Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(65)

Or if I already made that mistake, letting him walk away.

“He’ll be so happy to see you,” Eva reassures me, walking alongside. I stayed at her place last night, and even roped her into coming with me now, in case I lose my nerve. “You guys will fall into each other’s arms, make out, and live happily ever after.”

“I hope so.”

She makes it sound like a foregone conclusion, but my stomach is twisted up in knots, and every step makes my pulse race with sick anticipation. I look around to distract myself, but it’s not comforting either. “This is so weird, I just can’t picture Will here at all.”

It’s a neighborhood down near the financial district, all sleek doorman buildings, chrome and glass. Everyone on the streets is polished and chic, striding off somewhere with no time to spare. It’s another world from the man I knew: two-day stubble, work-boots and jeans, living in that shack in the woods, and never happier.

But I guess we’re not in Oak Harbor anymore.

“Are you sure you got the right address?” Eva asks, as if she’s not convinced either.

I check again. “I think so. His friend, Declan, says this is where Will had him send some contracts over the weekend.”

“It’ll be fine.” Eva can clearly tell how scared I am, because she puts an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “This was his old life, remember? He already chose to leave it all behind.”

I nod, but inside, my doubts are still swirling. What if he’s already chosen to go back to all of this?

What if I’m too late, and I pushed him away so hard that he’s really gone for good?

We reach the address, one of the fancy new buildings, but I pause on the sidewalk, still unsure. “He might not even be here,” I say, looking up at it. “Or maybe he is, with her.”

“Then we’ll cuss him out and go see Hamilton,” Eva replies brightly. “And drink until you feel better—or so hung over it doesn’t matter anymore.”

I manage a faint smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Always. Now go get him back.” She gives me a light shove towards the entrance, so I gather up my strength and step through the revolving glass doors. Inside, the lobby is all marble and minimal, and it takes me a moment to even find the elevators. I step into one behind a couple of guys in suits, and watch them check their phones, so clean-cut and focused, barely glancing at their surroundings like on autopilot before they reach their floor.

Is this what Will was trying to escape, leaving it all behind the way he did?

As the elevator rises, my nerves do too, so by the time I get off on the seventeenth floor, I half want to turn around and go straight back home. But I force myself to head down the hallway to his apartment, every step full desperate hope—that he’s still a man of his word, the way he always promised.

That even after everything, he’s still mine.

I reach the right door, and lift my hand. Still, it takes another deep breath before I can bring myself to press the bell.

My excitement lifts, anticipation already spinning through my veins. God, I’ve missed him. Just to see his face again makes my heart sing a wild rhythm in my chest. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him yet, but I’ll think of something. I’ll make him see he was right about me from the start.

I press the bell again, and then I hear footsteps approaching. The door opens.

“Surprise—” I start, awkward, then I stop, the words crumbling in the air between us.

It’s Helena, still just as polished as the last time I saw her, in a chic little shift dress and lipstick, her hair smoothed back in a perfect, complicated French braid.

My heart sinks. “Oh.” I step back, feeling awkward. “Sorry. I was . . . looking for Will, but I must have the wrong address—”

“No, this is him,” Helena interrupts. “He should be back soon.”

I stop, the truth sinking in. He’s here. With her.

Oh god, I’m too late.

“Why don’t you come in?” she offers, holding the door wider. “It’s Delilah, right? We met back in that town of yours. Helena,” she offers helpfully, with perfect manners.

“I remember,” I manage to reply. As if I could ever forget. She’s still holding the door open for me, and I don’t know what else to do, so I follow her inside.

“Can I get you a drink?” she offers, still so polite. “Water, soda?”

“No. Thanks.”

I already made a mistake, coming here, but I guess I need to torture myself even more because I can’t help but look around, taking it all in. Every inch is polished and slick, with modern furniture and gorgeous views of the city. It screams “money” from every gleaming surface—and there’s nothing here that even hints at Will. It’s like a showroom, or a photo spread from a glossy magazine: perfect and soulless, not a thing out of place.

I turn back to Helena. She’s hovering over by the dining table, fussing with some candles. “I guess you’ve heard all kinds of terrible stories about me,” she says with a forced smile.

“No,” I answer slowly, confused. “He didn’t tell me anything at all.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and I realize that she’s nervous too. Maybe even more than I am. “I’m sorry for just showing up, that last time I saw you.” Helena looks away, then back, her eyes almost sad. “My therapist said I needed closure, and I guess I jumped the gun.”