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Chapter Twenty-Six
Levi
It’s late.
Or early, depending on how you look at the clock.
It’s just after one in the morning, and I’m dog-tired. I’m suddenly extremely grateful for the mini nap I took this afternoon when I had the chance. Otherwise, I would have started to struggle when we hit the third hour of battling that blaze. The older home went up quickly, and when we arrived, threatening to take the houses on both sides. We were able to keep it from spreading completely, but it was damn close there for a while.
Now, all I can think about is scrubbing this nasty burnt smell off of my body and crawling into bed with Abby. I’m sure she’s sound asleep by this point, but that doesn’t matter. I crave just the touch of her skin against my own and to hold her in my arms.
With renewed spring in my step, I let myself into my apartment, throwing my bag over to the side to take care of later. Taking a few steps into my place, I’m surprised when I slam my upper shin into my coffee table. “Son of a…” I holler. “What the hell?”
Limping slightly, I make my way to the end table and flip on the lamp. Soft light bathes my living room, and I’m finally able to take in the room. I recall moving the table a bit when I propped my legs up to take my nap. My computer is open, and the movement of hitting the table must have woken it. Hell, I didn’t even log out of that dating site before I snoozed.
Grabbing the computer, preparing to power it down, a photo catches my attention. Upon further inspection, the photo is of my own computer sitting on my coffee table. This exact screen.
Mother of fucking hell, what is this?
The picture was sent at 10:10pm from AngelEyes. From Abby.
“No, no, no, no!” I exclaim, roughly setting my computer back down on the table and not caring. That’s when I see something shiny sitting beside my discarded laptop. Picking it up, my gut tightens painfully, my throat closes shut.
A key.
My key.
To this apartment.
She left it behind after she discovered I’m SimpleMan. She asked me outright if I was on that fucking site, and I denied it. I deceived her. She gave me the perfect opportunity to come clean, not only today, but a few weeks ago, and I didn’t take it.
Fuck.
It doesn’t matter that I was gonna tell her tonight, not to her. And not to me either, because I’ve done the one thing I swore I’d never in a billion years do: broke her trust.
And probably her heart.
Because a friend doesn’t lie. Even when your ass looks huge in the dress or you have globs of mascara in your lashes, a friend is supposed to tell you the honest to God truth, and I didn’t do that.
Needing to make this right–and quickly–I race across the hall. I don’t even knock, it’s well after one in the morning, and as frantic as I am to get to my girl, I’m not about to wake the neighbor. He’s a guy about my age, but still not cool. Using my key, I let myself into her place.
Instantly I feel it.
It feels as empty as my heart right now.
I can tell before I even make my way into her bedroom that she’s not here. Desolation surrounds me, pulling me under with its strong current. Her bed isn’t made, which tells me she was here at some point. Probably before she came over and found the live bomb with her name, wrapped in a pretty bow sitting on my coffee table.
Her drawers are askew slightly, and I’m just desperate enough to check them. They’ve been rifled through, and if it weren’t for the current situation I left us in, I’d be concerned that something was up. But I know what’s up. She’s left, and she left in a big hurry.
Her makeup bag is still sitting on her bathroom sink, but her toothbrush is gone. Just like a piece of my soul. It’s crazy how empty I feel right now, not knowing where she is or if she’s okay. Hell, I don’t even know if we’ll ever be us again.
For good measure, I go ahead and check the rest of her place. You know, just in case she fell in the office or passed out on the living room floor. But she’s not here. I pick up my phone and immediately dial her number. Unfortunately, it goes to voicemail right away. After listening to her chipper greeting, the beep tells me it’s my turn to speak.
But the words don’t come.
So, I hang up and call again. Her voicemail picks up immediately again, but this time, I’m a bit more prepared.
“Abs, I know this looks bad. Call me. Please. Let me explain.” I take a deep breath, even though the air seems to suffocate me. “Please, Abs. I need to talk to you. I…I need you. I…” And I almost say it. I almost tell her exactly how I feel about her, but I stop myself. She doesn’t need to hear that I love her on a message. “Please.”
