Page 122 of Hold Me Tight

My pulse stutters the moment his unit number comes into view, and I slow to a halt in front of the door. My knuckles hover in the air before I force myself to rap them against the wood.

Silence.

I wait ten long seconds and then knock again. It’s louder this time, the sound sharper than I intend.

Still nothing.

Unease twists low in my stomach, warning that maybe this was a mistake. But I didn’t drag myself all the way here just to turn around. Not when I need answers and there’s so much at stake.

I shift my weight, teetering on the edge of retreat, when the lock clicks and the door swings open.

Gigi fills the doorway, framed by chic, modern lines and a warm glow that spills from inside. A rose-colored silk robe hangs precariously off one shoulder, exposing golden skin and a fair amount of cleavage.

She looks me over with a flat, disinterested gaze. “So, where’s the food?”

I blink, momentarily thrown off by the question. “Sorry. What?”

“The takeout,” she snaps. “Aren’t you from Gold Coast Table?”

“No.” I straighten, trying to reclaim some sense of control over the situation. “I’m not here with food. I’m Callie. Nora’s mother. We met at the Railers event last month.”

She squints, her perfectly glossed lips twisting slightly, as if she’s trying to place my face. There’s absolutely no flicker of recognition in her expression.

“Oh. Right,” she finally mutters.

I can’t help but wonder if she remembers Zane even has a child.

The robe slips again, this time leaving little doubt if she’s wearing anything underneath.

I quickly avert my gaze. “Is Zane here? Can I talk to him?”

Without answering, she turns her head and yells, “Zane! Your baby mama’s here!”

The words land like a slap. Before I can respond, she’s already walking away, her bare feet silent on the polished floors, leaving me standing awkwardly at the threshold.

I hesitate for only a moment before stepping inside.

The apartment is massive and pristine. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the lake in the distance as sunlight glints off the water. The kitchen gleams, untouched and showroom ready. Everything is minimalist and expensive looking, from the modern light fixtures to the oversized sectional sofa that looks like it’s never been sat on.

This place isn’t just nice. It’s high-end. Custom and luxurious.

It’s nothing like the one Zane used to live in, or the modest two-bedroom townhouse Nora and I called home. The contrast is stark.

While I’ve been clipping coupons and skipping meals to stretch our budget, he’s been living like a king.

A sharp pang twists in my stomach.

Even though I shouldn’t be shocked, I am.

Where was all this money when I needed help buying formula or paying the rent?

I take a moment to remind myself why I’m here.

The loan.

And the truth.

Zane appears in the hallway, tugging at the waistband of a pair of skintight jeans, the top button undone. His chest is bare, revealing the bruises and scrapes from last night’s game.