Chapter Thirty-Two
Chelsea increased the pressure on the gas pedal as she drove to Liam’s apartment. She’d tried calling him, but the ring double-beeped, signaling he was on the other line.
“Come on. Answer.” But she ended the call when his voicemail picked up.
The first times Liam ignored her phone call, she could understand. No one had meant to blindside him. But he still hadn’t answered her calls when she tried again.
Maybe he was on the other line with Linda. Chelsea hadn’t said much when she grabbed her purse, only that she’d check on him.
Her phone trilled, and Linda Nyman’s name appeared on her Jeep’s console display. Chelsea pressed Accept and didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you talk to him?”
“No. I was hoping you did.”
“Nope.” She bit her bottom lip.
“He’s on the phone with someone,” Linda added.
“I know!” Aren’t we both top-notch detectives? “I’ll be there in a bit and will text you after I talk to him.”
Linda hummed, and her worry carried through the speakers. “I should’ve called him again before we started.”
They could look back on the day and change things a hundred different times. But hindsight was pointless. “I’ll talk to him.” She exited the highway. “It’ll be fine.”
And it would, as soon as she tracked him down. If he wasn’t home, she didn’t know where to head next. Even if he was home, that was slightly problematic. She had a vague idea of where he lived but couldn’t pinpoint his door to save her life.
“Thanks,” Linda said before they hung up.
If he hasn’t talked to Linda or me, whom did he turn to? An irrational spike of jealousy panged. He could talk to whomever he wanted. But in the pit of her stomach, she wanted to be the person he turned to for comfort.
But he didn’t… That said everything—she might even be the reason he hadn’t answered her calls. Or, more specifically, because they’d slept together.
Chelsea turned into his apartment complex. Well, she was ninety-nine percent sure it was his, and though she briefly considered using her federal resources to run his name and get an address, she opted out of trolling through government files for personal use.
“Where the corn muffins am I…?” She pinched her lips together as she crept from one parking lot to the next.
A dark Explorer caught her eye. She sped closer and peered at it. It was completely indistinguishable and wasn’t parked close to the buildings. Really, it seemed to straddle the line between two of the low-rise, open-hall-style apartment structures.
Every stone entrance and open breezeway was identical. Even the bushes matched one another, mirror images of every building in the complex.
She called his phone again and once again got no answer. “Big surprise.”
But she couldn’t blame him. After what he’d seen, plus their newfound inexplicable tension, she wasn’t sure where his head might be. She didn’t even know about hers.
She only knew she had to find him. That, and that her insides hurt because he was hurting. And she knew that her arms ached to hold him.
So, actually, she knew a lot.
But she caught herself. “This isn’t about you.”
Right? Ugh, she didn’t know anything other than finding him was important.
All she had to do was let go of her emotions and think. “Where do you live?”
He was likely trained well enough to avoid parking in front of his home. But Liam was also pissed enough to take the first spot he could find.
She visualized him pulling into this parking spot, then she estimated the shortest distance to an apartment breezeway. It was a tough call, but his building had to be the one on the left.
Chelsea parked and stepped out of her Jeep. She headed for a row of mailboxes. They were numbered, not named. “Would’ve been too easy.” At that point, she would knock on every door if she had to.
She analyzed the open-floor setup. Liam wouldn’t live in a ground-floor apartment, and with that guess, she skipped up the steps to the second story.
Apartments lined the hall. Twelve units faced each other, then she saw what looked to be another landing and a staircase. Door-to-door, it was. She bypassed the first two on the right. They had cutesy doormats and flowery wreaths, not exactly meeting her mental image of his entryway.
A dog barked from the second door on the left, and she pressed her ear against the first door on the left. A muffled action movie was playing. That was about as good of a guess as she could muster given the circumstances, so she knocked.
The dog next door barked louder, and a woman yelled for the pooch to calm down.
There was no answer on the door she picked. Still, her gut became surer that it was Liam’s apartment, and she banged on the door with enough gusto to interrupt whatever blow-stuff-up action flick he had on.
The door behind her swung open. An older woman scowled. “What?”
Maybe she’d knocked too loud, but clearly, she wasn’t at the woman’s door. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Who are you?” The neighbor crossed her arms over the oversized crocheted sweater and drummed her fingers onto its thick knots.
“A friend—”
“What kind of friend?”
What kind of friends stopped by? Chelsea’s eyebrow arched. “I’m an… old friend.”
“If he doesn’t want to be bothered, then scram.”
Scram. That sounded like something Chelsea might say. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but he doesn’t have a choice. I’m not leaving.”
The neighbor scowled and unfolded her arms, evidently preparing for a hallway battle as she put her hands on her hips with a high-octane glare.
If Liam couldn’t hear them, maybe Chelsea had found the wrong door. She wished there were a way to send an SOS text without the obvious last-ditch attempt for him to answer, but she couldn’t think of a smooth way to manage it.
“You’re just going to stay out here all night, making a racket?” The woman clucked.
“If that’s what it takes, I suppose so.”
Her nose scrunched. “He’s not home.”
“He is.” She just hoped it was the correct he.
She harrumphed. “Maybe not for you.”
Chelsea had had enough. She reeled around and banged on the door. “Liam, open up.”
A few beats later, footsteps faintly came closer and the door cracked open. Sure as sprinkles were sweet, Liam didn’t seem happy to see her.
Too bad. “Hey!” She stepped closer, then whispered, “You should let me in before she calls the cops on me.”
Liam glanced over Chelsea’s shoulder. “Evening, Mrs. Donovan.” Then turned back to her. “What are you doing here?”
Not exactly the response she was hoping for, and the woman behind her made an I-told-you-so noise.
“I tried to send her away,” Mrs. Donovan said.
Chelsea grit her teeth.
“It’s fine.” Liam stepped to the side and offered her safe harbor. “Thanks, Mrs. Donovan.”
She didn’t bother with a well-mannered smile to the other woman and strode in.
His apartment was lit by the television screen and from the doorway of the kitchen.
The smell of fresh popcorn hung in the air, and she turned, eyeing the dark leather couch and the coffee table, which held a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of beer.
Water dripped down his cheeks. His wet hair clung to his face as much as the T-shirt stuck to his wet chest. Well, whoops… he hadn’t been ignoring her, he’d been showering. She’d read the situation all wrong.
He shut the door behind him, and the yellowish light from the hallway disappeared, leaving him framed by a blank white wall. With the wet, tousled hair, and the clothes clutching his damp muscles, Liam looked like a tall, dark, and… confused superhero.
“You were in the shower?” Chelsea focused on the obvious, because now the idea of chasing him across town seemed foolish.
He half laughed. “Yeah. I was getting out.”
She threw her thumb over her shoulder. “I can step out, if you need me to…” To what? Leave the apartment so he can go back to his bedroom and finish toweling off? She’d seen him naked, so obviously, standing outside wasn’t needed for him to change in another room. Why do I have to be so awkward?
“I’m good.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “You met the neighborhood welcoming committee.”
“Yes.” Chelsea grimaced. “She’s charming, and by charming, I mean… intense.”
“That’s putting it nicely.” Liam walked to his couch and eased down. His long legs tucked under the coffee table, and he leaned against the back cushion as though getting ready for a double feature.
Gone was the upset man she’d chased across town. Of course he’d be fine. She’d overreacted. He simply needed a breather. Or a phone call… which he didn’t answer.
Her stomach tensed. Am I jealous? Of what?
It didn’t make any sense. She’d never been jealous.
But at that moment, she didn’t know her right from her left.
Even though she tried in vain to name her feelings with such basic terms—jealousy, sadness, worry—she couldn’t.
Everything was so much more complicated, and she didn’t know the words to define how she felt.
But as he settled back, pulling a swig of his beer, her disappointment also registered, as did the uncomfortable, selfish realization that she wished she could’ve been the one he’d called.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” She eyed what had clearly been a first-class self-care plan: shower, movie, popcorn, and beer. “But you seem fine.” She smiled uncomfortably. “I’ll go.”
He paused the movie and tilted his head in a way that made her want to curl into his lap.
Hello! Liam wasn’t the one who needed comfort. She was!
She was dying for someone to tell her that the day had been rough, but taking apart Julia’s bedroom had been needed.
She and Linda had laughed and cried. Similar to the celebration of life, they’d told stories and shared memories.
But now, more than anything, she needed Liam to wrap his arms around her and promise that she was safe from the real world so long as he hid her away.
“Want a beer?” he asked.
She jerked out of her thoughts. Liam had already pushed up. “Yeah—I can get it.”
Because standing there, craving safety and warmth that she wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel, wasn’t what she wanted to do.