Deciding I’ve hidden in the garage long enough, I exit the vehicle and make my way inside. The house is warm, smelling of vanilla and honey mixed with whatever meal was cooked for dinner tonight—pot roast, maybe. After setting my keys in the dish on the counter, I head over to the hall closet, kicking my shoes off inside. It’s quiet; not even the sound of the television can be heard. Loosening the neck of my tie, I drag in one last deep breath before going up the stairs to face the music.
I take a left off the stairs, following the light at the end of the hallway. The same light that’s always on when I get home. Rapping my knuckles softly three times on the wide, wood door, a faint “come in” reaches my ears and I push it open.
Tired chestnut eyes lift from the book they were reading. “Good evening, Mr. van der Meer.”
“Hello, Rosa.” Stepping farther into the room, I rest my shoulder on the wall, crossing my legs at the ankle. “I just wanted to let you know I was home. I assume everything is going well?”
“Everything is wonderful.” Rosa closes the paperback on her lap, standing as she brushes a stray hair out of her face. “I think I will head downstairs and go to bed, then, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.” I nod, giving her a smile. “Thank you, Rosa.”
She brushes past me, her familiar vanilla and honey scent wafting around the space in her absence. My gaze falls to the bed in the middle of the room. More specifically, to the body occupying it. The one in a constant state of unconsciousness. The one hooked up to machines that never stop beeping. The body that belongs to my wife… or at least what she once was before everything changed.
It isn’t often I spend time in this room anymore. That’s terrible to say, but it’s true. A suffocating level of hopelessness and morbidity covers this space and being in here for too long is nothing but a reminder of everything I lost. Everything my family lost. Lorelei was my fucking everything at one point. She was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, while I was the rich boy who was never supposed to love her.
We were young and enamored with one another, and we were careless. My freshman year of college, she got pregnant, and we got married—much to my parents’ dismay. Raising a baby during undergrad and a toddler through law school was not how I envisioned my life, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Lorelei was my rock during those tough times. She picked up the many miles of slack I left behind while I reached for my dreams—and the dreams of my dad—and she never complained.
Then the accident happened a year ago, and nothing’s been the same ever since. The night she should’ve died, our family died in her place. And the sick part of me can’t help but wish it would’ve actually been her instead. Maybe things would be different now.
Chapter Six
Bodhi King
Giselle: The client from Sunday has requested to see you again. I scheduled a meeting for Friday at the same hotel.
I stare down at the phone in my hand, dread thick in my gut. When I left that parking lot last night, I hoped—foolishly—that he’d drop it. I should’ve known better, though. Being in his presence, having his attention onme, made it clear that he’s someone who isn’t used to hearing the word no. He isn’t used to not getting his way.
Back when I was close with his son, I didn’t know him that well. He was never home, and if he was, I typically chose to hide out in Ryan’s room as much as possible. Growing up, I had no idea that fathers could be different from my own. It wasn’t until several years later, when I witnessed Mr. van der Meer speaking to Ryan with respect and love, that it dawned on me that maybe my household was run a little different from most.
Bringing my attention back to my phone, I consider telling Giselle I can’t do it. That she needs to find someone else to meet with Jules. It’s right there on the tip of my thumbs, but I don’t do it. Instead, I lock my phone, tossing it on the bed as I change into running clothes. Maybe a little sweat, fresh air, and adrenaline will help clear my head. Help me figure out how to handle thissituation.
As soon as I step outside and my feet hit the pavement, I’m gone. Ten miles come and go too damn fast, and I’m still just as confused as I was before. By the time I’m bursting through the front door, my stomach is screaming at me. It’s my second run of the day, and it’s barely after noon. I haven’t eaten a single thing since dinner last night, and I know I need to soon. Yanking open the fridge, I grab some ingredients to make a smoothie before meandering over to the counter for a banana and chia seeds.
Just as I’m about to turn on the blender, Camden strolls in, eyes glued to his phone, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He glances up, running his gaze over me. “You run too damn much, my dude.”
I roll my eyes. “Hello to you, too, fucker.”
At my snarky tone, he snaps his head in my direction, brows pinched together as he studies me. “You okay, man?”
Blowing out a breath, I rest my hip on the counter, arms crossed over my chest. “Yeah…” I mumble. The look on his face tells me he isn’t going to accept that pathetic answer, so I contemplate what I can tell him without giving too much away. Me and my roommates aren’t exactlyprivatewith each other. We frequently share about shit that happens at work, but something about Jules feels oddly personal. Like I want to keep him just for me.
But that’s silly, isn’t it?
Running a hand through my sweat-slicked hair, I continue. “I got a…”—how can I word this?—“a weird client last night.”
His brows shoot straight up, the goofy grin back in place. “Weird how? Like weird kinks, or…?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out while I respond to him with the gist of my dilemma with Jules. Because Camden is Camden, he isn’t taking me seriously, so I tune him out, responding on autopilot. An unknown number sent me a text, and without opening it, I already know exactly who it’s from. Logically, I have plenty of clients who it could be, but call it some weird intuition or an inexplainable voodooheseems to possess, but I know without a shadow of a doubt. My first thought is how the fuck would he have gotten my phone number, but it’s a stupid question. I frequently text with my clients. It’s not unusual that Giselle would’ve given my number out, especially if he asked for it—which, I could totally see him doing something like that. And I’ve given her no reason to question that request.
Somehow, I’m able to have a full conversation with Camden, despite not having a single clue what else we talked about before I manage to blow past him and head to my room. So much for making that smoothie. My appetite is gone. Once inside, I lock my door, resting my back against it while I force myself to inhale through my nose and exhale out of my mouth.
In… out.
In… out.
In… out.
Once I’m confident I won’t spiral into a full-blown anxiety attack, I open my eyes and unlock the phone.
