The words land heavier than the phone did. And once again, a chance to prove something important to Robyn vanishes from my grasp.
My knuckles thudagainst the door again, hard enough to sting. I open my palm and slap the door one more time, thegrain digs into my palm, and every vibration shoots up my forearm. I hit it again. And again. If this guy doesn’t open his door, I won’t know what the fuck to do.
First, I went to Robyn’s apartment to find it locked. Her name gone from the mailbox. Not a trace of Robyn. Then I went to the hospital, where I stepped straight up to the information desk. All that earned me were some pitiful glances and a lot of confused nurses gossiping about what to do with me.
I pound the door one last time, the edges of the wood press into the tips of my fingers, sharp and unforgiving, as if the door itself is punishing me for not being fast enough, for not knowing where she is. I’m about to leave, running through a mental checklist of other places she could be, when the door swings open.
Julian stands there, shirtless, a towel draped over his shoulders, damp hair sticking up at odd angles. A silver ring glints in the hallway lighting, hanging from his left nipple.
He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe, his brows cinched and his jaw tense. “What the fuck, Leighton?”
“Where’s Robyn?” I say, trying to peek into his apartment behind him. “She won’t answer calls, and I can’t find her anywhere. I gotta talk to her.”
He drops his arms to his side and straightens, then looks me up and down. There must be something he sees because he steps to the side and tilts his head for me to come into his home.
The studio is wide and open. A kitchenette sits to one side, and the sitting area flows into a queen-size bed pushed against the far wall. I shake my head, forcing myself to focus, but my fingers flex and curl around the edge of my phone, knuckles whitening.
“Look,” I say, facing him, voice low, “this isn’t me trying to get her back.” The tension in my shoulders tightens further,pressing against my ears, guilt coiling in my stomach. “I really need to talk to her.”
His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow, the corners crinkling with impatience, and his arms cross slowly, pressing the muscles of his chest upward. “What the fuck did you do now?”
“I-I…” My throat closes, and I swallow hard, the movement jerky. My lips tremble. I glance at the floor, then back up, and my stomach twists tighter. “Not me. It’s better if I just show you.” My hand shakes as I fumble with my phone, fingers brushing against the case, trying to anchor myself.
Julian raises an eyebrow, cocking his head like a predator assessing a threat. The silence stretches, and heat crawls up my neck as I scroll to Tessa’s profile and hit play. Julian stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening and his hands clench into fists.
The video opens: Robyn, black hair catching the dim light, blue eyes searching, adjusting her skirt as she steps out of a non-descript door in a bar that looks seedier than it was. A man, blond and beefy, follows close behind, leaning toward her with his lips near her ear. The camera lingers a moment too long. Their body language is transparent. It’s also a moment I’d rather never have to relive. Just like I’m sure Robyn would have preferred to never have to see me kissing anyone but her.
Tessa’s caption scrolls across the screen:“Wild doctors on the loose! Better avoid wherever they workSo much for safe s3x! Makes you wonder what else they do that isn’t safe… #UnprofessionalMuch #baddoctors”
Julian’s eyes narrow. He runs a hand down his face, massaging the bridge of his nose, then presses his hands into his hips, stance wide. “Holy shit. That’s a professional misconduct accusation.”
I swallow hard. My palms are slick with sweat, and my chest rises and falls shallowly, heart pounding in my ears. “Idon’t know if Robyn has seen it yet. I just—” My voice cracks. My stomach knots tighter, coiling into ice. “I need to find her. Explain. I know she’s trying to line up a job, figure out what her next move is,” I say, gripping my phone tighter. “This can’t fall back on her.”
Julian rubs the back of his neck with one hand, shifting his weight. Finally, he exhales and nods once.
“Robyn’s had a job lined up for the past five weeks or so,” he says, pressing the towel against his face, then dropping it to his shoulder. His chest expands as he inhales; the tautness in his jaw eases just a fraction. “It could still be damaging to her image if someone figures out that’s her. And she likes her new job.”
“It won’t touch her,” I swear. “Does she really like it?”
He nods. “I actually just got back from helping her move.”
“Move? What do you mean? Where is she?” My stomach twists, heat climbs up my neck, and I take a small step closer, phone held in front of me.
“Oregon,” Julian says, shrugging, one hand brushing his damp hair back. He runs the other over his towel again, flicking it over his shoulder. “Great fellowship. She was loving it before I flew back late last night.”
“What do you mean?” The words come out strangled, and I barely recognize my own voice. I don’t really think I’ve said anything until Julian’s reply cuts through it.
“She’s gone, man. She moved the fuck away.”
I let out a tight breath, shoulders sagging, chest hollow, heart hammering. I hold myself against the closest wall, nails pressing into the surface. It does nothing to ground me while everything inside twists.
“I don’t understand. How do I get her back if she isn’t here?”
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t think you do, dude. It’s too little, too late.”He points at my phone. “But that woman… needs dealt with.”
Yes, she does.
It sinks in though: my life’s a crumbling structure, the wrong foundation, demolished load-bearing walls. I’m the one responsible for Robyn having to choose me or herself. And I’m glad she chose herself.
