That's when everything went sideways.
I don't think about that night if I can help it. Some memoriesare better left in the boxes where you've buried them, and that one has enough jagged edges to draw blood if I reach for it too carelessly.
By the timeI make it back to Hidden Hills, my shirt is damp, my legs trembling, my head buzzing with too many thoughts colliding at once.
Forty minutes of running. Then another twenty walking around the neighborhood, taking the long way, killing time so I didn't have to go home yet.
I slow to a walk at the end of the driveway, breath ragged, heart still racing.
The front door is unlocked and Wes is awake. I hear him before I see him—movement, a glass clinking, the low hum of irritation thick in the air.
He's in the kitchen when I step inside. Hair disheveled, jaw tight, nursing a coffee. He looks at me and his expression darkens immediately.
"Where were you?"
The coffee cup sits perfectly still in his hand. No movement. No fidgeting. Just that careful, measured calm that means he's furious.
"I went for a run," I say, pulling my headphones out, already bracing myself.
He sets his coffee down, deliberately. The sound of ceramic on marble echoes through the kitchen.
"A run."
"I needed air, is that okay with you?”
“Don’t be a smartass” He says it, tasting the words, testing them. "So you just left. Without a word. Again."
I set my keys down slowly on the counter. My pulse starts to thrum in my ears, a warning drumbeat.
"I wasn't feeling well last night, so I left.”
"Right." He nods, rubbing his temples. "You know, I spenttwenty minutes last night telling people you were in the bathroom. Another fifteen saying you'd stepped out for a call. By the time I realized you'd actually left?—"
He pauses.
"Do you know how that felt? Having to explain to investors why my fiancée disappeared on one of the biggest nights of my career?"
Something in my chest tightens, sharp and immediate.
"I'm sorry you were embarrassed."
"I'm not talking about embarrassment, Nora." His voice softens, takes on that reasonable tone that always makes me sound like I'm the one being unreasonable. It's a neat trick. Very effective. I should take notes.
"It's about being there for each other. You know how important last night was."
"You seemed to have plenty of attention without me."
Specifically from the blonde reporter who laughed at everything he said like he was performing a Netflix special instead of discussing quarterly projections. But sure, I'm the problem.
His eyes sharpen.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"No, say it." He steps closer. Voice still calm. Still measured. Still doing that thing where he sounds completely rational while making me feel insane. "You think I was doing something wrong? That reporter? Is that what this is about?"
Oh good, we're doing the part where he acts confused about why I might find his behavior concerning.
