Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
A knot of guilt tightens in my stomach as I make my way down to Amelia’s office. The chatter about Elysium’s AR project announcement still echoes in my ears from lunch, and Amelia’s uncharacteristic silence weighs heavily on me.
I need to figure this out before they launch it.
I’ve tried everything to trace the project, even sneaking another round of research in last night while Amelia slept on the couch beside me, but there’s nothing.
It’s like the company’s wiped all traces of it.
Except the big announcements that are on every screen in the hallway and cafeteria.
I’m contemplating approaching the CEO to inquire about it as an employee—to ask who’s leading the project so I could see if this work could potentially integrate with Jamie.
I would tell them that I may see an opportunity for AI-steered lensless AR, which I absolutely do, but I’m only ever going to collaborate on that with Amelia when we have our own company.
I want to build something new with her, separate from Elysium, where we can pursue our vision and create innovations on our own terms.
I would be willing to give them some ideas and hints of what is possible, though, if it means I’d get the information we need. However, before I can articulate this or even ask the guys what they think about this approach, I know I have to ask Amelia for her permission.
It’s her work, after all, and I’ve promised to respect her boundaries.
Even if it’s killing me to do so.
But when I push open her door, the office is empty. Frowning, I check my watch. It’s only four p.m. She shouldn’t be already gone for the day, even if it is Friday. And I checked her calendar before I got down here—there were no meetings scheduled.
Is she out in the hallway, stealing some more fish?
No, she wouldn’t risk that with it still being so busy.
I need to finally ask her what’s up with that anyway.
Sighing, I pull out my phone and open the tracker app. I haven’t told Misha or Oliver that it’s still on her phone. They haven’t asked, and honestly, I’m not ready to give up that peace of mind yet.
Not until this beta test of a relationship is solid.
The app shows Amelia’s location at Denny Park. A growl rumbles in my throat. This just proves keeping the tracker was the right call. Without a word to anyone, she’s taken off to the park and is probably playing piano without anybody watching her back.
Concern and frustration bubble up inside me as I speed-walk toward the elevator. My mind races with possibilities—what if something happened to her again?
The ding of the elevator snaps me back to reality, and I step inside, jabbing the button for the ground floor.
The elevator descends, and I try to calm my nerves, reminding myself that Amelia is resourceful and strong.
But the knot in my stomach tightens with every passing second.
The doors slide open, and I make a beeline for the exit, my heart pounding in my chest.
Denny Park isn’t far, but the distance feels like miles as I hurry through the bustling streets.
Finally, at Ivor E. Key, I spot Amelia perched on the edge of the piano bench, but she isn’t playing. She looks beautiful today, dressed in a long brown button-up sweater and leggings. But what catches my attention, freezing me in my tracks, is her talking with a guy I’ve never seen before.
At first, I feel possessive, but then I look closer, and her body language is a dead giveaway—shy and defensive.
She isn’t comfortable talking to him.
Meanwhile, the guy is leaning in, making an obvious attempt at flirting. My jaw tightens as I stride over, and just as I reach them, Amelia stands, taking a step back from him. When she catches sight of me, the tension visibly melts away from her.
I’ve got you, baby.
“Hey, Princess. Sorry I’m late,” I say, leaning in to kiss her. When I glance up again, the guy is already retreating.
Smart move.
Amelia exhales deeply. “Thank you. He wasn’t terrible or anything, just insistent and wouldn’t leave me alone, even after I told him I wasn’t interested.”
I have to wrestle with the urge to follow that jerk and teach him a lesson he’ll never forget. But I can’t leave Amelia by herself. Instead, I bend down to pick up her bag, sling it over my shoulder, grab her hand, and guide her away from the scene.
“Where are we going?”
“Grandpa’s,” I tell her, pulling out my phone to send a quick message. “I get that you have an urge to play, but not here. I’m going to give him a heads-up.”
Amelia stops me with a gentle tug on my hand. “I already texted him. They said he and Morgan would be at a doctor’s appointment for the next two hours at least. That’s why I’m here.”
My eyes widen in surprise.
Why didn’t I know about this?
Then I recall the missed call from Grandpa yesterday. They probably wanted to inform me, but I was too preoccupied with Amelia and tracking down her project.
Damn.
I’m a lousy grandson.
“Did they say what kind of doctor appointment?” I ask, hoping she at least knows more than I do.
“Morgan said it was just a check-up.”
Just a check-up.
Okay.
That’s okay.
“I have a key,” I tell her, trying to stay light despite the worry gnawing at me.
As we make our way down the street, I notice her red-rimmed eyes.
She’s been crying, and it kills me to see her like this.
“Why aren’t you at work?”
Amelia sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I just had to get out of there. It’s one thing to know they have my project, but it’s another to have it shoved in my face all the time.”
My heart aches for her as we walk up the steps to the house, and I unlock the front door.
The familiar creak of the old wood beneath our feet echoes in the quiet.
Then Peanut comes bounding toward us, his nails clicking against the hardwood floor, and I crouch down to greet him, arms outstretched.
To my surprise and slight indignation, he bypasses me completely and heads straight for Amelia, tail wagging furiously, his whole body practically vibrating with excitement.
“Nice to see you, too, traitor,” I mutter, standing again and setting down Amelia’s bag with a soft thud.
“Hey, buddy,” Amelia gushes, her voice softening as she crouches down to pet him fiercely. Her fingers disappear into his thick fur, and for a moment, I see a genuine smile light up her face.
Good.
Once she’s done cooing over Peanut, lavishing him with attention and baby talk, I pull her close, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry,” I murmur, and the words feel inadequate, but I need her to know. “I never fail, and it kills me that I’m failing when it comes to you.”
Amelia looks up at me, her stormy blue eyes filled with warmth. “You could never fail in my eyes, Grey. I’m just a little raw with everything that’s happened. It’s not your fault.” She leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her, the tension slowly ebbing from her body.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper into her hair, trying to inject as much conviction into my voice as possible. “We’ll figure this out, I promise. Come on.”
We make our way to the piano, Peanut trotting alongside us, and Amelia sits, but she doesn’t make a move to play, just strokes Peanut’s head.
I stand beside the piano, arms crossed over my chest, watching her closely. “What’s wrong?”
“Somehow, the urge to play is gone. I thought it would help when I left Elysium. That’s why I went to Denny Park, but even there, I don’t really feel it.” She shrugs, looking lost.
A pang of guilt hits me.
I mean, I knew having her work taken from her bothered her.
It bothers me plenty.
I have been so occupied with solving the problem for her that I forgot to properly comfort her. My mind races with potential solutions, analyzing the situation from every angle when what she really needs is emotional support.
“Why do you think that is?” I probe gently, trying to shift gears and focus on her feelings rather than the technical aspects of the issue.
Amelia just shrugs again, her shoulders slumping. “I probably just need a break,” she says, her voice tinged with exhaustion and a hint of frustration.
I watch her, feeling a pang of helplessness wash over me.
I wish I could do more for her, to make her feel better, but right now, all I can offer is my presence.
It doesn’t feel like enough, but I hope it’s something.
So, I sit down on the bench beside her, our shoulders touching.
Tension radiates from her body. She’s wound so tight, like a spring ready to snap.
She turns to me, her always so lit-up eyes dulled behind her glasses, the usual spark dimmed by whatever is troubling her.
There is more to this.
The way she’s avoiding eye contact, the slight tremor in her hands, something deeper is going on.
“Amelia, I thought we had no secrets anymore,” I say softly, trying to coax her into opening up.
“You have me all figured out, haven’t you?” She smiles sadly, a ghost of her usual cheeky grin. Then, catching me off guard, she asks, “Do you know why I wear my smartwatch on my dominant hand?”
The sudden change of topic throws me off balance. “No,” I admit, curious where this is going.
“Because I have a motion detector that identifies when I pull my hair,” she explains. “It alerts me so I can understand what I’m doing and, in the best case, stop it.”
My eyes widen. I knew my girl was a genius, but she’s so much more—she’s the whole damn package, a brilliant mind wrapped in a compassionate soul.
“That’s so damn smart,” I praise, unable to hide the awe in my voice. But Amelia laughs, a soft, self-deprecating sound that tugs at my heartstrings.
“I’m not telling you this to brag,” she says, her cheeks flushing. “It’s just… it’s been a part of my life for so long, you know?”
“Why are you telling me about it then?”