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It’s only when I hear him call out, “Come in,” that I realize I didn’t even stop to think about whether today was one of his days in the office or not. I’m grateful, though, that it is. I donotwant to discuss this at the house, where Emilia might overhear or demand to be part of the conversation.
He looks up from his computer as I enter, and I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but it has him straightening in his chair as he turns fully to face me.
“What’s happened?”
Unable to think of the right words to convey the shitshow that has been my day, I simply drop the envelope on his desk, along with the latex glove I used to prevent any fingerprint contamination.
He stares up at me for a moment longer, his eyes bouncing back and forth between mine, before he slowly lowers his gaze to the envelope, probably noticing the same initial giveaways that I did—the handwritten name on the front and the lack of a postage stamp.
After a long moment, he lifts the glove and carefully removes the contents. Not needing to see any of it for a second time, I move to stare out the window overlooking the city of Ridgeway. The sound of paper rustling and his muttered curses reach me as though through water—muffled and distant.
I’d already been plagued with memories of that night since Emilia disappeared, and having this psychotic bitch taunt me with my past mistakes isn’t helping me separate what happened to Laura from Emilia’s situation.
Spiraling deeper and deeper into the dark pit of guilt, grief, and regret, I don’t hear Hawk get up from his desk or move toward me. It’s only when I feel his firm grip on my shoulder that I manage to claw my way back to the surface.
Blinking back into the moment, Hawk, who seems to understand, gives me a moment to gather myself.
“She’s trying to get under your skin.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “She’s succeeding.”
“You know what she’s saying about Emilia is bullshit. She won’t harm her.”
Pursing my lips, I tear my gaze away from the window to look at him. “Not unless Emilia gives her a reason to.”
Hawk’s eyes flash with murderous intent. “We won’t let it get that far, but I need your head in the game in order to keep Emilia safe.”
I blow out a long breath, attempting to force the strain from my muscles.
Hawk’s eyes search mine, before he says, “You should take the rest of the day off. Clear your mind.”
I immediately shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Hawk argues, staring me down. “And we don’t make emotional decisions, so go clear your head so we can work out what this means and deal with it.”
His tone is non-negotiable—a superior giving his employee an order. Usually, we move seamlessly between our professional relationship and friendship, but right now I’m struggling to respect that boundary.
With Mel too deep in my head to see reason, I glower at him. I don’t need to take the day to obsess over how badly I fucked up all those years ago. Hawk shouldn’t be wasting time by putting me on a motherfucking timeout. But as the seconds tick by and the tension between us escalates, he doesn’t back down.
“I mean it, Kai. You’re no good to anyone here, and you’re a liability when it comes to Emilia while you’re in this state. Take the day.”
Nostrils flaring, I snarl before stomping over to the door and flinging it open before storming out.
However, I don’t leave the building. I don’t want to go to my empty apartment, and I can’t go to Hawk and Wilder’s. Emilia will immediately know something is wrong when she gets home and sees me, and I can’t tell her… I can’t shatter her confidence in me. She’s trusting me to keep her safe, and if she knew this… it would destroy all of that.
Instead, I spend the rest of the day sitting behind my desk, staring at the wall while I steadily make my way through the bottle of expensive scotch Hawk bought me for Christmas last year.
By the time I deem it safe to head home, it’s after two a.m., and my thoughts are a blur; the pain is nothing but a dull, heavy weight sitting on my chest.
Pushing open the front door of the brownstone, I find the hall light has been left on for me. Stumbling into the kitchen for a glass of water, I find the lights beneath the cabinets have been left on too, bathing the kitchen in a soft glow. That tightness catches in my chest, knowing Emilia left them on for me.
Grabbing a glass, I fill it with water from the tap and down the whole thing before refilling it. As I’m taking another gulp from the glass, I notice a post-it stuck to the fridge and move to read it.
Wasn’tsure if you’d eaten, so there’s a sandwich in the fridge in case you’re hungry. Emilia. X.
I read the note again.And then again. Her thoughtfulness threatens to shatter all the hard work I’ve put into numbing myself with alcohol. Pulling open the fridge door, I spot the plate with the sandwich wrapped in cling film to keep it fresh and lift it out. I carry it and my glass of water over to the island. I don’t remember the last time I ate, but I’m suddenly starving, and in the morning I’ll be thankful that I used the bread to soak up some of the alcohol lining my stomach.
Once I’ve scarfed the food down, I set the plate and empty glass of water in the sink and climb the stairs up to my bedroom.
