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I spin, taking off to the stairwell and pulling my phone out. The call goes straight to her voicemail.
“Claire, call me. We aren’t going another night with this. I need to talk to you.” I hang up and run through the main floor of the hospital to the parking garage. Her car is no longer in the spot it was when I arrived.
I call her over and over, driving by my condo to see if she’s shown up. When I don’t spot her, I go to her apartment and see she’s not there either. I grab her keys out of my glovebox and let myself in, thankful I insisted on having a key to her place.
I turn on a few lights and drop into a recliner that faces the window. If she pulls up, I’ll see her. After a few minutes, I glance around the apartment. We spend a significant amount of time here, but tonight, I’m seeing things in a new light. Claire’s style is a perfect reflection of her. Bright paintings on the walls, colorful pillows on the sofa, and a hot pink blanket draped on the other chair in the room. There are picture frames all over the room. I scan them and find three that have just the two of us. One at Nick’s wedding, one at my parents’ anniversary party, and the most recent from a few weeks ago at the Super Bowl.
All of them have us smiling at the camera, my arm slung around her shoulder, and at someone else’s celebration.
Generic, plain, and amicable are the words that come to mind.
I turn back to the window, staring into the dark parking lot. After two hours, it’s obvious she’s not coming here. I think about going home in case she shows there, but I know in my gut she’s not.
Maybe I should call Bizzy, get her and Grace involved in this mess. Instead, I type out a quick text to Claire.
Baby, I’m at your place. Come home.
No response.
I turn off the light and continue watching the parking lot.
Fifteen months. For fifteen months, Claire has been mine. And all I have to show for it is a set of keys, a toothbrush, and three fucking framed pictures.
I really am a fucking asshole.
Chapter 3
Claire
There’s a knock at the door, and I ignore it, stirring the sauce on the stove, hoping they’ll go away. Then I hear the sound of a high-pitched giggly squeal.
Fucking Bizzy.
I go to look through the peephole and know I’m in trouble. Brinley is front and center, wearing a god-awful bow on top of her head. Her grey-blue eyes are sparkling as she swipes at the door with her little fist.
I swing it open and reach for my girl, hoping to close her mom out. No such luck. Grace is ready, lunging forward, Bizzy following as she hands off the baby.
I snuggle Brinley close, carefully remove the bow, and wonder if I can escape before they catch me.
“Don’t even think about kidnapping my daughter. Shaw would shit a brick and possibly kill you,” Bizzy informs me as she drops her bag and, in two point five seconds, has a pallet on the floor with toys for the baby. “Give her to me.”
“No, how did you get up here?” I hold Brinley closer as Bizzy approaches.
“Long story short, I called your parents.”
“You called my parents?” I screech, and Brinley stills in my arms, her little face scrunching into what is likely to be a wail.
Bizzy whips her away from me, pops a binkie in her mouth, and lays her on the floor to roll back and forth.
“Yes! I could hardly remember how to get here, considering last time I was practically comatose and wrapped in grief.”
“What did you tell them?” My stomach pitches to my feet.
“I told them the truth, you disappeared and I needed you.”
“I didn’t disappear. I’ve been answering every message and I’m fine. The last thing I need is my parents worrying about me and Mathis.”
“Too late, I told them it was going to be handled, and they gave me full access to this condo.”
