The next second, Richard's palm hit the doorframe. No matter how hard I pushed after that, the door wouldn't budge an inch.
"Nightingale. No, Natalie." His voice was level, but the end dipped slightly with an unmistakable authority. "Not going to invite me in?"
Well, he wasn't pretending anymore either. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "We're divorced."
"I know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Let me in to talk." He cut me off, stepping forward.
"No!"
"Hey, Natalie, look what I brought you!"
A voice came from behind Richard.
I looked past him instinctively. It was Andrew. I'd met him at a small concert. He was a guitarist. We'd occasionally talked about music, then collaborated on a new song, and our friendship had grown from there. He was one of the few people in Vegas I could count on.
Andrew didn't know I was pregnant. He thought I just had a bad stomach. That's why he'd texted earlier, saying he'd bring over homemade apple pie and ginger candy to help. Now he stood there in a forest-green sweater, collar casually turned up, light brown curls messy, those hazel eyes and faint freckles on his nose giving him a harmless, boyish air.
His eyes swept from Richard to my face, quickly reading my stiff expression. Then he stepped up, naturally positioning himself at an angle in front of me, half his body blocking me as he faced Richard.
"I'm Andrew. Natalie's friend." He addressed Richard directly, tone polite enough, but his eyes narrowed. "Who are you? It's pretty late to be standing at a lady's door, don't you think? Whatever it is can wait till morning."
I could feel the temperature around Richard drop ten degrees.
"Natalie, I don't care who he is. Make him leave." Richard's voice was ice.
Andrew froze for a second, then spoke up quickly. "Sir, I don't know what your relationship with Natalie is, but you just told me to leave. Let me correct that—you're the one standing at her door uninvited. So if anyone should go, logically, it should be you."
"Andrew, it's okay." I quickly tugged his sleeve. "I know him. Just go home..."
I didn't want to drag Andrew into this, especially not with Richard like this.
But Andrew clearly misread me. He thought I was scared, asking for help. He immediately pressed his hand over mine, then stood even more firmly in front of me.
Richard watched this. Said nothing. Sometimes silence itself is a kind of pressure. Most people would instinctively back down under that gaze—but Andrew didn't. He squared his shoulders even more, blocking me more completely.
Richard's expression darkened further. He didn't waste more words. With unstoppable force, he shoved Andrew aside and barged into my apartment.
"Hey! What the hell!" Andrew stumbled, the paper bag dropped, candy spilling out. He immediately flared up, chasing after him. "Who said you could come in! Get out!"
The tiny apartment felt suffocating the moment Richard entered. He stood in the center of the living room like a lion that had wandered into a rabbit hole, completely out of place. His gaze swept the room—the small dining table scattered with sheet music and chip bags, the guitar and keyboard in the corner, the crumpled blanket on the couch, and the prenatal vitamin bottle on the coffee table I hadn't put away yet.
His eyes paused on that bottle for half a second. A very brief half second. But my heart almost stopped.
Andrew was clearly enraged by Richard's dismissal and invasion. He pulled out his phone and started dialing. "This is trespassing! I'm calling the cops!"
"Andrew, no, don't!" I tried to stop him. Calling the police would only make things worse, especially for Andrew.
Richard looked at Andrew dialing and let out a cold laugh.
"Call the cops?" He repeated slowly. "Fine. I'd love to see whether the police will escort out the man who showed up at another man's wife's apartment late at night, or throw out the husband who has every right to be here."
God, what was Richard saying? We were divorced! Legally, we had nothing to do with each other! Had he lost his mind?
But by then, Andrew had already finished the call. He seemed not to have heard Richard's words and stepped between us again.
