Chapter Forty-Six
Grant
“Hey, baby. I got out of court a little later than I anticipated. I should be home soon. Call me back.”
I hung up and checked the security system alerts out of caution. I hadn’t received any notifications after Kiyah armed the system two hours ago. The tension in my shoulders eased when I reviewed the perimeter cameras and was satisfied to find everything in order.
I pulled into my parking spot and noted that Casey’s vehicle was the only one in the lot.
I smiled, thinking of how jealous Kiyah was of Casey’s car.
She frequently said he didn’t know what to do with it, and that a car like that was wasted on him.
The worst part? Casey got an absolute kick out of her envy and revved it obnoxiously when she was around, earning a middle finger that made him chuckle.
I only made it a few steps past Casey’s office when I double-backed.
He sat at his desk, staring at his computer monitor with his jaw locked tight and his shoulders rigid like he was bracing for impact.
Something was weighing on him, and now that I thought about it, Casey had seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn since the wedding.
“You good?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away, eventually nodding once. It was barely perceptible and not enough for me to take him at face value.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked, entering his office and setting my briefcase on an armchair.
He swallowed, still staring at the screen and nodded again. “Not here,” he said roughly.
A knot in my chest started to form, tightening into a noose as the silence pressed on.
“Casey… you’re not sick, are you?”
Casey blinked repeatedly before finally swiveling around to face me. His wet, red eyes clashed against pale skin.
“No, it’s nothing like that. Just some heavy stuff.”
“I’d say I’m the expert in heavy stuff.” He snorted and nodded. “I’m just waiting on Dad to throw me back in rehab,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“How has sobriety been treating you?”
I loosened my tie on a sigh and slipped it off. “It fucking sucks, Case, but it’s a choice I intentionally make every day. When I tell myself that one drink won’t hurt, then I remind myself what I stand to lose.” I chuckled. “It feels like I’m grieving a friend.”
Casey bobbed his head. “Fair enough. For what it’s worth, we’re proud of you.”
“Thanks. It’s getting late. Do you want to come over for dinner? We can talk over cigars.”
“The ones Uncle Ant gifted you at the party?”
“Yes, sir.”
Casey smirked and closed his laptop lid. “Let’s hope Kiyah hasn’t smoked them all.”
“Not her speed. Let’s go.”
I swung by my office to drop off some files and called Kiyah again. I tried not to worry that I caught her voicemail again, and had to remind myself that she’d been sick and was probably sleeping it off.
“Hey, Ki. I’m on my way home. Casey’s coming over. Call me back.”
“Is everything okay?” Casey asked, standing in the doorway of my office.
“Everything’s fine.”
* * *
The house was wrong the second I walked in. It was too silent—no beeping of the alarm system from opening the door, no music, and no movement. The silence sent my heart into overdrive.
“Kiyah?”
Nothing.
I dropped my briefcase by the door and pulled my phone out again. I rechecked the alarm app, and my brow crinkled in disbelief when I didn’t find an alert signaling that the front door had been opened.
“What—”
I held a hand up to silence Casey.
“Wait here,” I whispered when I drew my firearm from my holster.
“I’ll take the bottom-level,” he volunteered before carefully maneuvering through the rooms with his weapon drawn.
I climbed the steps and ducked into every room before reaching the bedroom. Instead of Kiyah, I found a rumpled bed and her night clothes on the floor. Her dresser drawer hung ajar, and she was nowhere in sight.
“Grant!” Casey shouted.
I took the stairs two at a time and found him standing in the living room with one hand gripping his hair and the other holding a cheap cell phone. His eyes dragged to mine, misting over like he was about to tell me bad news.
“I-I can’t find Kiyah.”
He shook his head solemnly. “Yeah… she’s not here, Grant.”
“Whose phone is that?” I asked, stepping closer with feet that felt as if they were weighed down by cement blocks. The phone vibrated in Casey’s palm, and he dropped it on the floor like he had been bitten by a deadly viper. The device vibrated across the floor towards me—daring me to answer.
“Where did you find this?” I asked, staring at the unfamiliar phone, chest heaving like I’d just finished running a half-marathon.
“I-I heard vibrating coming from the couch. It was wedged between the cushions. Is it… is it yours?”
“No,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Is it Kiyah’s?”
“Whose else would it be?” I asked, words coming out, feeling like razor blades. I crouched, picked it up, and pressed the option to read the unread messages that loaded instantly. My chest caved as I scrolled. At first, the words didn’t make sense, until they did.
I can’t keep living like this.
You shouldn’t live a lie to satisfy Grant’s expectations. You don’t owe him forever. How long will it be before he falls off the wagon again?
You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.
I don’t want to argue with you, Kiyah, but there’s a reason we’re having a conversation right now. You wouldn’t be talking to me if you were in a happy, fulfilling marriage.
My hands started to shake the more I read. Branson was promising Kiyah forever, and she was waffling between staying with me or leaving me for him. And then I reached the text messages from today and had to sit before my legs gave out.
I’m leaving him.
Good girl. Don’t take anything with you. Just leave.
Kiyah?
Have you left yet?
The phone dropped to the floor with a loud clatter as my heart tore in two. I barely registered when Casey scooped it up.
“This-this is so fucked up. She was playing you this whole fucking time. I knew something was going on between them!”
I fell back against the cushions and covered my face with my hands and sobbed.
“She’s been talking to him ever since she left Chicago. This is so fucked up, but I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
I stopped crying long enough to say, “I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, my God,” he said, exasperated. “You must be drunk right now. What the hell do you mean you don’t believe it?
The evidence is sitting right in front of your face.
Never mind, what the hell am I saying? This is how you’ve always been about Kiyah.
I bet she could walk through the door right now and you’d take her back! ”
I sniffed back snot and wiped my face with the sleeves of my dress shirt.
“I-I-I should go find her,” I said suddenly. “I gotta call the police. Something could’ve happened.”
Casey’s face shuttered with disbelief. He grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes.
“Bro, she left you to be the First Lady of Texas. She’s not missing. No one kidnapped her. You saw the same texts I saw—she is gone.”
His words hurt, but worse, they made sense.
He released me and started pacing the living room, muttering that he needed a drink.
“This is not on you, Grant, but relationships that have to be kept a secret rarely flourish. The only thing you did wrong here was love a broken woman.”
My throat tightened with emotion that wanted to spill again.
“So what?” I asked hoarsely, “I just sit here and let her go?”
“Yes. You let her go, and then you heal.”
I stared at the phone in his hand again, and grief crashed into me again as I mourned the love I lost and the future I thought we would have.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“I could really use a fucking drink right now,” I said, choking around my words. I couldn’t see them, but I know my eyes shone with fresh tears.
Casey laughed and wiped away a tear. “Me too, but I won’t allow her to take your sobriety from you again. You understand me?”
I nodded.
“I need to call—”
“No,” I whispered. “Please, don’t tell anyone yet. Just let me process this first.”
He lowered his phone and slipped it into his pocket.
“Okay,” he said, sitting opposite me. “I’m here, Grant.”