… I think she…”

“I don’t want guesses, Thalia. Where is she?” My voice is sharp, strained. I’m one second away from losing it.

A beat of silence. “Maybe at her place? She dropped me off last night. Said she needs time to think. To be alone.” Her voice grows serious. “Nick… you two really need to talk.”

“I’m trying to, Thalia. She’s not home. She lied to you.”

“What?” she breathes. “No, she wouldn’t lie to me. Then maybe she’s…”

She trails off.

“Maybe she’s where, Thalia? Just say it.” My patience is gone. My hands ball into fists. I’m pacing now, the room is spinning.

“Maybe she's at Colt’s,” she finally says, reluctant. “But Nick—listen to me, it’s not…”

I hang up. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word. I storm down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time. No time for elevator.

I bark at the driver as I slam the car door shut, “To Colt Jones’s place. Now.”

When I get to Colt’s building, the security guard steps toward me, raising a hand like he’s about to ask something. I turn to him slowly. The second he gets a good look at my face, he stops.

Good.

He knows better than to stop me.