While I wait for them to finish, I drop myself into the heavy, thick cushions of the white sectional couch that was deliveredlast week. It’s large and shaped like a horseshoe. I aimlessly scroll through my phone, opening and closing apps. Doing anything I can to keep my mind from noting how deathly quiet and lonely my house is. In the distance, I can hear the sounds of power tools as the cameras are installed into various spots around the perimeter of the home.
I can’t sit here.
Strolling down the long hallway toward the primary bedroom, I stop at the oversized double doors. They’re propped open in a warm and welcoming way. Staring right through the space, my eyes hone in on the king-sized bed with its broad headboard and black down comforter.
I imagine Bailey’s naked body getting lost beneath the hills of pure fluff. I’d sneak in, capture her, and devour her before she was able to see her way out. I blink away the mental images of light behind all the lies that have led us here.
The natural wood headboard is resting against the back wall and faces the floor-to-ceiling windows, which just happen to be open to a painted southwest sunset. Exactly where Bailey suggested it should go. She was right; the view from the bed is absolutely breathtaking.
It makes me want to puke.
I turn on my heels, slamming the doors behind me. I head down to the opposite end of the house where four bedrooms are located. I pass the sunken living room and massive kitchen on the left and a small office with French doors on the right. I reach the first bedroom, then the next, and finally pass a shared bathroom.
By the time I get to the end of the hallway to the largest bedroom in the house, besides the primary, I can hardly visualize the gym that I’d plan to turn this space into. With its large windows that face the backyard and its own bathroom, it would be a perfect spot for a child.
Fuck.What is wrong with me?I love being alone. I’ve always been alone. Now, I can’t even stand the thick emptiness of it all. In the past, being by myself was always my choice, and maybe knowing that peoplewantedto be with me made it an easier decision because it wasn’t something I was forced to do. The hollowness in my chest tells me that this time, it isn’t my choice. It was a choice that was made for me.
That’s why it feels significantly different.
About two hours later, the security system is completely installed. Cameron and his partner spend some time giving me a crash course on how to navigate the cameras from inside and outside of the house and from the app. By the time they leave, it’s around dinnertime. I decide to curb the loneliness by getting in my car and driving right back to the restaurant.
When I arrive, the dinner rush is in full swing. Passing the bar, Harry flashes me a dirty look then nods. He’s letting me know that he’s still pissed but acknowledging my existence. I’ll take it. Honestly, I’ll take anything at this point, as long as I don’t have to go home to that empty house by myself.
“Mason,” Travis says from the kitchen. “Here for food?”
“Yes, please. I’ll just take a chicken club sandwich. Thanks,” I reply.
“You got it.”
The remainder of the evening goes well. And by the time we close at eleven, most of the front of the house staff have gone home, the kitchen staff is cleaning up, and Harry is sitting at the bar eating. I fight an internal struggle to speak with him. If he wants to sulk, that’s fine by me. I have my own problems right now.
I don’t want to go home. My home is no longer a place because it’s become a person—two. A family.
“Harry, I’m heading out. Do you need me to lock up the office or will you be here for a while?” I ask, setting a basket of sanitized wine glasses on the black bar countertop.
With his fork suspended in midair, he doesn’t look up from his phone. “I’m leaving in a few minutes, so I’ll lock up.”
“It’s late. You should go home to Jess and Penelope. I’ll finish up here,” I offer.
Harry raises his eyes with his head still angled down toward his phone. “I got it. I’m literally leaving in five minutes.” His voice is short and impatient.
“Fine.”
In no time, I’m driving down the freeway toward my house. You’d think the sound of the heavy raindrops pelting my windows is enough to drown out the screaming of my thoughts, but it’s not. So, I blast “Shimmer” by Fuel, craving an escape or some type of a release.
I get off at my exit, turn right two miles down, then left at the tall black and gray building on the corner of the street. Shutting off my car, I glance up into the dark concrete walls that surround me. The high-intensity fluorescent lights flicker, illuminating the inside of my car, and I quickly realize where I’ve come. I’m not at my house.
I’m at my condo.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mason
Istare at the elevator numbers increasing as I get closer to my old floor. I’m not exactly sure what my plan is now that I’m here, but I knew I had to come. Being in this building somehow makes me feel closer to Bailey without actually being at her place. I’m aware that I can’t show up at her door, demand that she be with me, and profess my love once again, but I will patiently wait for her to figure out what she wants. What pains me, though, is the time that we could possibly be spending with one another.
The bell chimes, and the thick metal doors slide open, allowing the small space to be overpowered by the cool, stale air. The soft wind brushes against my face and floods my nostrils with the scent of old paint. And somehow, it still reminds me of her.
I never understood the saying about how when you meet the right person, you want your life to start as soon as possible. But I do now. I’m anxious and unsettled, and the desire to contact her is growing stronger with each step I take down this sterile yet familiar hallway.
