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Knocking on the door, I flinched as if I expected him to be standing right behind it. Several long seconds passed. The back of my neck burned as the vultures continued to click away. I knocked again.
Groaning, I sent him a quick text: It’s me.
At last, I heard the sounds of someone moving in his apartment. The door cracked open and an angry, dark eye glowered at me.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
I was hurt by the gruff tone of his voice. “I know. Luke said you weren’t doing well, and you haven’t been responding to my calls.”
“Interfering jerk.”
“MR. PARDINI! Do you have a statement?”
He shuddered at the sound of their voices. “Get in quickly.” He let the door open and squinted from the sunlight. I gasped as I took in his haphazard appearance. His face was pale and gaunt; he looked like he’d stayed up several days, but his eyes were listless. Dark.
The door closed behind me, shutting out the noise of the crazed mob.
“Heard about the job. Congrats,” he said with his back to me.
“Thanks,” I said in a small voice, feeling wounded at his indifference.
Without so much as a friendly greeting, Will walked into the living room and sat down on the couch where he watched the giant plasma television screen. A CNN host argued with a psychologist about whether rehabilitation worked for DUI drivers while a marquee near the bottom mentioned that Pardini stock had fallen several points. He pulled a laptop over his knees and his sunken eyes darted across the screen as he read an email.
“Is this what you’ve been doing this whole time?” I asked, horrified.
He shrugged, looking defeated in his battered t-shirt and sweatpants. “What else is there to do? I can’t leave and it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days. There will bea press conference tomorrow.”
I sank into the couch next to him, feeling hurt by his utter lack of warmth.
This isn’t about you.“What? Did your publicist tell you to do that?”
Having a dozen different media outlets fire questions at him seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.
He sipped from the stone cold mug of coffee. “I fired my publicist.”
Shock rippled through my joints. I looked at Will’s sunken face, debating whether I should keep my thoughts to myself. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely talk about the accident.”
“It doesn’t matter what I can or can’t handle. I need to do this on my own.”
The coldness in his voice made me think that he also included me. “You don’t need to. Let me help you.”
I tried to close the laptop, but he jerked the screen away from me. A pang struck my heart as he looked at me, a frightening, almost angry look striking out at me.
“Just leave me be.”
My heart seized with pain. I knew that he was hurting, but I wanted to help him. I felt responsible for the whole thing. My hand fell on his thigh. “Please don’t shut me out.”
I touched his shoulder, but he moved away from me.
What did I do?
“I can’t deal with this. It’s too much.” He looked at me and I could see the stress breaking him down. He was like a shattered sculpture. Maybe he could be mended, but he would never be the same. “There’s just nothing left in me.”
“Are you angry with me?”
There was no spirit in his body, none of that fevered energy that made him so exciting.
“I’m angry with myself.”
