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She’s not leaving me.
We’re going to work through this one way or another. Even if I have to drug her. I know the chances of a roofie working at this point are slim to none, but depending on her reaction, it’s the only thing I can think of and the only easy out to make things right again. If only she would forget.
As I draw closer to the top of the stairs, a cold draft wraps itself around me. At first, I’m confused, then furious. She didn’t. She wouldn’t … my denial is pointless. I already know she did.
My pace picks up and I bang on the bedroom door. My knuckles slam against the hard wood door and I yell out, “Jules!”
How long has it been, maybe a half hour at most since I locked her in there? My heart hammers in my chest. She’s gone.She’s left me.
It’s no use. I can already feel the cold air seeping into the hall from under the door. The keys are already in my hand as I poundmy fist against the door again like a fucking fool, nearly breaking down the door. They rattle as I find the right one and shove it into the lock before throwing open the door. I’m greeted with an empty bed and the biting cold blowing in through a torn window screen.
I stare at the window for only a second before taking long strides across the room, pulling the curtain back to look down at the ground outside. I half expect to see her lying dead on the grass.
She’d rather risk this than deal with me.
My throat closes at the bitter thought, and the harsh wind whispers, taunting me that she simply jumped to end it all. Relief is unexpected but welcome when I peer out and trace the footsteps in the snow. She hasn’t been gone long judging by how clean and clear the prints are.
My lungs threaten to fail me as I take off out the room and down the stairs, and I don’t stop moving as I snatch my car keys and phone off the front hall table. She’s out there with a head start and I only have so much time to catch her. My coat’s in the living room, but I don’t bother with it. I don’t bother with anything other than climbing into my Mercedes and reversing out of the driveway as quickly as I can.
A thin layer of sweat covers my skin and only adds to the freezing effect of the air.
If she tells anyone … I’m fucked.
“She can’t,” I say under my breath and curse, the vision of her testifying against me flashing in front of my eyes. There’s hardly any snow on the asphalt, and her footprints disappear in less than a quarter mile. With my hands gripping and twisting the leather steering wheel, I continue to drive ahead. I glance down every small gap I pass, although the main road is vacant. It’s early morning and I know there are plenty of cars that driveby here on their way to work. She could have flagged someone down.
She’s gone. My throat tightens with the realization and I pound my fist against the window.
She doesn’t have any evidence.My thoughts take over. She has no proof, and there’s nothing the police would ever find. She couldn’t possibly go to them. There’s no fucking way. But if not to the police, then where?
My heart’s racing as I pull over, and I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking.
That you’re a murderer. That you’ll hurt her.
I ignore the damning truth and keep pushing down the ache that takes over.
It doesn’t take long before I decide my next move should be to search her home. If not there, then I need to find her friend’s addresses. My tires squeal as I pull back onto the road, intent on finding her and bringing her back here. I don’t need anyone else trying to keep her away from me.
I lean over and click the radio off, only just now realizing it’s on and then turn the heat all the way up. I’m numb from the combination of the wintry air and the thoughts that won’t quit yelling in my head that I’m fucked. Turning on my blinker to head onto a busier street, I struggle to take in an easy breath.
Act normal. Come up with a plan.
There was a nasty rumor going around that Jules has had issues with alcohol ever since Jace’s death. I’d never talk about her as if she were a drunk, but I have to use something that would make people question why she’d accuse me of murder.
I tap my thumb against the steering wheel.
I don’t know if it would work. It’d be her word against mine. And there’s no real evidence.
But if I went that route, I’d definitely lose her and everyone in this city would question if there was any truth to what she claimed.
My family name would be called into question.
My business reputation would be ruined.
More than that, the only person I ever loved would be my downfall.
A bitter huff of a humorless laugh leaves me as I look to my left and turn down the street.