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Okay, not exactly physical, since he hasn’t even touched me.

But there’s a connection, tenuous as it is, born from loss and…something I can’t quite name.

He always seems confident and put together, dressed to make a statement, every I dotted and T crossed.

Until I spot him at his desk or on the treadmill, his feet pounding a steady rhythm.

It’s in those rare moments, when he doesn’t know I’m watching, that I sense the loneliness he doesn’t want me to see.

The pain he can never outrun.

Elise studies me with quiet fascination, her chin propped on her hand. “You like him.”

“I don’t know how I feel about him.” I set the pencil down and nudge it with my fingertip until it stops spinning. “But he’s treating me better than most.”

“After everything you’ve endured, you deserve someone who sees your worth.”

“They all see me as a transaction, Elise.”

She dips her head. “I know.”

I wave the heaviness away. “Enough of that. I’ve missed you.”

“Same,” she says. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be up for visitors again, but Landon had a meeting with Oliver today, so…”

“A meeting?” I sit up straighter. “What for?”

“It’s nothing bad,” she assures me, rubbing a protective hand over her belly. “Landon’s been following the paper trail of Jerome’s off-the-book dealings. Turns out, Oliver is his accountant.”

The illegal gambling party Jerome hosted during Ford’s month filters through my mind, and understanding clicks into place.

“So Landon’s still planning to take him down.” I arch a brow. “And Oliver’s helping him?”

“I think so.” Her tone drops a notch, more cautious now. “He hasn’t shared details, but if Oliver’s involved, there’s more to this than speculation. Landon wouldn’t bring him in unless he saw value.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Speaking of Oliver,” she says, shifting in her seat, “he’s planning a spa day for the two of us tomorrow. Facials, waxing, the whole deal.” Elise laughs softly. “Though I’m not sure how the tech will find my lady bits under this belly.”

That makes me smile.

And then I want to cry.

Of course Oliver wants me plucked and feathered for the perverts in his secret society.

The trip to the States is only days away, and the thought of getting on a plane again blasts me in the chest. Suddenly I’m choking on air.

I don’t know whether I’m panicking, crying, or both.

“Novalee?” Elise’s voice cuts through the noise as she rises with effort.

“Don’t get up,” I say, raising a hand. “I’m okay.”

But she ignores me, crosses the space with determination, and pulls me from my chair. Then she folds me into her arms, and as comfort tugs at my broken pieces, I fall apart again.

No warning or control.

Just the wreckage of grief breaking loose.