Page 131 of Cruel Lies

The bathroom is full of steam. I towel off slow, in no hurry, still humming that stupid song I can't get out of my head. It's been stuck there for two days. I don't even know what it is.

I'm happy. Almost suspiciously so. I keep checking the spot in my chest where that happiness lives, over and over, like a man patting his pockets to make sure his wallet is still there. But every time I look, there it is. Happiness. Undeniable.

Tonight, I'm going to tell her.

Not everything. But enough. I decided it at the lake and I've only gotten surer since. I think it will all be fine. I'm simply choosing to give her the facts and let her choose what to do with them. Before the ugly things come knocking. Because they always do.

I wrap the towel around my waist and open the door.

"Hey," I say. "Sorry. Who was it?"

The bedroom is empty.

I stand there a second, expecting her to be curled up on the bed, or over by the window, or coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water. But the room is still. The bed is made—neat, with hospital corners. The lamp is on.

"Cali?"

Nothing.

Frowning, I roam through the apartment. The living room is dark. The kitchen is empty, the counters clean. The front door is shut but not locked, and that's wrong, because I locked it when we came in, I always do, and it's unlocked now.

I go back to the bedroom.

That's when I see it.

The napkin.

It's lying in the center of the bed, dead center, on the white duvet. I know what it means before I pick it up.

I cross the room slow, like the floor might give out at any moment. When I reach out to touch it, I see my fingers are shaking. A memory unspools in my head.

If at any time you decide I'm just as bad as him… hand me this and I'll walk away.

I can't bring myself to pick it up. Instead, I reach and grab the phone lying next to it. All at once, what happened becomes clear to me. The color drains from my face.

I snatch the phone up and dial Navi. It barely has a chance to ring before he picks up.

"Ro, listen?—"

"What did you say to her?" My voice doesn't sound like mine. It sounds like the man in the warehouse. It sounds like my father. "Navi. What thefuckdid you say?"

A grim, terrible, and all-too-brief silence.

"I didn't know it was her," he says. "I swear to God, Ronan, I didn't know. It rang, I thought it was you, I just started talking?—"

"What did yousay,goddammit?"

He exhales shakily. "I said, 'Everything's good to go. We can seize the Bradshaw woman's shares whenever you're ready.'"

I close my eyes.

The steam is still leaking out of the bathroom behind me. I can feel it against my bare back, warm and damp, the ghost of a nice night, the last vestiges of a happy ending I never predicted would be mine.

Fucking hell—thirty minutes ago, I was inside her and she was moaning my name and I was happy.

Now…

… all of that is gone.