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Her head whips up to me, making eye contact for the first time in several minutes. A satisfied smile pulls at her lips. “Yes.” Her voice is full of conviction, and her eyes give nothing away.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I taste blood. So, I bite down harder, rage and bitterness overpowering me. Through clenched teeth and with my voice low so the baby, who’s beginning to stir, can’t hear, I say, “Then get out of this fucking apartment before I do something I really will regret.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m gone.” Turning her back on me, she swaggers back to the stroller before turning to look at me once more. “Justin’s due a feed anyway.” She takes a bottle out of the side pocket of her diaper bag and hands it to him. “Welcome to Seattle, Luna.”

And then she’s gone. Out the door and leaving me in an apartment that twenty minutes ago was my happiest place onearth. The place my heart orbited. But now…now I feel like I’m floating with no tether to keep me safe.

ZACH

Frittata ingredients cover the counter when I walk back into the apartment.

I only went out for a couple of hours to pick up Luna’s last present, but everything feels so different—the atmosphere, but mainly the fact that my girlfriend isn’t here.

“Luna?”

Checking each room including the bathrooms, I come up empty. All her stuff is here, her sleep shorts are thrown on the bedroom floor, and my hoodie from the back of the chair in our bedroom has gone. Has she gone out? If she did, then it was in a real hurry.

Something doesn’t feel right. I know on instinct.

Walking back through to the living room, I take a seat on the couch and pull out my phone but quickly stop scrolling for her number.

There’s something familiar, like a feeling of déjà vu.

Amie.

I couldn’t miss that strong perfume anywhere. It took weeks to wash it out of my bedding, and in the end, I gave up and tossed the lot out. A chill trickles down my spine as I start to piece together that Luna not being here has something to do with my ex-girlfriend paying her a visit earlier.

Frantically, I’m back to scrolling for her number and immediately I hit dial.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

And then I get her bright voice, but it’s not the way I want it. I don’t want her voicemail.

Shit.

I try calling again, but this time, I hear the faint sound of buzzing, and I stand to see her phone by the refrigerator.

Adrenaline kicks in harder than it has during any game. Do I head out searching for her or wait here and hope she comes back?

Is she okay?

“Fuck!” I feel like I’ve come full circle from earlier this year—pacing my apartment. What the fuck did Amie say to her this time?

I blocked her number months ago and ended up changing mine to stop her messages, which was a fucking nightmare updating everyone, but it was worth it for the peace.

But with no idea where my girl is and what fucking lies have been told, I pull up and unblock the one contact I never wanted to dial again. I know this is what she wants. But this needs to end. Today.

“Slightly later than I expected, but hi,” she purrs down the phone.

I’m fucking raging. “What thefuckhave you said to her?”

“You mean she’s not there to tell you herself?”