Chapter 44
ADAM
I hit the curb outside the Windsor Arms, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, the engine still running.
The sight of the red and blue lights pulsing—six patrol cars, an ambulance, two black official city SUVs—made my stomach twist so hard I thought I was going to be sick.
After talking to Genesis, I’d decided to ignore Billie’s text and come over anyway.
I hadn’t expected to find a fucking crime scene.
Without giving it a second thought, abandoned my car in the loading zone and barreled into the lobby.
Two cops and a thick-necked, red-jacketed security guard were blocking off the elevator vestibule, their arms crossed, radios squawking.
A couple of neighbors hung near the mailboxes, whispering with the drama of it all, but I only saw them in my periphery.
I tried to get through and got an arm across my chest for my trouble.
“Resident?” one of the officers said, voice as dry as toast.
“I’m here to see Billie Bliss,” I blurted. “She lives in fourteen ten.”
He stepped into my space, looked me up and down. “Are you family?”
I could see, over his shoulder, this trail of bright orange evidence tape and an open elevator cab. “I’m her husband.”
That got a sidelong look from the other cop. “Your wife hasn’t advised that she is married. We need to keep the floor clear. If you’ll just wait here—”
“No.” The word came out like it’d been punched from my sternum. “I’m her husband. I need to see her.”
He squared off, the classic I-can-wait-you-out cop posture. “Sir, I can’t let you in until I check with the officers upstairs. Why don’t you just—”
“Is she hurt?” I asked. “I need to know if she’s okay.”
The officer turned to speak to the offers, ignoring me completely.
In my mind I was shouldering past him, sprinting up the stairs, busting through the door.
In reality, I was pacing as I pulled out my phone and called Billie because I knew getting arrested wouldn’t help the situation.
Billie’s phone went straight to voicemail.
I tried Bailey, it rang six times and went to voicemail. Birdie’s went straight to voicemail.
“Shit.” No one was answering their phones.
A blue-haired woman—Mrs. Finch, I would guess from Billie’s stories—appeared next to me, holding a glass of wine. “Husband, huh? I don’t remember being informed about Miss Bliss getting hitched or getting a wedding invite.”
Since I could see the cops were not taking me serious and Mrs. Finch knew every inch of the building, I figured I would try my luck with her. “I am her husband, I swear.”
“Well now, I’ve known Miss Billie Bliss for a while, and as far as I know, that woman is allergic to marriage and children.”
“I swear, I am legally married to Billie.” I wished I had my marriage certificate or that I’d taken a picture.
Picture. I had the wedding video. I pulled it up. “Look.”
I showed her the video Marianne shot of our courthouse wedding. She remained skeptical until it got to the vows and the kiss, then she was sold.
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, you liked it so much you put a ring on it, and she actually let you. Alright, Mr. Bliss, come with me.”
She headed down a hallway and then another, leading me to a service elevator. My mind and heart were both racing a mile a minute as I tried all three sister’s phones again. Unfortunately, I got the same result.
“Thank you.” The doors opened and as we stepped on I asked, “Do you know what happened? Is Billie okay?”
Mrs. Finch shook her head, lips pursed. “All I know is that some neighbors heard gunshots and yelling.”
Fuck. I instantly imagined the worse. Billie lying in a pool of blood being fatally shot. Image after image populated in my head and no matter how hard I tried to delete them, they just kept coming up.
Mrs. Finch patted my elbow as if it would stop my heart from jackhammering out of my chest and my horrific imagination to stop working overtime.
“What’s in the bag?” Mrs. Finch asked.
“The bag?” I looked down and realized I had a bag hanging off my arm.
I’d totally forgotten I’d stopped by the store after my talk with Genesis to pick up Billie something since she’d had a tough time seeing the photos of herself, then Birdie’s speech, then fucking Genesis showing up. I didn’t even realize I grabbed them when I got out of the car.
“Oh, just something I used to bring to Billie when she was having a bad day, but I didn’t know all this...” I shook my head.
“Well, son seems like she might be in the market for somethin’ just like that right about now.”
The elevator ride stretched out like a horror movie, the kind with screeching violins and jump cuts, except all I could hear was a roaring in my ears and my own ragged breathing.
The old metal cage shuddered, floor numbers flickering, and the moment the doors stuttered open on fourteen I was gone—bolting down the hallway, ignoring Mrs. Finch’s calls to slow down, that the police were probably “handling things.”
I rounded the corner and almost crashed into a uniform standing guard at Billie’s door. He put up a hand, all business. “Sir, you can’t go in there, this is an ongoing investigation—”
“She’s my wife,” I blurted, leaning in so close I could taste the coffee he had that morning. “Billie Bliss. I need to see her. She’s my wife,” I said it again, louder, like maybe if I just kept repeating it, she’d be safe. “I need to see my wife.”
He looked at me like I was a nutjob. Somewhere behind him, I heard voices—familiar voices—and a flash of caramel hair in the kitchen through the half-open door.
Billie’s voice, clear and cutting through the chaos, “Let him in. He’s my husband.”
The cop gave me a look stepped aside, muttering something under his breath I barely heard because I was rushing past him.
I found Billie in the family room flanked by her sisters—Bailey clutching a mug of something, Birdie sitting cross-legged—and two more uniformed cops, who turned to glare as I stormed past them.
My brain was trying desperately to reconcile the facts: Billie was sitting upright, still Billie, skin flushed but not bleeding, hair in a messy bun with wild bits sticking out, wearing a t-shirt and sweats, eyes wide and glassy but not dead and not hurt. Not dead and not hurt.
I crossed the room in three giant steps and just picked her up. I didn’t care that the cop behind me grunted or who was there. I wrapped my arms around Billie’s whole body and squeezed so hard I could hear her exhale like a leaky balloon.
“Are you okay?” My voice came out hoarse, scraping the bottom of a well. “Are you hurt?” My hands were everywhere, checking her arms, her ribs, the back of her neck, searching for anything that might explain the ER-sized police presence. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Billie’s breath hitched, then steadied. “It was Jeremiah’s mom, Stacy. She was here with a gun.”
Those words landed like a sack of cement on my chest. I turned to Bailey and Birdie, both of whom looked like they’d just been punched themselves. Birdie’s mouth was a tight white line. Bailey was shaking, her knuckles bone-white on the mug.
I found my voice. “She what?”
“She was waiting in my closet when I got home. I thought something was off when I came in, so I had pulled up Detective Ramos’s number on my phone—”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
She glared at me, clearly communicating this was not the time.
“Sorry,” I quickly apologized.
“Anyway, I went through the house expecting to find a letter. I didn’t, and when I threw my phone on the bed to get changed, thinking there was no threat, I accidentally called Detective Ramos.”
“Thank God,” Bailey exhaled.
“I told him I was fine, everything was fine, because I hadn’t found a note—”
“But she didn’t check the closet,” Birdie interjected.
“He offered to come over. I told him not to. I went to the bathroom to wash my face and then she was in my bedroom with a gun. Detective Ramos showed up anyway, she shot at him and missed, and he shot her in the shoulder. That’s it.”
“But you’re okay?” I touched her arms and looked over her again.
“Yes, I’m fine. I mean, I’m sad, and really fucking pissed that Tanner fucks around on his wife who clearly has mental health issues and then she’s the one who is going to jail tonight.”
“She tormented you,” I pointed out. “She broke in here with a gun.”
Billie shook her head. “It wasn’t about me. She’s not well.”
“How can you defend her?” I shot back.
Billie always did this. She acted like a hardass, but she had the softest heart.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked, changing the subject, which she always did whenever we weren’t going to agree on something.
“Oh.” I forgot I had it again. I reached in and pulled out the ice cream sandwich and handed it to her. “I thought you might need this after tonight, even before I knew about all this.” I waved my hand.
She looked down at the ice cream sandwich, then back up at me. Tears started filling her eyes and her chin started to quiver. She took it and threw her arms around my neck, squeezing tightly.
“You two really are married, aren’t you?” Bailey asked, almost in disbelief.
“Yeah, about that. Are you married?” Birdie sat up straighter. “Because you said, he’s my husband.
Billie sniffed as she stepped away from me and wiped her eyes. She held the ice cream sandwich, straightening her shoulders and cleared her throat. “We got married, but it’s not real.”
Her nostrils didn’t flare and I crumpled the plastic bag in my hand. It felt fucking real to me. Especially tonight. But if it didn’t to her, then maybe this was my reality check that it never would.