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“He left,” I repeat. “One day, he was there; the next, he wasn’t.”
“He did things his own way.”
“What does that mean?”
Alex exhales, looking angry. But notat me. He just looks mad. And worried. “It means you should stop asking questions, Lyla. It’s in the past. Leave it there.”
“I just…he’s okay? Alive?”
If every part of his existence hadn’t been so thoroughly—socarefully—wiped clean, I would have worried something happened to him at the time. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times over the past nine years, knowing there was a good chance I’d never know the answer.
“He’s good.”
That’s all Alex says in response. But there’s a dry, droll undertone that says more than the words. It speaks to a familiarity, to some inside information.
“So, you talk to him.” I state the sentence, not bothering to ask. “Do you know where he is?”
“Yes.” Alex’s blunt response shocks me.
I came here so the fact that I hadn’t wouldn’t haunt me. I didn’t actually think anything would come of it. Talking to someone who knows where Nick is wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s diminished the many degrees of separation that seemed permanent.
“You—you do?” I trip over the words.
Alex nods. He’s studying me closer than before, shrewd eyes taking in my work clothes and my clenched fists. What I’m sure is a shocked expression.
“You—right now, you know where he is?”
Another nod.
My breathing becomes fast and jagged. It’s a struggle to remember to pull air in, paired with hasty, rushed exhales.
The corners of the closet start to turn blurry around the edges. I’m dizzy and hot and nauseous. I slide down against the shelves, knocking some items onto the floor before I hit the ground myself. At least the linoleum feels cool.
Alex swears. At least, I think he’s swearing. It sounds like a swear. He’s literally speaking another language.
I glance up. “Where is he?”
Alex crouches down beside me. “I can’t tell you that.”
“You mean, you won’t.” I close my eyes, enjoying the dark respite from the world.
Worse than a waste of time, this is an utter disappointment. I don’t think Alex is lying about knowing where Nick is. I wish hehadlied about knowing it. Then, maybe I could have left this conversation with some dignity intact. With the closure of knowing I’d never get answers, which has to be better than holding out hope.
“Lyla.”
My eyes open, focusing on Alex’s serious expression.
“If you’re ever in trouble, you can always come to me. You know where I am now. But not for answers about Nick. Nothing involving Nick.Forget him.”
Alex stands. I watch him walk toward the door, and I can feel it slipping away. My one and only chance for answers.
He must think I have a stalker-level obsession with his friend. He must know Nick has moved on and won’t want to hear from me.
But I’m not seeking Nick out forme.
I want to be able to tell Leo where his dad lives.
“I have a son, Alex,” I say.
