I hold firm at the end of the hallway, looking toward the stairwell I’ve just come from. Mrs. Berry is carrying her two-year-old up to the top floor. I think it’s her cardio for the day because there’s an elevator just to her left she could’ve easily used.
“Listen to me, for real. Not the Everleigh kind of listening where you’re stuck in your own head, but the real kind of listening, where you do what I say. You are in danger. That fake ass reporter guy is definitely coming for you next.”
I shake my head. “The key only led me to ten grand. It’s not—”
She sighs. “And that bank account.” She pauses. “Everleigh, I looked up that account today. There’s eight million dollars in it. Eight…million… dollars. Whatever Max was doing isn’t on the up and up.” She lowers her voice to a near whisper. “I think he had something to do with the mafia thing too. You don’t want to be a part of it. Just go, please. Come over. We can paint our nails and play lock the doors.”
My stomach begins to turn as I look down the hallway. Maybe she’s right. “I’ll call Ryan and let him know I’m here.”
She sighs. “Fine, but go back to your car. Who knows what this asshole is capable of? I don’t want to see you on the news tonight.”
My stomach pinches and the hairs on my arm stand on end as I turn away from my apartment. “I’m walking back to the car. I’m going to let you go though so I can call Ryan.”
“Okay, but text me as soon as you get in your car. I’m on the highway. I should be home in twenty.”
I’ve barely turned before a loud pop rings out so close that the world goes silent. I crouch down and cover my ears, my eyes on full alarm around me as the pumping of my blood vessels in my ears slosh back and forth.
My phone is on the ground. It’s fallen through the steps two floors below. No one is coming outside from their apartments to see what the noise was. This has to be a dream, more of that dissociation thing the therapist was talking about. It’s the only explanation.
Then again, on the odd chance it’s not dissociation, maybe I should run. Yeah, I should run. I try to stand, but I’m shaking, and my leg slides between the slats in the stair way.
Fucking hell, only me. Only I could get myself into such a situation. I let out a heavy sigh and try to compose my thoughts. Somehow, the old mantra the therapist gave me doesn’t seem to fit. Maybe I should make a new one.
“Stand up, Everleigh. Stand up. Stand up, Everleigh. Stand up.” I repeat the words out loud, over and over, hoping that my flight or fight will kick in, or maybe even some common sense, but it’s like my brain has stopped. Nothing’s coming in, nothing’s going out.
“Evie?” The voice is deep and brooding, so close to me I can feel the heat emanating off the words.
My blood stops coursing and for a second, I’m completely still as I try to register the voice I’m hearing. My eyes move upward, following the man’s heavy black boots, his black slacks, the buttoned-up shirt, his large hand with a scar on the right edge of his thumb reaching out for me. I almost can’t see it clearly enough.
“Max?”
He nods.
Maybe I’ve died. Maybe I’m bleeding out on this staircase right now, my body ascending to some place where I finally see my fiancé who disappeared three years ago. Three years, but he looks nearly the same.How is it that he looks nearly the same?I guess death does that to a person. It crystalizes you somehow, holds your age.
I let my hand slide into his, standing from the ground. I’m lighter now too. I have to be dead.
“You look even more beautiful than you did when I left. How’s that possible?” His tone is low, graveled, and shaking.
I realize now, I must have been right about he and Viktor being brothers because they’re nearly identical. Dark hair, dark eyes, the same wide, thick body shape. Max does have a few tattoos I don’t remember him having, though. Do they give tattoos in heaven? Then again, now that I know his background, he might not have gone to heaven.
Fuck. What does that mean for me?
“What’s happening?” I say, my hands beginning to shake. “Where? How? Am I alive?”
He grins full and wide, and I’m brought back to the night before he disappeared. The night when everything felt so right. The night I was sure we were going to be happier than we’d ever been.
“You’re not dead.”
Normally, I’d expectnot deadto be a good thing, but it isn’t as pleasing a response as I’d expected. Firstly, where the hell has he been for three years? Second, now that I realize I’m not dead, I see he’s the one holding the gun.
“Then what are you doing here?” I murmur.
He sucks in a deep breath. “It’s a long story. I can’t be out in the open like this. Can we go inside and talk?”
I stand silent in the hallway for a long hard moment. “No offense, but I haven’t seen you in three years, and you’re holding a gun. I don’t think I want to be locked away with you.”
“Fucking hell,” a voice says from behind me. The sound is comforting, warm, and familiar. It’s Ryan. I twist toward him and run into his arms despite our conversation earlier. Somehow this new trauma takes precedence.
