CHAPTER 41 #2
Tyler pressed the elevator button, squinting to read the numbers above the steel doors.
That’s strange. One of the elevators was on the twenty-sixth floor—Cary’s floor.
She stared at the number, willing it to change as her chest tightened and her heart pounded until her entire body twitched.
Was it possible that Cary was home? Was he cheating on her right under her nose? Was he like Dave after all?
The floor numbers began to descend at a rapid clip, so she ducked around the corner and held her breath. A few seconds later the door slid open and she shook her head, trying to stop the internal Jaws music from scaring her to death.
“Tommy?” she whispered to herself.
Did Cary let him into his place? It wasn’t likely since he trusted Tommy as much as NWA trusted the police.
A woman’s voice drifted from the elevator. Lara? No, impossible. But there was no mistake. She wore the same leopard-print coat from earlier, her hair—now slightly disheveled—still curled in its usual way.
As soon as they were out of sight, she stepped into the elevator, swiped her fob against the key reader and pushed 26.
Am I in the Twilight Zone?
“No!” She shook her head before the theme song started to play. “Not today.”
The elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor and she unlocked his door.
“Cary?” she called out.
No answer, thank god.
She entered his penthouse and the stench of cigarettes stopped her cold.
Tommy had been there; the haze of smoke alone made it obvious.
She hung the garment bag in his front closet before inspecting the living room for clues, but everything seemed to be in its usual place, so she went into his bedroom.
Normally, she could stop the music in her head, but the Mission Impossible theme seemed perfect for this quest.
She scanned the room and . . . bingo. A half-smoked cigarette sat on the edge of a makeshift ashtray, looking more like a murder victim than a cancer stick.
She turned on the bathroom light and found a damning piece of evidence confirming her suspicions: a condom wrapper in the garbage can.
Animals.
Lara and Tommy should have used one of the guest rooms if they were going to act like pigs.
She grabbed her phone and called Cary to break the news, sighing in relief when it clicked to voicemail. “Call me back when you get this, please.”
She stripped the sheets from his bed, threw them into the washing machine, and pressed the hottest setting and extra rinse.
At least Cary wasn’t cheating on her, but doubting him was bad enough. Could she ever trust anyone again? She didn’t think so. And it wasn’t fair to him. But one thing was sure: she had to leave Vancouver. Too many bad memories, too many broken promises—too many bike lanes.
This morning, she was alone when she found out she wasn’t pregnant. Well, Rory was technically there—but he slept through most of it, oblivious. And sure, she’d told Cary not to fly out. Said it was fine.
But come the fuck on. Of course she wanted him there.
Since Tyler was going to be at Cary’s for a while she took the elevator down to grab Rory. The dog probably thought he’d been left in the car for good. They both had abandonment issues.
Arjun had finally returned to his post, so she approached his desk with purpose, resting her hands on her hips.
“Hi, Arjun, I’m Tyler. Cary’s girlfriend.” He raised his brow and nodded. “Do you know anything about the people in his penthouse?”
“Tommy?” he asked, swiveling his chair like a kid.
“How do you know Tommy?” Her tone came out more accusatory than planned.
“Oh, Tommy?” Arjun waved dismissively. “He’s up there all the time. That guy has a lot of stories.”
No fucking shit.
She lowered her chin. “Does Cary know about this?”
“He has keys. I don’t ask.” Arjun shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
It was a reasonable way for him to keep his job, but was Cary cool with it?
“This sign.” She pointed to the notice. “It says you’ll be gone for twenty minutes but it doesn’t say when you left.
” He shrugged again, so she didn’t make a federal case out of it.
“Do me a favor.” She scribbled on a pad of paper sitting on the desk.
“If Tommy comes back, please call me immediately.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.”
“I’m not a ma’am, I’m a miss.”
Tyler returned to the penthouse and unlocked the door. Stale smoke clung to the air, unmoving, so she opened the windows, but the sluggish breeze barely stirred it. Seeking relief, she stepped onto the balcony, inhaling deeply as she gazed over False Creek.
White boats—some were yachts like Sebastien’s—traveled through the water as the tiny False Creek ferries to Granville Island zipped between them, rippling the waves.
A few kayakers bobbed up and down, using their paddles to steady themselves in the wake.
People walked their dogs along the seawall, and others ate ice cream—although it wasn’t warm yet—without a care.
She smiled at an older couple wearing matching outfits and holding hands like teenagers—she wanted that, without the coordinating clothing.
Cyclists raced along the path, which was poorly marked out, and there were a few near misses with pedestrians—not a shocker.
Vancouver was beautiful, no doubt about it, and it wasn’t the city’s fault for Dave being a cheater and an asshole.
“Come here, buddy!” she called her dog.
Rory bolted onto the concrete deck, nails clicking against the surface as he pressed his nose to the glass barrier, tail wagging in excitement.
She took out her phone and snapped a picture. “Look at this photograph,” she said to Rory. Unlike Dylan, she was a fan of Nickelback.
The hockey game was about to start so she went inside with the miniature panda and sank into Cary’s comfy couch, stretching her legs until she was horizontal.
A little while later the washing machine buzzed and Rory jumped to his feet, waking him from a snooze. He followed her into the laundry room, presumably looking for cookies.
“This is some serious bullshit,” she said, transferring the wet sheets into the dryer.
To Rory’s disappointment there weren’t any cookies in the laundry room, and he gave her a look that said, This is total bullshit.
Her phone vibrated. It was Cary on FaceTime so she answered the call without video. “You’re never going to believe what happened,” she said, turning down the volume on the TV.
“You can tell me in a minute,” he said. “I’ve got some news myself.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m almost at your place.”
“What? I’m at your place.” She elaborated, “I was dropping off your suit, not moving in.”
He laughed. “Thanks, babe. I’ll see you in five.”
Sure enough, five minutes later Rory hopped down from the couch. The sound of keys scraping in the lock was enough to set him off.
“Rory! How’s my boy?” Cary kissed him and turned his head. “It smells like smoke in here.”
“I know,” she said, not standing to greet him. This was more “sitting” news. “It smells like a bingo hall, but that’s not the worst of it.”
“What’s wrong?” He dropped his bag on the floor. “Other than the obvious.”
She frowned and took a breath. “Does Tommy have keys to your place?”
“Fucking Tommy?” His eyes flashed open and he laughed. “Are you kidding? Why would you ask?”
“Please stay calm.”
“What’s going on?”
She paused for a moment, not sure how to break it. “I saw Tommy coming out of your elevator earlier today. Tommy and Lara, that is.”
“What?” He furrowed his brow. “What the hell?”
“I know,” she said. “When I came up here I smelled the smoke. There was a cigarette butt in your bedroom.”
“What the f—”
“There’s more,” she said, cutting him off. “Your sheets had been, um, slept in. I found a condom wrapper in the garbage can. But don’t worry, your sheets are in the dryer.”
“Forget about my sheets. I’m burning them.”
I should have thought of that.
“Is he still married?” he asked.
“He is, but he doesn’t wear a ring.” She shook her head. “Classic fucking Tommy.”
“How old is Lara?”
“Nineteen, I think? Tommy should’ve known better. He’s more than twice her age.”
“Jesus.” He rubbed his chin, pacing the room with a blank expression. When he finally stopped he glanced at the TV. “What’s happening here?”
“We’re losing. I swear to god if I hear ‘Chelsea Dagger’ one more time . . .” The Chicago Blackhawks’ goal song was her least favorite piece of music.
“How’d he get in?”
“I’m guessing your spare key at SDM.” She shrugged. “Arjun made it sound like he’s here all the time.”
“All the time? Are you fucking serious?” Cary folded his arms on the counter and hung his head. “Maybe the building has security footage?”
“They probably do,” she said.
“I’m getting an alarm installed and a drink,” he said, opening a bottle of Penfolds Grange. “Are you up for one?”
She shrugged. “I’m not pregnant.”
“I’m sorry, babe.”
“I can’t do this,” she said, her voice shaking. “Sorry, I’m just bad at this.”
“Bad at what?” He poured the wine into two stemless glasses.
She sighed. “I’m quitting SDM on Friday and—”
“That’s terrific!”
She glared at him. “Please let me finish.” He thinned his lips and nodded. “I’m moving back to Winnipeg, and I—”
“But that’s what—”
“Fuck, Cary! Will you please just listen?”
“Sorry.”
She continued, “Look, I’ve done the long-distance thing and it never works.
This morning, going through that alone, Cary.
It fucking sucked. Not to mention, I’m the one sneaking around because of this stupid media attention.
I could never live in LA and I need to be with my family.
” She wiped her nose with her sleeve and hugged Rory. “I need time to think.”
His eyes welled up. “Can I tell you my news?”
“No. I’ve made up my mind, and I need to leave. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. The only thing I ask is that you don’t say anything to Sebastien or Tommy about what happened here. I have some things to sort out before Friday.”
“But I—”
“Cary. Please don’t speak.”