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My hand flew to my mouth.

“Oh my God.”

The uneasy feeling I’d been trying to dismiss throughout lunch returned with enough force to make my stomach turn. Jerry hadn’t taken off with some girl. He wasn’t blowing off class or forgetting to return my calls. His family didn’t know where he was either.

I reached automatically for the phone, although I had no idea who I intended to call. Before I could decide, the anchor moved on to another developing story. The photograph on the screen changed again.

This time, I knew both faces.

“…confirmed carbon monoxide leak at the Kincaid residence. Leonard and Catherine Kincaid were found deceased inside their home this morning. Their son, Richard Kincaid, was not at the residence at the time. Authorities are currently investigating the source of the leak, although no evidence of foul play has been reported at this time.”

Everything inside me stopped.

For several seconds, I could only stare at the television.

“Richard.”

I rushed toward the answering machine. The red light was blinking. Several messages waited for me. My stomach dropped as I pressed the button and heard Richard’s voice fill the room.

“Call me when you can. Please, Sam. I need to hear your voice.”

I grabbed the phone and dialed his number. Richard answered on the first ring.

“Richard? I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”

“Who told you?”

“I just saw on the news. Oh my god I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come over?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t. But I’m coming anyway.”

A long pause stretched between us.

“I probably won’t be good company tonight,” he said quietly.

“I’m not coming for company.”

“All right. Come over.”

I didn’t waste any time. I grabbed my coat and called a taxi, my heart aching for him. On the way, I had the driver stop at a small café I knew stayed open late. I picked up hot soup, fresh bread, and tea, knowing he probably hadn’t eaten anything all day. The warm paper bag felt like a small offering of comfort as the taxi carried me the rest of the way through the glittering city streets.

The penthouse was quiet when I arrived, late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Richard opened the door in black slacks and a white button-down. His hair was damp, faint stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked composed, but the exhaustion etched into his features made my chest ache.

I stepped inside carrying the paper bag. “I brought soup, some bread, and tea. Have you eaten?”

“No.” His voice was flat.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” I moved straight into the kitchen without waiting and began unpacking.

He leaned against the counter, watching me in silence as I heated the soup and set a bowl in front of him. He only managed a few spoonfuls, but I didn’t push. I simply sat beside him while he ate.

“Thank you for coming. I needed you here,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

I crossed to him and wrapped my arms around him. At first he stayed rigid. Then his hand pressed between my shoulder blades and his face dropped into my hair. He held on like I was the only one left in his world.

“I’m here for you,” I whispered.