One to Chase - Tia Louise Page 0,77

they come across. Judging by her far-away expression, I’m pretty sure she’s giving me another fleeting glimpse of her past.

Or she could simply be exhausted.

“Don’t get cocky.” I catch her chin and give her a gentle smile. “Be safe.”

She gives me a weary smile in return. “Make good choices. Don’t do drugs.”

Damn I want to kiss her. I want to sweep her into my arms and love all this pain away. It seems too much in view of the day’s events, so I step back.

“Get some rest, beautiful. I’ll check on you in the morning.” Her hand lightly touches mine, and I lift her fingers to my lips, giving them a soft kiss.

Her eyes smolder, and I hesitate. I’ve seen that look before, specifically when she first stepped on the cruiser the day we took pictures for the website—the day that quickly turned into one of the best two days of my life.

She blinks it away just as fast. “Thanks again.”

And with that, she pushes through the glass doors and is gone. I can’t help feeling empty, like it happened too fast. The gusts off the lake push my blazer open and mess with my tie. If you listen closely, you can probably hear them howling through the vacant spot in my chest where she belongs.

My agitation grows. Tracing the lines up the beige stone exterior of her building, I imagine her riding the elevator higher and higher, also alone. She gets off at their floor, goes into their condo, and what? Falls asleep? Why shouldn’t she? She had a hell of a day.

A rub to my hollow torso, and I turn to walk the blocks to my own place. Another sweep of wind through the skyscrapers, and it’s shaping up to be a nice spring evening. It’s the thought I had this morning when I decided to walk to work. I took a cab to the hospital, but now I want my goddamn car.

My insides ache, and I want a fucking drink. What the hell is this, post-traumatic stress? I didn’t deal with EMS trying to resuscitate my mother in front of my eyes today. I only had to see my love struggling through the after-effects of the trauma.

Two more blocks.

Mentally, I’m encouraging myself. It’s going to be a long night, but I have a bottle of whiskey, and I’m sure there’s a game on some channel. I’ve got five thousand channels and a fucking seventy-eight inch curved flatscreen television. If I can’t find anything worth watching, I’m going to throw it out the window.

I’m just at my building, pushing my way through the door when my phone lights up. When I see the name, I cough a laugh and lean against the wall for support. The words I’ve needed for so long glow up at me.

Please come back. I need you.

Amy.

* * *

Amy

Standing in Sylvia’s empty condo, I don’t expect what happens to me. I said goodbye to Marcus on the street and pretty much ran away. After watching my two older brothers tamed by beautiful, amazing women, everything Marcus wants slammed down on me with unexpected force.

I used to have solidarity with my oldest brother. Patrick was born to be a daddy, have a family, and he’ll be good at it. But Stuart and I always shared the same opinion on the matter. Now he’s so damn different. What the hell is happening to everyone all at once?

So yeah, I’d run away again. So fucking sue me. It’s what I do. I’m not ready to drink the Kool-Aid and believe the lie. I’m still living in the Land of Reality, where bastards still exist and people you think you can trust still shit on you and walk away without looking back.

Then I unlocked the door to Sylvia’s condo.

Then I stepped into the kitchen.

Her mug was on the floor broken. My mug was on the counter half-empty and cold. Her voice still echoes in the air like nothing was creeping up behind her, hoping to steal her life.

She’d asked me about the gala. I asked her about her lunch date. Her breath became labored, and she turned her back to me. Then she fell.

Now I’m falling. I’ve crumbled to the floor, unable to catch my breath. I’m crouched against the wall holding my throat, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sylvia.” It’s a broken plea. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t save her. Thank God I had my phone.

My phone is in my hand, and I’m texting. I don’t even know what