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Chapter 1
Owen
The sound that pulled me out of the darkness was so unfamiliar, it took a moment to realize it wasn’t part of the dream I’d been having.
What song is that?
I didn’t recognize the melody or the lyrics, though the voice was vaguely familiar. Before I could designate a brain cell or two to figure out which band or singer it was, I jolted a step closer to awake and realized I didn’t have a radio. Where the hell was that music coming from?
My bedroom was pitch dark thanks to the blackout curtains, but I followed the sound to my glowing, vibrating phone on the nightstand. I picked it up and squinted at the screen.
My 7:30 alarm was going off. I silenced it, and I shut off the 7:45 and 8:00 alarms, too, since I was wide awake now. How the hell had my alarm been turned to a song I hadn’t even heard before?
But as the fog of sleep slowly cleared away, I chuckled and rolled my eyes. Matteo must have been pranking me. He’d never messed with my alarm before, but there was a first time for everything.
At that thought, an uncomfortable feeling needled at me. That ominous certainty that I was missing an important… something.
Because my alarm had a different sound? Okay, that was ridiculous. Whatever I’d been dreaming about had stuck with me on some unconscious level, and I just needed to grab a shower, pour some coffee down my throat, and shake off last night.
No, something reallyiswrong.
Yeah. Something in my brain that just needed caffeine and a shower to click back into normal mode.
I switched on the bedside light and squinted until my eyes adjusted. When they had, I swept a look around the room.
And that nebulous discomfort turned into a surge of full-blown panic.
“What the fuck?” I whispered as I rose, still looking around.
Thiswasmy bedroom. The bed, nightstands, and one of the dressers were the same cherry wood set that had been there when I’d shut off the light last night. The lamp I’d turned on. The blackout curtains covering the windows. Even the laundry basket—pale blue with a crack under one handle—was right.
But the basket was full of folded shirts, not socks and underwear.
And the second dresser was gone.
On the wall, instead of the framed photo of me and Matteo in Yosemite, there was a picture of my sister, her two daughters, and me at… I didn’t even recognize the place. A lake with some mountains in the background, both kids holding up what looked like rainbow trout. I had no memory of that photo being taken, or of whatever trip or hike we might’ve been on. And I was pretty sure I would’ve noticed—and remembered—my sister being visibly pregnant.
A chill went all the way to my bones. Apparently my gut had been right—somethingwaswrong.
I slowly turned and took in the other side of the bed. It wasn’t rumpled the way it always was after Matteo had left for work. The pillow was flat and unremarkable, not the special one he used to support his neck. The nightstand was still there, but it was bare except for the other lamp. No cell phone charger. No water bottle.
“Matteo?” I whispered into the silence, my voice ragged with a degree of fear and confusion I’d never experienced before. “What the…”
Every fucking thing had been here last night. Including the man who couldn’t sleep without his neck-supporting pillow.
In a panic, I hurried to the closet and whipped open the door.
One side was… not empty, but it wasn’t full of Matteo’s things. There were some random boxes on the shelf where his folded scrubs were supposed to be. Of the hangers on that side, maybe six were occupied with some of my shirts and pants, as if I’d just stuck a few things over there to deal with later or take to the dry cleaner. His shoes were gone. That box of veterinary school textbooks he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of was gone.
Heart pounding, I strode into the bathroom and flicked on the light.
One razor. One toothbrush. One stick of deodorant. None of them Matteo’s.
As I wandered the condo, taking stock of all the missing evidence of my boyfriend, the panic intensified because they weren’t just gone—they’dbeengone. Other items—things of mine—had crept into the places where all his were supposed to be, from the closet to the bathroom to the living room and kitchen.
And the more I took in the situation, the more I realizedeverythinghad changed. Matteo had all but disappeared, but nothing else was the same either. The Boston fern hanging in the living room window was noticeably bigger than it had been last night. The dishes I’d left in the strainer were gone, and the three-quarter empty bottle of soap by the sink was now almost full. The stack of mail on the counter was… different. Not the same envelopes. Not quite the same place.
The chairs on the balcony were metal instead of the decrepit plastic pair I’d been meaning to get rid of. Instead of three succulents on the coffee table, there were six, including one that still had a tag from the store. I didn’t recognize the sleek laptop sitting on the end table where mine should’ve been charging.
