CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
2:30 p.m.
Kathryn
Kathryn pounded on Nick’s front door until he yanked it open. “She lives,” he said, and frowned. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
Kathryn knew it was clear she’d been crying. “I need your help,” she pleaded. “Max is missing.”
Nick turned away, and Kathryn followed him inside. The room was stale in the flickering light of the TV; dishes sat in the sink and take-out containers littered the counter. Nick dropped onto the couch, his eyes locked on a screeching car chase on the screen. “Okay.” He drained his half-empty beer in one swallow. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Panic buzzed through her. Every minute was a waste. “Please, Nick. You know where he hangs out. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Nick answered with a grunt. “Sorry, I’m swamped.”
“Really, Nick?” Kathryn lifted her chin. Nick was paler than she remembered, and his face had gone unshaven for days. “You’re just sitting in this dump, drinking by yourself?”
Nick’s eyes snapped to her. “I got fired. The discrepancies in the report of your kid’s accident were my second strike.” His voice was flat, and Kathryn’s anxiety ticked up notches with each long, stifling second. “So forgive me if I don’t want to go chase him around town today.” On the TV, two cars collided and burst into flames. “Call Drew. Maybe you can do some detective work and solve this one together.”
“Nick—”
“Or did you two have a fight?”
The sting of tears threatened her eyes, and she blinked them away.
“Of course you did.” He turned back to the TV. “So if you don’t need anything else, fetch me a beer on your way out.”
Kathryn stood, frozen in place.
Nick rose and brushed past her. He yanked the refrigerator door, glass bottles clanking. “I’m sure Drew’ll be by in a little bit to gripe about it.” Nick popped his beer cap. “He makes me keep tabs on that shit kid of yours, just like you do.” He lifted the bottle to his lips, then shook his head. “If you’re half as infatuated with him as he is with you, I don’t know what either of you is going to do when his wife finds out, because it’s only a matter of time.”
Kathryn swallowed. She’d shattered Andrew with her words, had broken his heart—and her own—one final, permanent time.
Nick reassessed. “Unless that’s exactly what happened today?” He stepped closer, stopping a few inches from her face, sweat and yeasty alcohol emanating from his body. He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his finger, the cool glass bottle brushing her skin, raising gooseflesh. “I don’t know what you see in him, anyway. He’s spoiled and indecisive, always waffling between one thing or another—is he a drunk or not? Is he in love with his wife, or with you? But you and I, we keep coming back to each other, can’t you see that?”
Nick leaned forward, pushing his lips to hers. Kathryn backed away, putting one hand to his chest. He grabbed her by the wrist, forced her back against the wall. A bolt of pain shot up her arm, along with fear—scorching and primal—in the shock of his sudden violence. Fire blazed behind his eyes, his hand, a viselike grip on her wrist. “Nothing has changed in twenty years, Kathryn.” Her wrist seared in agony.
“Get the fuck off me, Nick.” Kathryn’s adrenaline spiked. She jerked her arm and slipped from his grip. “You need to get your shit together,” she said, her voice shaking. She threw the door open and bolted out into the courtyard, toward her car. An explosion of a glass bottle cracked against a wall from inside the apartment.