Page 1 of Somewhere Without You

One

Now

Be brave. It was my mother’s mantra—the one she wove into the fabric of my childhood like armor, pressing it into my bones each time fear threatened to take root.

She whispered it before every scraped knee, every first day of school, every monster I swore was hiding beneath my bed.

It was her lullaby, her battle cry, and a promise that I could face whatever came next.

Now, standing at the mouth of my long, winding driveway bathed in pale moonlight, I was anything but brave.

Two brick pillars flanked the entrance, each topped with a brass lamp meant to cast a welcoming light over the dull iron gate stretched between them. But tonight, both lamps sat cold and hollow, surrendering the entire scene to darkness.

No light meant Jackson was home. Which meant my hope of slipping in unnoticed had just gone up in smoke.

Normally, I was back before he arrived. But tonight, I was two hours late.

Not because I was being reckless or testing my curfew, but because a wreck on the Five had frozen traffic for miles, turning the freeway into a parking lot.

By the time I hit downtown, not far from the Coronado Bridge, I already knew I was fucked.

Actually, let’s be real. . . I was fucked the moment our security system failed to register my arrival at exactly 8:00 p.m.

My hands trembled as I typed the code into the keypad.

Zero. . . five. . . three. . .

Shit. Wrong number. I tried again.

Zero. . . five. . . two. . . six.

The keypad chirped. A heavy click followed, and the gate groaned as it creaked open, vanishing slowly into the shadows.

I crept forward, steadying myself against the wheel and drawing in a deep breath.

Jackson hadn’t called all night, and that was never a good sign.

Most nights, I had more time. If everything had gone to plan, I’d have been curled beneath the covers before he stumbled through the door—reeking of whiskey and drugstore perfume.

And if I was lucky, he’d be too hungover by morning to remember I even existed.

But luck wasn’t on my side tonight.

I parked my crimson Lexus in the driveway. The last thing I needed was the mechanical shriek of the garage door giving me away. I slipped out quietly, the soles of my sandals whispering against the pavement.

Our home towered in the moonlight, all 6,000 square feet of glass and stone—a fortress on the island of Coronado. But to me, it looked hollow and empty. Like something long dead. Its darkened windows glared down at me like accusing eyes.

I should have called. I should have told him I’d be late.

Forcing down the lump in my throat, I kept my eyes forward. The grand oak door swallowed me whole as I stepped inside, the silence collapsing around me as I exhaled. Slipping off my sandals in the foyer, I moved like a thief in my own home, stealing a few quiet seconds before the inevitable storm.

I tiptoed into the kitchen, where a flood of light spilled onto the black Catalina tile and into the butler’s pantry at the far end of the room.

Maybe he was asleep. Maybe by some miracle, I’d managed to pull it off.

My shoulders lowered a fraction as I hugged my purse tight and crept upstairs, careful not to let the stairs creak beneath me. The landing was dark. No light under the bedroom door.

Just a few more steps. . .

Jackson always kept his office door shut and locked.

No one was allowed in—not even the maid.

So I should’ve noticed the sliver of space between the frame as I crept past. I should’ve registered that something was off.

But I’d been so focused on reaching the bedroom, so desperate to disappear, I missed it entirely.

“Emily. . .”The low growl of his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

He was awake.

There was no use pretending I hadn’t heard him. I turned slowly and leaned my head around the doorframe.

“Yes?” My voice came out thin and weak.

The room was cloaked in shadow. Jackson sat behind his enormous mahogany desk, an open decanter of whiskey resting in front of him.

“You’re late,”hesaid, taking a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass between his fingers. He was drunk, but not in the careless, forgetful way I sometimes prayed for.

This was the kind of drunk I feared.

My pulse stuttered. The air around me thickened, heavy with dread.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I obeyed, lowering myself into the leather chair like a prisoner before the judge.

“Where have you been?”

I swallowed hard.“I—I’m sorry. There was an accident on the Five. Traffic was backed up for miles.”The words were tumbling out faster than I could catch them, and I knew better than to offer him excuses.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Emily.”He took another sip, the ice in his glass rattling like bone.“Where have you been?”heaskedagain.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. “I told you. I swear I wasn’t—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!”His voice exploded across the room, followed by the crack of glass smashing against wood.

I jumped as it shattered into a dozen tiny pieces, whiskey bleeding between them like an open wound.

Jackson rose, his towering figure casting a long, ominous shadow as he came to stand over me.

“You know the rules,”hesaid, his voice a sharp knife against my throat.

The rules. The unspoken, suffocating rules embedded into every corner of our marriage.

Curfew. Obedience. Silence.

They wrapped around me like a noose, binding me to a man whose love shifted like the tides.

“I didn’t. . . I wasn’t. . . I’m sorry,”Istammered, the words breaking apart in fragments.

My knees pressed together instinctively, hands clenched tight in my lap to stop them from shaking.

Jackson circled like a predator. The broken glass crunched faintly beneath his shoes, and I flinched at the sound.

Even in the dark, I could see the blaze in his bloodshot eyes.

I used to think they were the most beautiful shade of blue—bright and coastal, and inviting.

But now? Now they were a raging storm, full of destruction and malevolent intent.

“Sorry?”helaughed. The rasping sound of it scraped down my spine.“Sorry doesn’t buy back my time, Emily. It doesn’t undo what’s already been done.”

I kept my gaze fixed on the shattered glass scattered across the desk, its jagged edges catching the light like tiny warning signs.

“I won’t ask again,”hesaid, his voice deadly calm.

I blinked hard, forcing the tears to retreat. “I did tell you,” I whispered. “It was the truth.”

There was a long pause—too long. I knew what came next. I braced for it. But the strike still hit like lightning.

His knuckles cracked across my cheek with brutal force. The world reeled, spinning as my head snapped back and I barely caught myself before slipping from the chair. Stars swam across my vision, and for a moment, everything blurred. Jackson towered over me, rage carved into every line of his face.

“Clean this shit up,” he snapped.

I nodded, the ringing in my ears drowning out everything but the thud of my own heartbeat.

When he was gone, I let out a shaky breath. Silent tears slipped down my face, tracing the raw, throbbing ache blooming across my cheek.

Across the room, the window creaked open, the wind slipping through like a whisper. And for just a moment, I swore I heard my mother’s voice riding the breeze.

Be brave.