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At this, her gaze drops to the floor, and where a better man might feel some sort of sympathy toward her, I do not. I hope she feels shame and regret. What a horrible life Jaxon is going to give her. Then again, she knows how to play the game, and I’m certain she’ll always have the upper hand with him.
Glancing back and forth between the two of them, I see nothing but years of unhappiness and infidelity. Years of weight, years of darkness, and years I’m grateful not to be experiencing myself.
It’s feeling the dread and darkness for a life I almost had that suddenly has me craving the light. Gold light. Gold light where the sounds of a cello whisper to my ears. My breath stalls as I’m hit with this realization. I should be asking myself why, as I’ve firmly slotted her into the neighbor category, but at this moment, I can’t and won’t. I don’t know what this means, but there’s only one place I want to be right now and only one person who I want to be with. It’s time to go.
Without another word, I place my glass on the bar, grab my jacket, and brush past them as I head for the door.
“Briggs,” Jaxon calls after me. “You will be there, right?”
The only answer I give him is the backside of my middle finger.
14
CORA
Aknock on the door downstairs startles me. I reach over and grab my phone off the nightstand to see that it’s almost midnight. A sudden moment of panic has me internally berating myself for not getting an outside camera set up yet.
Who would come here this late?
Then again, I only know a few people in this town, and I’m certain all of them would have called first.
There’s another knock on the door. This time it’s harsher, louder, and it has me slinking out of bed toward the stairs.
“Goldie, answer the door,” someone calls from the outside.
Relief and curiosity hit me at the same time.
What is he doing here?
And then panic.
What if something happened, and he needs my help?
Groaning, I make my way down the stairs to the front door. I flip on the porch light, throw it open, glare at him with my most severe face, and am about to very forcefully ask what he wants when I take in his attire. White dress shirt, loose tie, suit slacks that perfectly hug his hips and thighs, and dress shoes. These clothes are tailored and custom-fit for him, and I’m shocked he owns them. He looks like every fantasy a girl like me from the Upper East Side dreams about and also every nightmare.
“What are you wearing?” I ask even though that shouldn’t be the first question coming out of my mouth. Instead, I admire how even though his look is a look I’ve always claimed I hated, secretly, I don’t.
And especially on him.
He rolls his eyes and then lets them trail over the length of me. Slowly.
My stomach tightens at his blatant perusal.
“I could say the same for you,” he says, his voice rough and tired.
I know what I’m wearing is small and slightly indecent, but I’m over caring when it comes to him. After all, he basically saw me naked.
“They’re called pajamas. You know something you wear to bed. For sleeping. Which is what I was doing before you so rudely showed up in the middle of the night. What do you want?”
“Sleep. Sounds great. Let’s go.” He waves his hand toward my room inside the house.
I know it makes no sense, but I turn and look at the back of the house like there’s something there when I know there’s not. “What do you mean?” I spin back to him.
“Goldie,” he says in that stern way that he does, and it has my toes curling.
But that’s all he says. Not why he’s here, not what’s wrong with his house or his bed, or why he’s wearing these clothes. He just stares at me with an expression that he expects me to obey, and that doesn’t work for me.
Instead of moving to allow him to pass, I lean one side of my hip into the doorframe and cross my arms over my chest. Could he barge right past? Yes, but he won’t. I return his look with one of my own, and he lets out the deepest breath I’ve ever heard.
