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“Don’t apologize,” I said automatically. “None of this is your fault.”

“Of course it is. It’s completely my fault. All of it was my idea.” With that she practically ran out of the room, sobbing.

I was troubled by her pain, but it was like there was a wall between me and that feeling. Between me and any feeling.

I didn’t follow her. I would come to regret that deeply.

When I found the note on the counter, I wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone.

With the realization of her absence, the fog of numbness lifted for a time replaced by pain and more than a touch of anger.

She couldn’t do this. I’d bring her back. I could talk her out of this. I knew it.

But what right did I have? She’d said in the note that she didn’t even want me to contact her. There was no way to twist or misinterpret that. She wanted a clean break. She wanted to move on. And she was so young. She had her whole life ahead of her. Who was I to decide what she should do with it? To make her spend it with me?

When she’d clearly made another choice.

That’s when it hit me. She was gone. She’d left me.

I was filled with sorrow. Dejection.

Resignation.

She was gone and there was nothing I could do, or should do, about it.

That was when the real depression set in, and it was worse than all the darkness that came before it.

A few more months passed by in a blur. I missed a few deadlines and didn’t even feel bad about it when my work ethic was normally impeccable.

Turner caught wind that something was up and eventually talked me into a brainstorming session at his house with him and Dair.

I knew a half hour into it that it was a good idea, though I didn’t contribute much to the conversation, the distraction of it was good for me, and Turner was always that.

An hour in and Dair and Turner were prying the details out of me relentlessly.

I spilled my guts.

Dair was suitably sympathetic.

Turner was howling with laughter by the end, the bastard.

“Ro, did you hear this?” he called out loudly.

Turner’s cute little, pregnant wife peeked her head into the office like she’d been waiting for a bat signal. “What’s that?” she asked him.

“Carter banged a student, had a sex tape made out of it against their wishes—revenge porn, if you think about it—got fired, and lost her. Literally lost her. Like he has no idea where she is.” Turner raised his brows at me and made an I told you so face. “I knew when you broke bad it’d be a doozy, but damn, man.”

“Iris could find her,” Ro pointed out. She bustled in and set a few books on his desk. The second she was in reach, his hand shot out, pulled a few pins out of her hair with precise darting motions.

Her long hair uncoiled from its bun until it was hanging down to her hips in thick dark waves.

I barely noticed their endearing little interaction, intent on rolling Ro’s suggestion around in my mind.

I considered it. I really did. But I had no right to stalk Nova. I’d already taken advantage of her. She had a right to leave me, a right to move on. I hated it, but that didn’t change what was right.

Ro shot Turner a half-hearted glare, batting her hair out of her face. “Don’t mess with me. I’m pregnant and ready to rumble.”

He gave her a besotted look. “You complete me.”