Chapter 25
twenty-five
SADIE
“You could come home with me tonight,” Romy suggests, as she locks the door to the bookshop. “We don’t have a spare room but the sofa is a sleeper. And we have dogs. Nobody would get past them.”
I smile, because she’s been lovely to me all day.
Ever since Zach brought me home and asked her to take care of me.
Which led to a thirty minute interrogation scene that would scare a professional spy.
But now she knows exactly what upset me yesterday, and more about my ex than I ever planned on telling anybody. Except for Zach.
And she also borrowed a baseball bat from Jesse and put it under the counter, which is slightly concerning.
“You’re super sweet,” I tell her, “But you’ve already done enough.” I start to flick off the lights. “And anyway, this is all being blown out of proportion. My ex is an idiot, but he’s not a real threat.”
Romy gives me a look. “You have a restraining order against him. They don’t give those out without a reason.”
“It’s fine. I promise.” I smile softly. An email from VINE arrived in my inbox this morning.
Confirmation of his parole, and notification that they’re setting up an investigation into why I wasn’t notified.
“He knows better than to contact me again,” I tell her.
“It’ll break the terms of his parole, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to go back to prison. ”
“Mm-hmm.” She leans against the office doorframe, arms folded, her expression soft. “Well the offer is still there.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, because it feels good to have friends. People who want to take care of me. But I’m still getting used to it.
Before she can say any more, the low rumble of a car engine drifts up the street, cutting through the quiet evening air. My heart starts to pound even before I see who’s driving it.
Romy turns her head as Zach’s black sports car pulls up along the curb.
She watches him for a beat, then turns to look at me, a big grin on her face.
“Well, I’d pick a six-foot-two human brick wall too, I guess,” she murmurs, as he climbs out, and every coherent thought slips quietly out the back door of my brain.
He’s dressed casually, in a black henley that clings to his chest and shoulders like it was made specially for him, with dark jeans that sit low on his hips, and boots that hit the ground with slow, heavy confidence.
His hair’s slightly mussed as though he’s been running his fingers through it since he dropped me off this morning. His jaw is rough with stubble, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, and he’s squinting into the late sun, scanning the street until his eyes land on me.
And stay there.
My pulse kicks up, as I remember last night. How I felt when he was inside of me. Like this thing between us is real.
Like he didn’t want to let me go.
Maybe that’s wishful thinking, but my body heats up like it belongs to him anyway.
He pushes at the door and it doesn’t give. Romy runs to unlock it, twirling to the side to let him in.
“Well hello handsome,” she says, batting her super-long eyelashes at him. “I’ve taken good care of her all day.”
He lifts a brow. “I know. You’ve messaged every hour.”
She touches the tip of her brow like they’re in a military operation together. “Just wanted you to know all was well,” she tells him.
He nods, his eyes softening. “And I appreciate it. Thanks for taking care of her.”
“I am here, you know?” I point out, folding my arms.
“Yes you are,” he says, his gaze trailing over my face like he’s checking for bruises, or cracks, or some other spurious reason to pull me into his embrace and never let go. “You look tired,” he adds, stepping closer. “Have you eaten anything today?”
He was annoyed this morning when I refused a cooked breakfast from the kitchen and only wanted coffee. But seriously, who can eat that much first thing? Especially when he’s walking around half naked and stupidly hot?
Romy snorts. “She refused the tuna sandwich I offered her for lunch. Said it smelled like cat food.”
“But I did eat lunch, just not yours,” I point out, patiently, because I love this woman, but she’s acting like my personal bodyguard. And I don’t need Zach worrying about my eating again.
A smile pulls at his lips. “We’ll grab something to eat when we get back to the hotel.”
I look over at Romy. “Thank you for today,” I say, because I want her to leave now. She’s already late leaving and I know she has homework to do.
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at seven for the handover,” she tells Zach, like I’m the center of a child custody arrangement.
“Of course,” he says.
“And take care of her,” she tells him, shooting me an amused look that says she knows exactly how he will do that.
His smile widens. “I wouldn’t dare do anything else.”
She squeezes my hand as she walks out, and I close the door behind her. For a moment, I watch her through the glass as she walks down the street, her phone already at her ear.
I turn back to him, the lock clicking under my fingers.
He’s still standing in the same place, his eyes slightly unfocused, like he’s trying to decide if I’m okay.
“This is stupid,” I tell him. “I’m fine.” Because much like Romy, he’s been messaging me every hour too. Plus three phone calls to make sure I’m not losing it again. “I’m not sure I’ve gone ten minutes all day without a member of your family checking in with me.”
“Who checked in?” he asks, walking toward me. He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and I feel the sizzle of his touch all the way down to my toes.
“Hudson called this morning to tell me he’s got surveillance documenting who comes on and off the island. Then Asher called and asked me a thousand questions.” I lift a brow. “And after that, I had visits from Autumn, Skyler, Francie, and Eden.”
He winces. “I told them not to come.”
“They meant well,” I say. “But this is so over the top. Darien isn’t exactly a criminal mastermind.”
His mouth twitches. “Do you have your bags packed?” he asks. Because last night I only took one change of clothes to his apartment. He called me earlier to suggest I stay with him until the gala at least.
And I agreed. Because, hello, hot guy. Who wouldn’t want an extended sleepover with Zach Fitzgerald?
“Yep. They’re upstairs. I’ll grab them.” I turn to run up the stairs but I feel him behind me. Close enough for my skin to warm up.
“I can carry my own bags,” I point out, as he follows me into my living room.
“You can, but you won’t,” he says, taking the handles of my two suitcases.
“And really, I’m fine here. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Liberty is pretty safe.”
He lets out a breath, like he doesn’t want to think about what could happen if that weren’t true.
“I’m sure whoever he stole from felt they were safe too,” Zach says.
“But things can go wrong. And if they do, I’ll be there.
” He looks around the small living room that’s somehow become my home. “Is this everything?”
“Yep,” I say, then I frown. “Wait, let me just…” I walk into the bedroom to grab my favorite pillow, and I look at the woman on the wall staring back at me.
I walk over, running my fingers over the frame, thinking about how I’m not waiting anymore.
I’m living life. Even if living life means staying at Zach’s because he’s worried about my ex.
“Need some help?” Zach asks, making me jump. He’s already halfway into the room, hands in his pockets, gaze landing on the painting like he’s trying to place it.
“Is that for the gallery?” he asks, nodding his head at the canvas. “Or did you steal it from the Art Trail?”
I smile as I glance at it, then back at him. “Neither. It’s mine.” I look at her expression, the way she yearns. I can understand that feeling now. “Actually, I bought it at a yard sale with Darien. I kind of gave it to him.” I wrinkle my nose. “And I guess I stole it from him when I left.”
Zach blinks, like he’s trying – and failing – to understand.
“To remember him by?” he asks.
“Definitely not. I just loved it. From the moment I saw it.” I frown. “She reminded me of me, I guess. Waiting for life. Being afraid.”
“Yeah, well you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
There’s that shot of warmth again. I remind myself he’s just being kind. Like the rest of his family. Not to start relying on this, on him.
But my heart puts its fingers in its ears and starts to ‘lalala’.
“I think this is what Darien wants back from me,” I say, remembering his words from yesterday.
He walks over to stand next to me, studying it more closely now, his nose practically on the canvas.
“I don’t recognize the signature. Could be worth a little money though.
When you’re desperate, that’s everything.
” He runs his thumb over his jaw, then looks at me.
“Can I take a photo of it? I’ll send it to Larry and ask him to look into it. ”
“Larry?” I ask.
He laughs softly. “He works for me. Runs the gallery I own in Chicago. We do a little investigative work sometimes. When a piece is stolen, or when a client wants something very specific, we try to track it down.”
“Like Batman with art?” I say.
“Less altruistic than that. We do it for money.” He pulls his phone out, takes a few shots, then some close ups.
I look at her, the woman who’s been by my side all this time. Accompanying me to the island, over the water. Taking the journey that she never took in real life.
She’s a reminder of who I used to be. But I’m not that woman anymore.
And suddenly I don’t want her on my wall.
“I think I’ll wrap her up and put her away,” I say. “Buy something new from the Art Trail to put up here instead.”
“Want me to help you?” he asks.
I nod, so we go downstairs and grab some brown packaging paper, carefully taking the painting from the wall and wrapping it up. Together, we carry it to the storage room, locking it up with the special edition books lined up along the shelves.
When the gala is over, I’m going to sell it. Or donate it. Hell, if Darien wants it that much he can have it.
When I lock the storage room door, I feel a sense of relief wash over me.
Zach has his head tipped to the side, like he’s trying to read my expression.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say like I’m surprised about it. “I really am.”
His smile is soft. “Then let’s go. I’m hungry, and you must be starving.”
Not for food, but I don’t say that. Instead I let him carry my bags to his car, and try not to smile as he attempts to fit them both into the tiny trunk, before giving up and throwing one in the backseat.
“Thank you.” I smile at him, as he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine up.
“What for?”
I shrug. “For everything.”
He glances over, one hand on the gear stick, the other on the wheel. The muscles in his forearm flex as he shifts into drive.
“You can thank me later. Preferably when we’re both naked,” he says, and it sounds like a promise.
I can’t help but smile even bigger as he pulls out of the parking space and onto the road.