Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ALLEY
I crack my eyes open, blinking until they adjust to the brightness. Dang, I slept in. Either we forgot to close the shades or Jensen opened them, because sunlight pours into the room.
I roll over, reaching for him, only to find cold sheets.
Oh, yeah. The gym. Dammit.
I’m still adjusting to him being gone every morning.
He takes one rest day a week, and even then, he’s up by six.
Sometimes he’ll come back and slide in next to me—wake me with his mouth and his hands.
Those mornings are my favorite. I love morning sex, even if I’ve never been a morning person.
I don’t need to sleep until noon, but 7 a.m. still feels like a dreaded chore.
I’m in New York again. Jensen was supposed to come to Chicago this weekend, but with the Berkshires trip in two weeks, we decided I’d come here now and he’ll go to Chicago next weekend.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. Shit. It’s 9:30? I definitely slept in.
I have a text from Scarlett waiting on the screen.
Scarlett
Hi. You still wanna grab lunch today?
Things are still a little awkward after last weekend with Jensen and Scarlett, but we’ve talked since. She apologized, and promised she’d try harder. I’m hopeful it’ll start to feel natural soon, that she won’t have to try to be okay with him being around.
Yes! I just woke up. Can we do a later lunch? Maybe 2:00?
Scarlett
That works for me.
I set my phone down and sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
After hitting the restroom and brushing my teeth, I make my way to the kitchen, expecting to find Jensen.
He’s not here.
My brows pull together. Is he still at the gym? Maybe he slept in, too. I head back into the bedroom. His gym bag is on the floor.
I grab my phone and text him.
Morning, babe. Where are you?
Jensen’s phone dings, snapping my head up. My eyes land on his nightstand, where it’s plugged into the charger.
A chill slides down my spine, panic stirring low in my stomach. Where would he be on a Saturday morning without his phone?
The only place he’d go is the gym. Maybe he went to grab coffee or food. No, he’d wait for me. Or at least tell me. Why doesn’t he have his phone?
Jensen never goes anywhere without it.
Maybe he went with Matt to grab coffee.
I tap into my messages, typing Matt’s name.
Hey, are you with Jensen?
I stare at the screen for two minutes. It stays on “delivered.”
Shit. The panic starts to rise, crawling up my throat. I rake my fingers through my hair, forcing myself to breathe. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Walking to the bathroom, I tell myself over and over that this is nothing. He’ll be home soon. There’s no need to worry. He forgot his phone. He just went… I don’t know where. But wherever he is, it all makes sense. Everything is okay.
I strip my shorts off to take a shower, but images from the past slam into me. Jensen—high, teeth clenched, talking way too fast. Nodding off in the middle of the day. Pinpoint pupils. Sweating. The godforsaken office door, locked. Drugs. Lies.
I turn on my heel, beelining for the office. The door’s wide open. Jensen promised to keep it that way. It hasn’t been closed once since I’ve been here.
I start yanking drawers open and slamming them shut, feeling underneath for a hidden stash—like before.
There’s nothing.
Next, I head to the closet, pulling open anything that will open, dumping shit all over the floor.
I’m making a mess, acting completely nuts.
And the worst part is, I feel crazy. My heart’s erratic, pounding volatile in my chest. My fingers shake, but so does the rest of me.
It’s like I’ve been over-caffeinated, and a steady buzz of insanity thrums through my veins.
My hair’s a mess from sleeping, I’m pantless.
God, I’m a wreck. My brain’s running a million miles a minute, what-ifs ricocheting through me, colliding with every memory.
Did he relapse? Did he go meet Seth? Are there drugs hidden here?
My breaths turn rapid and shallow. Sweat beads at my hairline. Moisture stings behind my eyes, hot and burning with fear.
I fumble through Jensen’s gym shorts drawer until my fingers hit something solid. My pulse spikes as I dig through the fabric and pull out a leather-bound pouch, zipped and tucked—no, hidden—inside one of his pairs of shorts.
Shit. My hands tremble as I pull it free. Tears fall down my cheeks. I bite my knuckles, holding back the sob caught in my throat. Why is this hidden?
“Shit.” I stare at it. Too scared to open it. Too scared of what I’ll find. Too scared to be hurt again. To not trust him. Again.
“Shit,” I whisper again, lips quivering, voice shaking.
My thumb and forefinger grip the zipper. I tug it open a half inch before it catches. I yank harder, frantic, but it won’t budge. I try again, dropping it in the process, yelling a sharp, “God! Fuck!”
I snatch it back up, sniffing hard as snot drips from my nose. My brain’s white static. Pure chaos. I can’t think straight.
A faint noise barely registers as I fight with the mangled fabric stuck in the zipper.
“Goddammit!” I cry.
“Babe?”
My head jerks up. Jensen stands in the doorway, brows drawn tight, worry etched across his face as he takes me in.
“What’s in here?” My voice is raw, wild, unrecognizable. I’m panting like I’ve run a marathon, gasping for air. “Why was this hidden in your drawer?”
His eyes drop to the pouch, then back to me. “Al…” He takes a slow step forward.
“Don’t! Just—” I flinch and pull harder at the zipper, desperation leaking from every pore. “FUCK!” It won’t budge.
His eyes go wide.
I fling it at him. “Open it. Right fucking now.” My voice cracks. I’m hysterical. “I can’t.” Sob. “I can’t do this again.” I suck in a breath, pressing my palm to my chest, like I can hold myself together from the outside.
He nods. Slow. Quiet. “Okay, babe. I’ll open it.”
His steady fingers work at the zipper while I practically hyperventilate. After a beat, it slides open with maddening ease, and he holds it out to me.
I snatch it and dump the contents onto the floor. Chips and photos scatter across the floor, some face up, some face down.
I crouch, picking one up. It’s a sobriety chip. They’re all sobriety chips. Seven days. Two weeks. One month. Ninety days. My gaze drops to a photo of us in the Berkshires.
There’s nothing else.
No pills.
No coke.
No lies.
Just pieces of him and proof he’s still clean.
My legs give out, the closet spinning, and I drop to the floor. Relief whips through me so hard I almost black out, sobs tearing out of me louder than before.
Jensen crouches in front of me. “Babe,” he says softly. His eyes are red, nostrils flaring, fighting not to break. His fingers weave into my hair, his face pressing into it. “God, babe,” he chokes, pulling back to cup my face. “Look at me.”
My eyes dart everywhere, too rattled to land on his.
“Al. I’m right here. Eyes on me, babe. Remember? Eyes on me.”
My eyelids flutter shut.
He remembers.
It’s what he said to me the night before our wedding. I was so nervous about walking down the aisle, knowing all those people would be there. He took my hands in his, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, Eyes on me, babe. The whole time. Just… eyes on me.
When I open my eyes, they finally land on his. A blanket of calm wraps around me, the jitteriness melting from my limbs.
“Just breathe, alright? I’ve got you.”
I suck in a sharp breath, letting it out slow.
“That’s it, babe. Deep, slow breaths.”
His forehead rests against mine, and the grounding is instant. My breathing evens, each exhale puffing out my cheeks. His thumb swipes away the tears streaking my face.
I loop my arms around his neck, cupping the back of his head, and suddenly, the person who sent me spinning is the one steadying me.
Just like it used to be. Before our trust shattered.
Jensen was always the one who could take my burdens and make them his. The one who helped shoulder the weight. Who could turn my tears into laughter.
He’s here.
He didn’t betray my trust. He didn’t lie.
When I needed him, he caught me.
Finally.
God, finally.