I hand him his beer before chugging half of mine in one go.
“You okay?” he asks with clear concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fine,” I grit out, taking a deep breath to get my shit together. My pulse has gone haywire, and it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. I need to get the fuck out of here. Finishing off the beer in record time, I set it on the table, standing up. “Think I’m gonna get out of here.”
“What? Already?” he asks as his head rears back. “It’s Friday night. Why are you leaving so early?”
“Meeting up with someone.” It’s the easiest and most believable answer that’ll get me out of here the quickest.
“Oh, I see,” he drawls, wagging his brows. “Go have fun,sobrino.”
Pulling up my Uber app, I order a car, and thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long for it to arrive. I’m on edge the entire time I’m waiting outside, thinking Robbie is going to come and find me.
Once I’m home, I strip out of all my clothes and climb under the hot spray of the shower, desperately needing to wash his presence off my body. I roll a joint after I get out, smoking it in the dark, under the covers on my bed. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this rattled.
Probably the last time I saw him.
8
TRAVIS
Every single time I move, I swear to myself it’s the last time. It’s such a tedious, exhausting task. It costs a fucking fortune for no goddamn reason, and if you aren’t able to wrangle some friends into helping out, you have to shell out even more money for overpriced movers.
Thankfully, my sister, her husband, and Xan all offered to help me get moved into the new place. My mom and her husband are still puppysitting Nova while I get settled in. I can’t wait to get her back once all this is said and done.
We’re on our last load now, bringing it up in the elevator. Sweat lines my forehead, dripping down my nape, and my shirt sticks to my back as I set the very last box down in my unfurnished new dining room. The help is appreciated, but I can’t fucking wait until they leave so I can take a shower.
Xander strolls through the place, looking in the cabinets and fridge in the kitchen, turning on the lights to all the rooms. “This place is nice.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
My mood’s been shit all day, and I can’t even pretend it’s just from the stress of moving. I had to pick up the rest of my stuff from the house this morning. Nathaniel had never said anything to me about my ridiculous voicemail, so I figured when I texted him about coming to get my shit, he’d ignore me then, too.
He didn’t. He was surprisingly nice—which is suspicious, all on its own—and he told me when I could come get my stuff, and said he wouldn’t be there. Of course, when I pulled up, he was. Can’t count on his word for anything, I guess. He wanted to talk, but I didn’t. An argument started, excuses started rolling, and my temper steadily rose for the entire forty-three minutes I was there.
And yes, I counted.
Charlotte’s husband, Greg, sets down a box labeled ‘kitchen,’ wiping his hands off on the front of his jeans. “That’s it, man.”
He’s a nice enough guy. A firefighter. My sister met him at work some odd years ago when the elevator got stuck. He“rescued”her from death—her words, not mine. They got married a few years back in Tahiti. Nathaniel was my date. It was our first out-of-the-country vacation. He flirted with the venue’s bartender that night. Should’ve been a bright red flag indicating what’s to come.
Char steps up to me, a smile pulling at her lips. “Want us to order some Chinese?”
Shaking my head, I rake a hand through my mop of blond hair. I’m due for a haircut, butpriorities.“Nah. You guys can go. Thank you for all your help. I’m going to shower, and then spend the evening unpacking.”
“You sure?” With one thick, dark eyebrow quirked, she studies me. Most likely seeing right through me. “I don’t mind staying to help, baby bro.”
Pulling her into a hug, I reply with as much gumption as I can muster up. “I’m sure. I’ll be okay. You should enjoy what’s left of your Saturday.”
“Okay…” She grabs her purse and phone from one of the boxes in the living room. “Well, if you need anything at all, call me.”
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate everything Charlotte’s done to help me with the move, and how she’s trying to be there for me, but she and I handle our emotions much differently. She likes to talk it out, while I usually prefer to take a bottle it up and pretend the problem doesn’t exist. So, her efforts have wound up feeling suffocating. But I know she means well, so I make a mental note to take her to lunch to say thank you when I’m not so grumpy.
Fifteen minutes and one scalding hot shower later, I decide to grab some takeout. My stomach’s grumbling, since I haven’t eaten anything since last night. The chilly night air slaps me in the face as I step outside, heading down the block. Throwing my hood over my head and shoving my hands into my pockets, I make my way toward a Mexican place I know is down there. Temperatures have dropped, and tiny snowflakes cover the quiet streets in a thin blanket of white.
The restaurant isn’t busy, most likely due to the weather, so I’m in and out relatively quickly. On a whim, I pop into the convenience store across the street from my place, grabbing a couple of six-packs for good measure. Getting drunk and unpacking go hand-in-hand, right?
Crossing the street, I pull open my building’s door, shaking off my head as I enter. The snow’s coming down thicker now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it stuck overnight. My phone chimes in my pocket once I’m inside the elevator. Juggling the food and the beer in one hand, I take it out, swiping across the screen.
