Chapter 1
Three years later …
Dane
“Hi, this is Paige. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“Hey, baby. It’s Dane…” I rub a hand down my face as I hold my phone in a death grip and stare out the window of my Seattle office. It’s dark outside. That doesn’t matter. I don’t see anything. My mind is on my girl.
I close my eyes and set my forehead against the glass. It’s late. Everyone who works for me has gone home. I’m alone and free to express myself. “Happy birthday, Paige... God, I miss you so fucking much. There’s a hole in my heart, and it won’t heal. It’s just there . Always. I miss your smile, your laugh, and the way you tossed your hair over your shoulder. I miss the intensity on your face when you sat at your computer, trying to hack into the most impenetrable systems in the country.”
I choke up. I can’t speak for a moment. The world lost not just a beautiful soul that day but one of the brightest minds in the country. There’s no telling what she would have done with her master’s degree if she’d lived to take any of the jobs she’d already been offered. She’d even chosen one, and she’d been fucking excited to start.
“Fuck, baby. It’s so hard. I hate living without you. I had so many plans for us. I’m stuck. I know you would want me to move on. I’m sure you’re shaking your head at me from heaven. You’re probably disappointed in me. I’ve tried. I’ve dated. I’ve scened with women at the club. But things never progress beyond anything superficial. None of them are you .
What sort of crazy man still pays for his dead girlfriend’s phone just so he can call her, hear her voice, and leave a message? I should stop. I should let this number go and throw away your phone. I just can’t.”
I inhale sharply, trying to hold my emotions at bay. It’s too hard. Tears escape anyway. Silent tears that run down my cheeks. I don’t think I had cried in over twenty years before Paige died. I cried often in the weeks that followed her murder. I’ve gradually stopped getting teary from just the thought of her over time, but today is her birthday. Today, I will let myself feel the deep loss and allow myself to grieve.
I realize there’s been a long pause in my message. I lick my lips and inhale deeply. “I guess I should go. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And, Paige… Fuck, baby. I love you. I’d give anything in the world to tell you that in person. If I had a do-over, I would tell you that every single day. Ten times a day. I hope you knew you were loved. I hope you can feel it from heaven. I miss the fuck out of you, and I still love you, baby.”
I end the call and glance at the phone. It’s eight o’clock. I’ve spent yet another Friday night working late to avoid my pitiful life.
My phone pings, and I look at it again. It’s Easton. I answer it. “Hey, what’s up?” I wander back to my desk and drop into my chair. I know exactly what’s up . He’s going to try to talk me into coming to Edge tonight.
“The usual. You?”
“Working too hard. Playing not enough,” I say. It’s the truth. This week has been harder than most. I’ve worked late every night, hit my home gym hard afterward, and dropped into bed exhausted. It’s the only way I can sleep.
“Come to the club,” Easton says. He doesn’t ask. He’s telling me.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I don’t think so. Maybe next week.”
“You didn’t come last weekend or the weekend before that. I’m worried about you, Dane.”
I turn my chair so I can look out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Seattle skyline again. My security company is on the tenth floor, so I can’t hear the traffic below, but I can see the lights. It’s life-affirming. One of the reasons I chose to relocate to Seattle was because I wanted to be in a big city where the hustle and bustle around me would remind me I was alive.
I’ve been here for two years. I joined Edge soon after I arrived and became good friends with the owners, Easton and Drake. When a spot opened up on the third floor for top-tier membership a year ago, I snagged it. If it weren’t for the brothers and the two stand-up guys they’re also friends with from college—Asher and Isaac—I would probably be a miserable bastard existing on ramen and old sitcoms.
“It’s not a good day,” I tell Easton.
“I know, man. It’s on my calendar. That’s why I’m calling. That’s also why you should come in tonight. You shouldn’t be alone. If you don’t feel like picking up a play partner, at least come hang in the office with Drake and me. We’re gonna be bored. Faye and Lily are having a ladies’ night at home.”
I chuckle. “You two have never been bored a day in your lives. Aren’t you working on the latest cell phone app? Something that will beam users up to the moon or something,” I joke.
“We were, but we finished that one last week, and we don’t start working on the Mars app until next week, so come hang with us.”
I laugh, but then I groan. “You have a bottle of scotch in your office?”
“You insult us. Have you ever known us not to have scotch or any other beverage in the third-floor office?”
He’s right. It’s a haul down to the bar on the first floor, and Easton and Drake are too fucking kind to their employees to ask them to bring drinks upstairs throughout the night, so they stock their own small bar.
“It better be expensive.”
“Only the best,” Easton says.
This is a terrible idea. I’m horrible company. But my entire body is sore from working out far too much this past week. Maybe I should switch to getting shitfaced instead. At least I’ll be able to sleep well afterward. It might get me through the night.
“Fine.”
“Great. See you soon. If you’re not here by ten, we’re coming for you.”
“Got it.” I end the call and stand. Walking toward the window, I stare down at the moving cars and people. Everyone has somewhere to be. They’re all in a hurry.
I want to shout at them to slow the fuck down. Call their loved ones. Hug them. Kiss them. Make love in the rain. Have wine and cheese on the hood of their car. Because no one knows how much time they have left. It can slip through your fingers like sand.
I walk back over to my desk and drop onto my expensive chair as though I’m a hundred years old. I feel like it some days. I’m a whopping thirty-five, and I’ve been barely living for three years. Existing .
I’ve moved. I’ve started over. I’ve relocated my security company to Seattle. I’ve made more money than most people make in a lifetime. I’m rich. I’ve got everything a guy could possibly want. When I go out, women hit on me. When I’m at the club, I have my choice of partners.
What I don’t have is Paige .
I stare at the open calendar on my desk. Today is totally blank. I never write anything on this date every year. I don’t make appointments. I don’t schedule calls. I like it blank. Open. Permanently open to celebrate my girl’s birthday.
She would have been twenty-seven today. Another year without her. Sometimes, it seems like yesterday; other times, it seems like it’s been fifty years. I miss her so much it hurts deep in my chest. A physical pain I reach up to rub that won’t go away.
I know I’m stuck. I need to move on. But I can’t.