Chapter 13
Kai
The next morning finds me standing on my balcony with a cup of coffee in my hand and the distinct suspicion that my life has become ridiculous.
The city is still waking up beneath me. Morning traffic crawls along the street below, horns occasionally rising through the cool air.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barks with the kind of confidence usually reserved for people who own property.
The sky is pale gray, the kind of washed-out color that makes everything feel quieter than it actually is.
Ash is still asleep in my bedroom.
That thought alone is strange enough that I take a long drink of coffee and pretend it doesn't do anything inconvenient to my chest. He stayed. I don't know why that keeps surprising me.
Maybe because people don't usually stay when things get ugly.
They say the right things, offer the right condolences, tell you to call if you need anything, and then quietly return to their lives because grief is uncomfortable and guilt is contagious.
I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to sit with me either.
Ash did.
He sat on my couch for hours with Cleveland asleep on his chest and let me fall apart all over his shirt like that was a perfectly reasonable way to spend an evening.
Then he stayed the night without making a big deal out of it, like my breakdown was not an inconvenience but a problem he had quietly decided to stand beside.
I'm still trying to figure out what to do with that.
The sliding door on Angela's side of the balcony opens.
She steps out carrying a travel mug, dressed for work in black slacks and a cream blouse, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
Cleveland immediately follows her outside, slips through the little gap near the divider, and winds around my ankles like he owns both apartments.
Which, to be fair, he kinda does.
Angela takes one look at me and smiles. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
Her gaze drifts toward my apartment, then back to me. “That Ash guy seems nice.”
I slowly turn my head.
Angela sips her coffee like she hasn't just admitted to accessory involvement.
“Yeah,” I say. “Funny you mention that, because somehow he suddenly appeared in my apartment yesterday. Any idea how that happened?”
A blush spreads across her cheeks. Angela is not a woman who is easily embarrassed, so the sight is immediately satisfying. She laughs and looks toward the street below. “In my defense, he looked really concerned.”
“He broke into my apartment.”
She scoffs. “I let him in.”
“That doesn't make it better.”
“It's fine.”
“It makes you an accomplice.”
“He helped me with a package first.”
I stare at her.
She lifts one shoulder. “It was a very heavy package.”
“So you traded access to my apartment for manual labor.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad. He looked worried!” she says, and the humor softens at the edges. “And honestly, anyone that hot couldn't be a serial killer.”
I smirk despite myself. “Ted Bundy would've gotten your ass.”
Angela points at me with her travel mug. “That is a deeply unfair comparison.”
“It's accurate.”
“It is not.”
“Historically, you would've opened the door.”
“I would've asked questions.”
“No, you would've said, 'Wow, he seems nice,' and then vanished from a true crime documentary halfway through episode two.”
She laughs loudly enough that Cleveland lifts his head and looks offended by the disturbance.
The sound makes something in my chest loosen.
For a few seconds, the morning feels normal. Then Angela's eyes narrow. “How long did Ash stay over?”
Heat immediately climbs up my neck. I take a drink of coffee. A long one. Unfortunately, Angela notices everything.
Her mouth falls open. “He's still here?”
“Shh!”
“Oh my God.”
“Angela.”
“He's still here.”
“Lower your voice.”
She presses both hands over her mouth, but her eyes are practically glowing. “Kai Hayes.”
“Please, stop.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Technically, we both slept.”
“That is not what I was asking, and you know it.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Her grin slowly fades when she realizes I am not only embarrassed but avoiding something. Angela has always been annoyingly good at that, at sensing when the joke has reached the edge of something sharper.
She rests her forearms on the balcony railing. “What happened yesterday?”
The question is gentle enough that it almost makes me lie. Almost.
I look down into my coffee. The surface ripples slightly in the morning breeze.
“Noah Grove was traded to the Wizards.”
Angela goes very still. For a moment the city beneath us seems louder than it was before. Cars pass. A delivery truck beeps as it reverses somewhere down the block. The ordinary morning continues without caring that my world shifted yesterday.
Angela's joking expression disappears completely. “Oh, Kai.”
I hate the softness in her voice. Kindness has become one of the hardest things in the world to survive.
“He's William's brother,” I say, even though she already knows.
Her hand reaches across the small gap between our railings. After a second, I let her take mine. Her fingers are warm from the coffee mug. “Are you okay?”
The question hits harder than it should. Something ugly and exhausted twists inside me. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
Angela doesn't let go. “Because we care.”
“You should be asking if he's okay.”
Her eyebrows pull together. “Noah?”
“Yes.” The frustration rises before I can stop it. “His brother died. His family is the one that lost someone. He has to walk into a locker room with me in it, and everyone keeps looking at me like I'm the one who needs protecting.”
Angela's grip tightens. “Kai.”
“No, seriously.” My voice stays quiet, but the anger underneath it feels old and familiar. “People did this during the investigation too. They kept asking how I was doing, like I was the tragedy. William died. His parents lost their son. Noah lost his brother. I'm still here.”
The last sentence comes out worse than I intended.
Too honest.
Too sharp.
Angela's face shifts.
I look away immediately.
“Kai,” she says softly, “you don't have to disappear just because someone else is grieving too.”
My throat tightens. I hate how easily she gets to the point.
“You shouldn't be left behind,” she adds.
The words settle between us. I pull my hand back under the excuse of lifting my coffee.
Angela lets me. That's one of the reasons we're still friends. She knows when to push and when to give me room to pretend I haven't been pushed.
I take another sip, but the coffee has gone lukewarm.
For a while neither of us says anything. Cleveland jumps onto the outdoor chair beside me and begins aggressively cleaning one paw, entirely uninterested in human suffering.
Lucky bastard.
Angela exhales slowly. “I've been worried about you.”
“That's unnecessary.”
“Don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like caring about you is irrational.”
I don't answer.
She studies me for a moment. “I hear you sometimes.”
My stomach drops. I know exactly what she means before she finishes.
“The walls aren't as thick as you think.”
I stare out over the city. The embarrassment is immediate.
Hot.
Suffocating.
“I didn't realize.”
“It's not every night,” she says quickly, like that helps. “But lately...”
She trails off.
I close my eyes.
Great.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
Exactly what every adult man wants to learn over morning coffee: that his neighbor can hear him crying through the walls.
“Kai.”
“I'm fine.”
“No, you're not.” The words aren't harsh. That's somehow worse.
Angela rests her mug on the railing. “Have you talked to your therapist lately?”
The question lands with surgical precision.
I hate it.
I hate that she knows enough to ask.
I hate that she remembers I have one.
I hate that the answer is complicated in exactly the way answers become complicated when you're avoiding your own life.
“I've been busy.”
“Kai.”
“I have practice.”
She sighs. “That isn't what I asked.”
I look toward my apartment. Toward the bedroom where Ash is still asleep, or at least where I hope he's still asleep and not hearing any of this. The thought of him overhearing Angela talking about my therapist makes something in my chest panic for reasons I don't have time to examine.
“I need to get ready.”
Angela doesn't move. For a second I think she's going to argue.
Then she looks at me in that quietly devastating way she has, the one that makes me feel like she sees straight through the performance and into the mess beneath it. “Okay.”
Relief should come.
It doesn't.
“I mean it,” she says. “You don't have to talk to me about it right now, but you need to talk to someone.”
I force a smile. It feels terrible. “I'll put it on my calendar.”
“Don't be cute.”
“I'm never cute.”
The corner of her mouth lifts, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “Ash would disagree.”
My face heats immediately. “Goodbye, Ange.”
“Have a good practice.”
“I will.”
“And Kai?”
I stop with one hand on the door.
Her expression has gone serious again. “If today gets bad, don't come home and sit in it alone.”
The words follow me into the apartment long after I slide the door shut behind me.
For a moment I simply stand by the door, staring at my reflection in the glass instead of the city beyond it.
She heard me.
God.
I bury my face in one hand.
How many times?
How long?
Had she been lying awake on the other side of the wall listening while I came apart?
Embarrassment burns hotter than the morning coffee still sitting on the railing outside.
I take a slow breath before turning back toward the apartment.
Ash's shoes are still by the door. His jacket is thrown over the back of my couch. Evidence. Proof that last night happened. That he stayed. That someone chose to stay.
For a moment I stand there in the middle of my living room, holding lukewarm coffee and trying not to think about the fact that two people are now looking at me like I might vanish if they stop paying attention.
The worst part is that they might be right.