Page 44 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 44

FRAN

T he following day came and went. I skipped work because I didn’t get home from the police station until the sun was rising.

I tried sleeping, but it was useless. Despite how exhausted I was, my mind wouldn’t shut off. I couldn’t do anything, not until I knew Robbie was okay. Instead, I just lay in bed all day, watching the daylight in my room shift from morning to afternoon, to dusk and eventually evening. And even now, as I lie here in the dark, nothing but the dim glow of the streetlight shining through the window, there’s still no word from Robbie.

I’ve tried calling and texting him, but each time my call goes unanswered, and my messages are left unread. At first, I was worried. Then I was angry. Now, I’m a mess of conflicting emotions. What if something is seriously wrong?

My phone shudders, the screen lighting up the room. I move so fast to grab it from where it’s charging on the nightstand. But instead of Robbie, I see Vera’s name, and I know she’s just looking out for me, but I really, really don’t feel like talking right now. Reluctantly, I press the answer call button becau se I know if I don’t, she’ll just keep trying.

“Hey,” I croak.

“Are you okay?” It’s the urgency in her tone that causes me to sit upright.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” My brows knit together. “Why? What’s up?”

“Have you not seen the news?”

“No. What news? What’s going on?” A shiver runs down my spine.

“Sending you a link now.”

“Is it Robbie?” My phone vibrates, and I switch the call to speaker as I click on the message that just popped up.

“You haven’t spoken to him?”

“No… I can’t get hold of—” The minute the Sports Center page loads, the heading of the article causes me to stop, mid-sentence.

Robbie Mason Released From New York Thunder Amid Drug Charges; Expelled From NHL Pending A Full Player Conduct Enquiry.

“Shit,” I say under my breath. I suppose this is why I haven’t been able to get in contact with him all day.

“Is there anything I can do?” Vera interrupts my thoughts.

“No, you’re doing enough covering my shift.” I manage a smile. “Thank you, again.”

“I told you, you don’t need to thank me,” she insists. “Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, V.” I move to my closet and take out some clothes. “I’m going to jump in the shower and head straight over to Robbie’s apartment. He has to be there.”

“Tyler and I are here for you guys, okay?”

I smile again, tears pricking the backs of my eyes, because I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.

As soon as I hang up f rom Vera, I scroll frantically and hit the call button as fast as I can.

“ Hey, this is Robbie. Leave a message .”

It didn’t even ring. He’s either on the phone, or it’s switched off.

“Robbie, it’s me. Please call me when you can. I saw the news. I know things are… confusing between us, but I’m here for you. I need you to know that. I’m on your side. Please, just call or text me. Anything. Please .”

I try Andy straight after. His phone at least rings but then goes to messages, and I decide not to bother leaving a voice message knowing that he’s likely in damage control. Instead, I send him a text.

Me: Is Robbie with you? I saw the news. Please just let me know he’s safe.

With a heavy sigh, I toss my phone onto my bed and hurry through to the bathroom to clean myself up.

Less than ten minutes later, I’m dressed, sliding my feet into my Vans and shrugging on my winter coat, grabbing my phone, keys, and purse.

I order an Uber as I hurry down the stairs, but the app keeps circling, checking for a ride nearby. And I mean, come on, this is New York City; there are more ride shares than people.

Bursting out onto the stoop, I’m hit by a freezing gust of air as the wind barrels across the street. I pull the collar of my coat up a little higher as I stand on the sidewalk waiting impatiently for the stupid Uber app to sort its shit out.

“Keller.”

A scream escapes me at the unexpected voice coming from behind me. I spin so quickly I almost lose my balance. I’m steadied by a pair of hands grabbing my shoulders, which is when I’m met with a set of familiar brown eyes staring down at me.

“Robbie!” I gasp, and before I know it, I’m flinging myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, holding him so tight I don’t even know if he can breathe.

Robbie’s arms encircle my waist, and he buries his face into the crook of my neck, holding me just as tight, and it’s only then that I realize I’m crying.

“I’ve been so worried,” I say through my tears, my words muffled by his jacket. Reluctantly, I pull away, forcing him back too, so that I can at least get a good look at him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, searching his face. What a stupid question; of course he isn’t okay. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles shadowed beneath them. His face is pale, hair a mess. Suit crumpled. I assume he hasn’t slept a wink either, and I have a sudden urge to take care of him, because the sight of him like this breaks my heart.

“Robbie, you’re shivering.” I rub my hands up and down his arms, realizing he’s not wearing a coat.

“I couldn’t go home because the place was teeming with reporters,” he says so quietly I almost miss his words. “I’ve been walking around for hours… I ended up here. Sorry.”

My eyes bulge. “You walked here? From your place?”

He shrugs again and he’s so despondent, so unlike himself. “I followed the riverwalk down to Battery Park and just… just kept going.”

Holy shit. That’s at least a few hours’ worth of walking in the icy wind blowing across the East River. It’s got to be less than thirty degrees out. And he’s literally wearing nothing but a suit.

“Come on. Let’s get you upstairs.” I wrap my arm around Robbie’s waist, leading him up the stoop and inside.

As soon as I get him up the stairs and into my apartment, I don’t even remove my own coat before I start taking his clothes off. He just stands there, staring unblinking at the floor as I push his suit jacket off his shoulders. All he’s wearing beneath is a button down. He must be cold through to the bone. I unfasten each button on his shirt and turn him, guiding him int o the bathroom.

The bathroom is still warm and a little steamy from my shower, and I make quick work of reaching in and turning the tap, allowing the water to heat up, producing more steam and warmth.

Turning back to Robbie, he remains in the same spot, staring at nothing. He’s a shell of the Robbie I know. And it’s both heartbreaking and terrifying because what happened to the slightly cocky, self-assured, pain in the ass Robbie Mason I know… and possibly love?

I don’t know if I’m in over my head; what I do know, however, is that he needs help, and right now, I’m all he has.

I step up to Robbie and slide his shirt off his broad shoulders, gently skating my fingers down his tattooed chest and stomach. I unbuckle his belt and release the button on his trousers, pausing to meet his eyes, silently asking if this is okay. Obviously, it’s far from sexual, but I don’t want to cross any lines. When he doesn’t stop me, I push his pants and boxers down, crouching with them to remove the dress shoes he’s wearing, the ones that definitely weren’t designed to walk half the length of the Manhattan shoreline.

When Robbie is naked, I stand, taking his hand and helping him over the edge of the tub and into the shower, beneath the steady stream of hot water. He places a hand on the tile, allowing his head to fall forward, chin to chest, and I find myself releasing a breath at the sight of his shoulders relaxing.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, collecting his clothes from the floor.

“Wait.”

I pause, turning to find him looking at me, hair wet and slick against his forehead, lashes thick and black, water droplets falling from them and onto his cheeks. He looks both beautiful and broken. Beautifully broken.

“I need you, Keller,” he rasps, his voice low and cracking with emotion.

And that’s all it ta kes. He needs me.

Dropping his clothes, I hastily shrug off my coat and undress. Robbie’s eyes remain fixed on mine as I carefully step over the tub and into the shower with him. It’s a tight fit, but wrapping our arms around one another and holding each other flush, we manage to make it work.

I rest the side of my face against the warmth of his chest, listening to the slightly accelerated yet steady thrum of his heart. It starts to slow the longer I hold him, and as I gently drag my nails over his smooth back, I feel him relax, sinking further into me.

Neither of us says a word. We don’t have to. Because in this moment, closer than we’ve ever been before, there’s an unspoken promise between us. And regardless of what has happened, and what is undoubtedly going to happen in the aftermath, all that matters is that he understands that I’ve got him, and I’m not going anywhere.