Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,73

would help him get it back.

She rose gingerly, feeling like a bruise. Everything hurt. Two Tylenol and a hot shower eased some of the physical pain, but there was no medicine for the other kind of hurt.

For the first time in a long, long time, she felt the full weight of her loneliness. She had no schoolwork to distract her, and the thought of poring through her stack of dead-end clues in her investigation had all the appeal of a Pap smear. But the idea of staring at the lonely white ceiling all day in a bland white room was only slightly less tempting.

She wondered if he was awake yet. Did he even go to bed last night or just go back downstairs and pass out on the couch?

A twinge of alarm made her breath catch in her lungs. What if he fell? Elena grabbed for her phone and called up the number she’d programmed in for Colton. He’d likely ask questions, but she had to contact him. She hammered out a quick text.

Will you check on Vlad? I’m not there anymore. Want to make sure he is okay this morning.

It was several minutes before Colton responded.

colton: What do you mean, not there anymore?

elena: I’m going back to Chicago.

colton: Oh.

That was it. Oh.

elena: Will you check on him?

colton: Yes

Another one-word answer. They were back to hating her. It shouldn’t matter, but it did.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she got dressed and went out to the car. And even though she didn’t make a conscious decision about where she was going, it also seemed inevitable when she pulled along the curb in front of the house two blocks away from Vlad’s.

She ambled along the sidewalk, indecision turning her feet to cement blocks. They weren’t friends. They barely knew each other, and as an added bonus, Michelle was probably going to start dating her husband the minute Elena boarded her plane.

Yet she still walked up to her front door and knocked. A few moments later, Michelle opened the door wearing a surprised expression and a typical Sunday-morning suburban mom outfit. Leggings. T-shirt. Messy bun. Her disheveled appearance was actually a relief. Even Michelle could do sloppy.

Her expression quickly softened. “Oh my gosh, Elena, hi.”

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this,” Elena stammered. “I didn’t really think this through, but you made me promise to come see you, and I just . . . Can I come in?”

Michelle blinked rapidly but then backed up. “Of course. Please.”

Elena crossed the threshold into Michelle’s house. Her house was nowhere near as big or grand as Vlad’s, but it was nice. To the right of the entry was a wide staircase leading upstairs, and to the left was a formal dining room that looked like it doubled mostly as a place for the kids to do their homework and Michelle to fold laundry. Straight ahead was a long hallway that led to a kitchen.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the party,” Elena said.

Michelle swung the door shut and laughed softly. “Don’t be.”

“Vlad should not have done that.”

“Truly, there is no need to apologize.”

They hovered awkwardly in the entryway. Elena looked around, biting her lip. Michelle finally gestured toward the kitchen. “I just made some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Oh, I—I don’t want to impose.”

“Not an imposition at all.”

“Then yes,” Elena breathed. “Coffee would be very nice.”

Elena’s stomach churned as she walked down the hallway. The walls were lined with framed professional photos of Michelle and her girls. This was a happy family. This is what Vlad wanted. What he deserved. What she had denied him with her immaturity and selfishness.

The kitchen was clean but cluttered. A small stack of dirty dishes filled one side of the sink, and someone had forgotten to put away the bread and peanut butter after making a sandwich.

“Excuse the mess,” Michelle said as she pulled another mug from a cupboard. “I didn’t have a lot of time before the party to clean up last night, and I slept in this morning.”

“It’s not messy. It just looks like a family lives here.”

Michelle smiled as she filled Elena’s mug. “We tend to live a lot messier than most. My girls are pretty active.”

“How old are they?”

Michelle handed the coffee to Elena. “Seven and ten. Cream or sugar?”

“Sure. If you have them.”

Michelle laughed again. “Are you kidding? Only a psycho drinks it black.”

Elena’s shoulders lost some of their coiled tension. Michelle was a lot more relatable than