Gone (Deadly Secrets #2)(28)
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way into the city.”
“Okay.”
She watched him walk away from her and remembered the last time she’d seen him before the divorce. When he’d moved out of their apartment. He hadn’t spoken much to her when he’d been packing his clothes, hadn’t asked to take any of their pictures or even the furniture they’d bought together. Just zipped his bags and left without so much as a good-bye. And when she’d realized he really was going for good, she’d rushed down the stairs after him, stopped him on the street, and told him that even though he was leaving, she wouldn’t give up. She’d never give up on them.
Her heart twisted with the memory. At the way he’d laughed in that cold, heartless way and said, “We only got married because you were pregnant. Now that she’s gone, there is no us.”
A familiar wave of grief washed over her, one that threatened to suck her down into a funk if she let it. Breathing deeply, she looked away from him and headed for her car, wishing a hundred things could be different between them, knowing they never would be. It was finally time to accept it all and get on with her life, even if her heart didn’t want to agree.
She pulled her keys from her bag and hit the unlock button on her fob as she rounded the corner. Three cars down, her Audi’s headlights flashed, and the driver’s side door clicked as it unlocked. She crossed to her car, tugged the door open, and tossed her bag on the front seat as she slid inside and drew another deep breath that did little to make her feel better. Fragmented memories of everything Alec had said tonight swirled in her mind as she looked up and spotted a flyer of some kind stuck under her windshield wiper, blocking her view.
Frustrated, she climbed back out and reached for the paper, expecting news about a rave or some Sunday sermon invite. But the paper in her hand wasn’t an invite or an advertisement. One look told her whoever had placed it there had known this was her car.
They’d known because it was meant specifically for her.
YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT SHE WAS ALIVE.
STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING OR SHE’S DEAD.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alec’s nerves were shot by the time he pulled his truck to a stop in front of Raegan’s building the next day.
He’d stupidly suggested he pick her up so they could drive together to the first interview. It had seemed like a logical plan. Now that he was sitting outside her building—the same building they’d once lived in together—he wasn’t so sure.
He’d thought she’d moved. Hadn’t realized she’d stayed in the same place until she’d texted him her address after he’d already been on his way into the city. And now that he was here it was too late to back out and change plans.
Why the hell hadn’t she left?
Common sense told him it was because this was a nice building in the highly desirable Pearl District of Portland, close to shopping and restaurants and entertainment, all things Raegan enjoyed. But he couldn’t imagine walking into that apartment day after day, knowing Emma would never toddle out to greet him. And when he thought of all the nights he and Raegan had spent there together, in their bed, on the floor, in the shower, on the couch in the living room, even on the dining room ta—
“Shit.” He ran a shaky hand down his face, trying to ignore the bruising rhythm against his ribs. He did not want to go up there. Knew he’d never survive it.
Grabbing his phone from the console, he texted her. I’m downstairs.
An ellipsis blinked on his message screen, indicating she was typing. Seconds later her response flashed on his screen. Come on up. The door’s open. I’m not quite ready. The code to get in the lobby is 6429.
“Dammit.” His pulse beat faster, and nerves bounced all around in his gut. He couldn’t go up there. Didn’t need the memories or the flip it could trigger inside him. But the longer he sat in his truck, the more he knew he looked like a coward, and the whole reason he was doing all this was to make amends, right? He could spend five minutes in her apartment—hers, not theirs—to make that happen.
Muscles tight, he climbed out of his truck, slammed the door, and moved onto the sidewalk. He punched the code into the security panel near the door and waited until he heard a click. Pulling the door open, he drew a last deep breath of fresh air and told himself to relax. He could get through this. It was no big deal.
But man, a shot of Jim Beam sure wouldn’t hurt any.
He bypassed the elevator for the stairs, hoping the physical exertion would kill the alcohol craving. Unfortunately, by the time he reached the fifth floor he was still keyed up and jonesing for a drink, only now he was sweating too.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he stood outside the apartment he used to share with Raegan and knocked. “She better seriously appreciate the effort here.”
“Come in,” Raegan’s muffled voice echoed through the door. “It’s open.”
Fuck. He didn’t want to go in. He wanted her to come out.
His palm grew damp as he forced himself to reach for the handle. Like she’d said—unfortunately—the door was unlocked, and the knob turned in his hand.
The short entry hall swirled around him as he forced his feet forward and let the door snap closed at his back. The coat tree Raegan had picked up at the Saturday Market stood to his left, the trench coat she’d been wearing yesterday hanging from one side. To his right, the antique hutch he’d bought for her birthday was still pushed up against the wall under a decorative mirror she’d had in her old place when they’d first met. The air seemed to close around him, and his chest grew tight. Feeling boxed in, he moved into the living room, hoping more space would help him relax, but the sight of the familiar room drew his feet to a stop at the threshold and sent pressure spinning through his chest like a top.