Niall, specifically, where I told him I’d be out running errands today and asked if he needed anything. I was trying to show him that I’m okay. That I can function in the world like a normal person. I worry the recent episodes might have him pitying me again, and the last thing I want to do is take two steps back.
Also, he didn’t install the security cameras over the weekend like he promised. But it wasn’t his fault—he was paged into work Sunday, and when he came home, he seemed exhausted so I didn’t press it. I’m hoping if I offer to do him some favors today, he might be reminded of the one he offered to do for me . . .
My message to him shows as read. He read it a minute after I sent it, but he didn’t reply. Which is fine because he’s busy. He has patients and appointments. He can’t always stop what he’s doing.
The rest of my messages are ancient. Nonexistent. No one texts me anymore. Just Niall and, on the ultrarare occasion, Enid.
I place my phone back in my bag and plant my feet flat on the floor.
I’m not going anywhere, not until I talk to this audacious lunatic.
Pressing my lips together—an old nervous habit of mine—I stare straight ahead and wait.
And wait . . .
Until a figure in the doorway fills my periphery.
I swear in a fraction of a second, as I turn my gaze in that direction, my heart comes to a full stop.
Because it isn’t her.
It isn’t her at all.
“Kate? What the hell are you doing here?” Niall’s hands press against the doorjamb, though I can’t tell if I’m blocked in or blocked from getting out. He’s breathless, eyes wild and almost animalistic.
“Kate?” I ask. He stands before me, chest rising and falling as though he sprinted straight from the hospital to the Regency building. He must be so worked up, he doesn’t realize he’s just called me by his wife’s name.
“We have to go,” he says. “Now.”
I’m not sure why, but I find myself laughing. Maybe it’s the way he’s acting, like a character from some cut-rate prime-time drama, or the fact that there’s nothing left for me to do at this point but to find humor in what my life has become by this moment.
Niall dives toward me, his slender fingers wrapping around my wrist, and I barely have time to reach for my bag. We’re barreling down the hall of the Opal Green agency, headed toward the lobby, when I realize I’ve yet to see another soul. Not even the receptionist.
Is everyone in hiding?
“What the hell is going on?” I ask him when we burst beyond the glass doors. “And how did you know I was here?”
He doesn’t bother with the elevator, opting to lead me to the stairs instead, and we’re practically running down them.
“Please, Niall, slow down,” I say, my heels clicking against the cement steps. The humor I’d found in this situation a mere instant ago has vanished.
He slows but only slightly, and his grip on my wrist is as firm as ever, like he isn’t letting me go.
By the time we reach the sidewalk beyond the building, I spot his silver Volvo parked in a nonparking zone, the hazard lights flashing.
He gets the passenger door for me, almost shutting it on my feet as I climb in, and before I have a chance to fasten my seat belt, he’s already jumping in beside me.
I’ve never seen him this frantic.
Cool sweat blankets my body as he maneuvers into the traffic and careens between two cars before blowing through a yellow light.
“Will you please just tell me what the hell is going on?” My tone is sharp, startling, and unfamiliar to even myself.
His knuckles are white, hands taut on the wheel, and his jaw sets.
“I don’t know how I missed this.” He shakes his head, eyes focused on the traffic, and it feels like he’s talking to himself. “I don’t know how I missed the signs. They were all there. I should have known. I should have seen this coming.”
“ What are you talking about?”
Niall’s chest is still rising and falling as though
Also, he didn’t install the security cameras over the weekend like he promised. But it wasn’t his fault—he was paged into work Sunday, and when he came home, he seemed exhausted so I didn’t press it. I’m hoping if I offer to do him some favors today, he might be reminded of the one he offered to do for me . . .
My message to him shows as read. He read it a minute after I sent it, but he didn’t reply. Which is fine because he’s busy. He has patients and appointments. He can’t always stop what he’s doing.
The rest of my messages are ancient. Nonexistent. No one texts me anymore. Just Niall and, on the ultrarare occasion, Enid.
I place my phone back in my bag and plant my feet flat on the floor.
I’m not going anywhere, not until I talk to this audacious lunatic.
Pressing my lips together—an old nervous habit of mine—I stare straight ahead and wait.
And wait . . .
Until a figure in the doorway fills my periphery.
I swear in a fraction of a second, as I turn my gaze in that direction, my heart comes to a full stop.
Because it isn’t her.
It isn’t her at all.
“Kate? What the hell are you doing here?” Niall’s hands press against the doorjamb, though I can’t tell if I’m blocked in or blocked from getting out. He’s breathless, eyes wild and almost animalistic.
“Kate?” I ask. He stands before me, chest rising and falling as though he sprinted straight from the hospital to the Regency building. He must be so worked up, he doesn’t realize he’s just called me by his wife’s name.
“We have to go,” he says. “Now.”
I’m not sure why, but I find myself laughing. Maybe it’s the way he’s acting, like a character from some cut-rate prime-time drama, or the fact that there’s nothing left for me to do at this point but to find humor in what my life has become by this moment.
Niall dives toward me, his slender fingers wrapping around my wrist, and I barely have time to reach for my bag. We’re barreling down the hall of the Opal Green agency, headed toward the lobby, when I realize I’ve yet to see another soul. Not even the receptionist.
Is everyone in hiding?
“What the hell is going on?” I ask him when we burst beyond the glass doors. “And how did you know I was here?”
He doesn’t bother with the elevator, opting to lead me to the stairs instead, and we’re practically running down them.
“Please, Niall, slow down,” I say, my heels clicking against the cement steps. The humor I’d found in this situation a mere instant ago has vanished.
He slows but only slightly, and his grip on my wrist is as firm as ever, like he isn’t letting me go.
By the time we reach the sidewalk beyond the building, I spot his silver Volvo parked in a nonparking zone, the hazard lights flashing.
He gets the passenger door for me, almost shutting it on my feet as I climb in, and before I have a chance to fasten my seat belt, he’s already jumping in beside me.
I’ve never seen him this frantic.
Cool sweat blankets my body as he maneuvers into the traffic and careens between two cars before blowing through a yellow light.
“Will you please just tell me what the hell is going on?” My tone is sharp, startling, and unfamiliar to even myself.
His knuckles are white, hands taut on the wheel, and his jaw sets.
“I don’t know how I missed this.” He shakes his head, eyes focused on the traffic, and it feels like he’s talking to himself. “I don’t know how I missed the signs. They were all there. I should have known. I should have seen this coming.”
“ What are you talking about?”
Niall’s chest is still rising and falling as though
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