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CHAPTER NINTEEN
NOAH
It’s been a long couple of days, and I’m finally home.
The day I left was a chaotic mess. The people from the managing company for the hotel we were buying in Atlanta picked us up at the airport, and the wheeling and dealing didn’t die down until after midnight. That was the first chance I had to look at my phone. Amber had tried to call me five times and never left a message. Never tried to text me either. Made me feel bad because I missed her and wanted to tell her as much. Because of the time, I decided to contact her the next morning. Didn’t want to wake her.
Spent the next two days calling and texting, but she never picked up and never got back to me. I reasoned that her phone was broken or lost, and I would talk to her when I got home.
And now I am home, and she isn’t here. The place is still and quiet. I creep into the bedroom. The closet is open, and her clothes are gone. I stride to the dresser, open the drawers, and sift through them. Glance at the closet again. Notice a theme. All the clothes she had when she moved in here are gone. Everything I bought her since has been left behind.
I call her again from the landline and get nothing. Ring the front desk.
“Yes, Mr. Dalton.”
“Have you seen Miss Allen today?”
“No, sir. I haven’t seen her since Wednesday night when she left with some luggage.”
“Did you ask where she was going?”
“Yes, sir, but she wouldn’t answer. Went out the front door and got in a cab.”
“All right.” I slam the handset down and stop myself from grabbing it by the base and firing it across the room.I need a drink.
So, I slog over to the dry bar and pour a glass out of a brand-new bottle of Dalmore 25. It’s the best liquor I have on hand, and I need it.
I take a sip and head over to the table and sit. Set my drink down, put my elbows on the tabletop, and cradle my head in my hands. I don’t understand what’s happening. Why would she leave? Why won’t she accept my calls? Why? Why? Why?
I keep asking myself the same thing, over and over, until I eventually pass out on the couch with an empty Dalmore bottle beside me. This one’s going to hurt.
* * *
My brothers shake me awake, but before they do, they make sure the curtains are open and the sun is blazing into the room.
“What’s going on here, Noah?”
I’m unsure which of my brothers asked because I’m afraid to open my eyes. Some people say the three of us sound alike, and by God, I think we do.
“Come on. Get up.” That one was Rob, I’m pretty sure.
A hand touches my legs, and they lift and swing, and my feet hit the floor. “Get up.” That was Blake.
I sit upright and rub my face.
Blake: “What is wrong with you?”
“Amber left me.”
“Huh? What did you do?”
“What did I do? Nothing. Why is it my fault?
Blake sits next to me while Rob gets the coffee brewing.
“Something had to have happened. She didn’t just leave.”
“The only thing that comes to mind is that I didn’t call her the day I left.”
