Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Devon
The sun had barely crested the horizon when I pulled into a parking spot next to Blakely’s car.
I’d texted her the night before—twice—and never heard back. Then I’d woken up early that morning, or finally decided to get out of bed since waking up would require sleeping, and texted again.
And rather than wait for a response, I found an excuse to drive over to her place.
Maybe I’d lost my fucking mind, but my gut was telling me Blakely wasn’t just shutting me out. She wouldn’t do that. If she didn’t want this—us—she would’ve just told me.
So, I gritted my teeth and grabbed the two barstools I’d finished late the night before from the trunk of my car. My eyes scanned the front of her townhome, but nothing appeared out of place.
I stepped up onto her small front porch and set the stools next to the doormat. I glanced at the window next to her front door, but the blinds were closed tight, and there wasn’t a chance of seeing in.
Hesitantly, I lifted my fist and knocked on the worn, paint-chipped door. Then I waited. I waited for several seconds, my anxiety climbing, and nervously fidgeted with my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets.
When nothing happened, I raised my hand again when the door to my left opened and a woman stepped out. Blakely’s neighbor stopped short and looked at me with wide eyes.
“Umm…good morning,” she said, obviously unsure of the large man standing at the next door over.
“Good morning. I’m sorry, I’m a friend of Blakely’s, but she’s not answering.” I stumbled over the words. It didn’t feel right to only consider myself a friend, but I couldn’t think of a better explanation at the moment. And I didn’t think this woman wanted the full explanation either.
“Oh, yes,” she said, pointing at me with her keys. “I remember you leaving a few weeks ago, but I haven’t seen Blakely since yesterday. That’s not really unusual, though. She’s a homebody, that one.”
I mustered a small smile and thanked her as she walked toward her car. I waited until she got in before I turned back and knocked again. I counted down from thirty, but while I waited, I found Amanda’s number and dialed her.
On the last ring, she finally answered, “Hey, Dev, we’re about to jump on a call with our lawyer, can I?—”
“Have you heard from Blake?” I asked quickly, not really caring that I’d just cut her off.
“Umm…since when? She texted me yesterday evening that she got home, but that was it. Why?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and then pushed it through my hair. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Try me,” she challenged.
With a deep breath, I said, “She hasn’t responded to me at all, so I’m at her place.”
“You’re at her house?” The disbelief was evident in her voice, but I brushed it off .
“Yes, we promised we’d talk last night, and look, I know I sound fucking nuts, but her car is here, and she’s not answering the door.”
Amanda was silent for a few seconds, and when I was about to snap at her to say something, she finally said, “Maybe she’s in the shower?”
I sighed and groaned loudly, pulling the phone away from my ear to collect my thoughts. “Okay, thanks,” I conceded. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait, Dev,” Amanda said quickly. “You know her better than anyone, if you think something is wrong, then I trust you.”
I blew out a deep breath and pushed a hand through my hair. “Thanks, Amanda.”
“Let me know, okay? We just got back into town, so one of us can come over if you need us to.”
I said goodbye and pocketed my phone. Glancing around, I had one last, desperate option, so I rounded the house and trudged through the grass until I was standing in front of her small, cement patio. There was a black fence surrounding it that came up to about chest height.
Next to the sliding glass door, there was a dog bowl and a collapsable wooden chair. Although there weren’t any blinds covering the windows, there were curtains that blocked most of my view inside. But as I crept closer, I saw a small sliver of space where the curtains separated.
At first, all I could see were lights reflected on the glass and on the TV hung on the wall that I knew was opposite her bed. I could see the carpet and the outline of her dresser, but not much else.
As I squinted, trying my hardest to see anything, Tato’s head appeared in the space between the curtains. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, and he pawed at the glass. Then he turned and walked away.
“Wait,” I called after the deaf dog, and I immediately chastised myself. I was so desperate and concerned that I was willing to use Tato to my advantage.
But he was back a second later. The little white and brown pit bull pawed at the glass, repeating the motion over and over again before he looked back behind him. When I heard him whine, I leaped over the fence without a second thought.
My boots hit the concrete, and I was reaching for the door handle. Closer to the window, I had a better view into the room, and since Tato hadn’t moved, it was easy to see between the curtains.
Beyond her dresser and the door to her room, I could see into her closet and the form lying on the floor inside. Panic struck me, and I tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge, so I gripped it with both hands and tugged harder.
Of course, it was locked, so it barely moved.
I knocked on the glass with my palm. “Blakely!” I yelled, but my voice cracked. I tried again. “Blakely!” There was no way she couldn’t hear me, but she didn’t move. A sense of dread and urgency washed over me.
With both hands wrapped around the handle, I jerked it hard and ripped it open. Tato jumped all over me as I pushed the broken door aside and stepped into her apartment.
In a few quick strides, I was at her closet, bracing my hands against the doorframe and staring down at the woman curled up on the floor. Her hands were tucked beneath her head, and she was curled on her side.
Large noise-canceling headphones were covering her ears.
She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and I tried not to think about what that meant when I dropped to the ground. Her chest was subtly moving, and a small part of me was relieved to see that, at least.
I kneeled next to her, yet she still didn’t stir. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face, and I brushed back a piece that had fallen over her eyes. They popped open a second later when my fingers grazed her cheek .
Alarmed, gray eyes met mine, and it took several long seconds for her to register my face. But even as I watched her grasp who was sitting in front of her, her trepidation didn’t wane. She forced herself up into a sitting position and glanced around the closet with a deep furrow between her brows.
She tugged her headphones off and set them on the floor next to her.
“Blakely, baby,” I whispered, tentatively reaching out and rubbing a hand down her arm. I gave her enough time to pull away, but she barely registered me. “Blake,” I said again.
Slowly, she dragged her eyes to meet mine. But they were empty.
She didn’t even blink when I cupped her cheek. “Blakely, what’s going on?”
The seconds that passed felt like hours, especially when my favorite person in the entire world was sitting there unresponsive on the floor in front of me. Her eyes bore a distant calm. It was uncanny and unsettling. Like there was nothing behind that far-off look.
It was such a difference from the woman I’d left at the lake. Something had happened, and I was scrambling to catch up.
Finally, she shook her head, and there was an oddly forced smile that attempted to cross her face. It was wrong, it was all wrong.
“I was cleaning, and I must have fallen asleep on the floor.” She said it like it wasn’t strange at all that she’d fallen asleep on her closet floor. If that was how it had really happened.
“Do you know how long you’ve been asleep?”
“What time is it now?”
I glanced down at my watch. “Not even seven.”
“P.M.?”
“A.M.,” I confirmed, and her eyes widened.
With a shaking hand, she pushed her hair out of her face and brushed her fingers over her lips. “I need to get up then. I have clients and?— ”
“Wait.” I stopped her from standing with a hand around her wrist. Her movements paused, but she looked terrified. “Please, tell me what’s going on, B. Let me help.”
“Nothing’s going on,” she said automatically, robotically. “I promise, I’m fine. This weekend just took a lot out of me. You should go, though. Don’t you have meetings today or something?”
She tugged her arm free and stood. I followed her lead. “They can wait. I’m more worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone, and I just found you lying on your closet floor, unresponsive.”
She walked into her bedroom, and if she saw the broken glass door, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she picked up where it looked like she left off, grabbing a stack of towels and dropping them in her bathroom.
Walking in and out of the room, she said, “I was asleep, not unresponsive, but I’m sorry I worried you. I promise, I’m fine. So, you should go.”
Then she retrieved a stack of T-shirts and headed back into her closet.
“Sweetheart, I can’t leave until I know you’re okay. Telling me is one thing, but your actions are a different story.”
I waited several seconds for her to come back into her bedroom and continue buzzing around and acting like everything was normal when that was so far from the truth. But she didn’t come back.
In two quick steps, I was in the closet. Blakely was standing in the middle of the small, dark space, the stack of T-shirts still in her hands as she stared blankly at the clothes hanging across from her.
“Baby,” I said, and when she didn’t answer, I tried again. “Sweetheart?”
She blinked once, twice, then turned her head to look at me. She forced a halfhearted smile that barely tilted her lips. It was wrong, everything was wrong .
“I promise…I’m okay. I’m okay. ” Her voice broke over the last word, and rather than say anything more, I took the stack of shirts from her hands and set them on her dresser. Then I lifted her into my arms. She didn’t protest when I laid us both down on her bed.
Looking down, I saw silent tears rolling down her flushed cheeks. The emptiness in her eyes was replaced by a pain so sharp and potent, I swore I could feel it. And I had the wayward thought that at least there was emotion there again. The emptiness was terrifying.
Without a word or prompting, she tucked herself into my side and clung to me. My arms were steadfast around her, and I tried to exude that calming presence she always talked about. My instinct told me she didn’t want to talk just yet, that she needed time.
“I’m here, Blake,” I promised, kissing the top of her head and preparing to weather the storm with her. She still smelled like sunscreen and lake water. “I’m here.”