“She’s not?”
“She wasn’t feeling well. She went home early.”
Standing, I slip my fingers up the back of my hat, scratching my head. “Oh. Okay. Was she okay?”
“Ummm…” They look at each other again.
“Never mind. Thank you.” I give the cat one last pat before heading for the door, and when I’m halfway through it, their hushed words send my heart into overdrive.
“Oh my God. It really is him. Rosie’s dating Adam Lockwood.”
I’m not sure there’s a word to describe what I’m feeling now, bypassing the elevator and racing up all twelve flights to Rosie’s apartment. There are no nerves left, just sheer, unadulterated panic, and it spills out of me with the frantic rap of my knuckles against her door, the way I knock my hat clear off my head and yank at my curls while I wait for her to answer, to tell me I can make this right.
But it’s not Rosie who opens the door, and the narrowed gaze and crossed arms of the tattooed man waiting for me tell me I might be too late.
“Archie—”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” he bites out. “You know who I am, even though we’ve never met, yet you’ve been fucking around with my best friend for the last two months, and she had no idea who you were.”
“No, it’s not—it’s not like that.”
“Really? You didn’t lie to her about your job?”
“No, I—” Fuck . “I did. But I had a—”
“Good reason?” His brows rise. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
The door pulls away from him, and my sweet girl steps into view, pink waves piled on her head and grazing her neck, gaze trained on the hands she wrings at her stomach. When her name leaves my lips, it’s a desperate plea, drowning in the grief I feel rolling off her.
“Rosie .”
She looks at me then, stares up at me with those green eyes, impossibly wide and so wrecked, begging for it to make sense. Everything I want to say to her, everything I practiced when I was in control of this situation, it all dies somewhere in my throat.
I need to hug her. I need to feel her, need her to feel me. To feel how sorry I am, how deeply I care about her. How I’m not fucking going anywhere, because she’s been the one since she walked into my life. If I can just hug her, she’ll know. I’ll squeeze all of it into her, all the love I have.
But she crosses one arm over her stomach, grabbing onto her opposite elbow, and more than I see it, I can feel the wall she’s just erected between us.
“Here if you need me.” Archie presses a kiss to her temple before shooting me a castrating glare and disappearing.
Tears of betrayal swim in her guarded eyes, but the hopelessness might be worst of all. Eyes that shone with so much faith, so much warmth, are now shattered and muted. There’s a certain resignation to them, almost like she was waiting for something bad to happen, for the floor to fall through.
“You lied to me,” she whispers, swiping at the tears that start dripping down her cheeks.
I step toward her, but she steps back. “I’m so sorry, Rosie.”
“Sorry for lying, or sorry you got caught?”
“I was going to tell you. I swear, Rosie. I was going to tell you tonight.”
A huff of laughter escapes her. She tugs the sleeves of her sweater—my sweater —over her hands, wiping at her eyes. “Convenient timing, huh?”
“Dada?” A tiny voice floats down the hallway, stopping my heart. Connor toddles into view, eyes locking with mine and filling with so much excitement before he starts racing toward me. I crouch down, ready to catch him, because I think the only thing in the world that might make me feel better right now is holding this little boy in my arms. “Dada !”
“Connor, no.” Rosie catches him before he can crash into me. For a moment, I stay stooped there on the ground, trying to shove away the startling feeling clawing at my chest. It matches my arms: fucking empty.
Connor points at me, looking at Rosie. “Dada, hug?”
She squeezes his hands in hers, her words hoarse. “Not right now, baby.”
His sweet face crumples, and I’m ready to fall to my knees, beg her for forgiveness, scoop them into my arms and tell them how much I love them.
But then Marco appears, taking Connor’s hand. “Hey, bud. Let’s go play trains.”
“Say bye to Adam, baby,” Rosie tells him, and the simple words bring those tears right down her cheeks again, faster this time, and she turns away to rid her face of the evidence.
“Bye, Dada,” Connor whispers, waving at me. “Lub you.”
I close my eyes to the two words I’ve never heard before, not from him, ones I want to hear all over again but might never get the chance to. “Love you, too, little trouble.”
He points at Rosie. “Big tubble? Lub?”
“Marco,” Rosie chokes out. “Please.”
He scoops Connor into his arms, casting an apologetic glance at me. “Come on, buddy. Uncle Arch is setting up your tracks.”
“Rosie, I—” My phone rings in my pocket, cutting me off. I pull it out, silencing it without looking at it, but before I can tuck it away, it rings again. “Sorry,” I mumble, frowning at the number, the same damn one that’s been lighting it up for over a week now. “I’ll turn it off.”
“You can get it, Adam,” Rosie says, scrubbing her eyes.
“No, I don’t—” It rings again, and Rosie sighs.
“Adam, please. Just answer it.”
Bringing my phone to my ear, I keep my eyes on Rosie. “Hello?”
“Adam? Oh thank God. I’ve been trying you for days!”
I frown, dropping my gaze as I try to place the voice on the other end. When it hits, the frantic plea behind my name, something drops from my chest, sinking low in my stomach. “Courtney?”
Rosie’s face falls, and I know immediately that she knows who Courtney is.
And I refuse to let this woman mess up any relationship other than the one she already lit on fire a year and a half ago.
“I blocked your number for a reason,” I bite out in a low voice as Rosie looks down, giving me space I don’t want.
“I know, but I had to talk to you. It’s about—”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Don’t call me again.” Before I throw my phone in my pocket, I block her number. “Sorry about that. Nobody important.”
Rosie nods, scuffing the floor with her bare toes before she finally meets my gaze. “You’re on Tinder.”
My brows pull down. “Tinder? No.”
She pulls out her phone, showing me my profile on that fucking dating app. “This isn’t you?”
“No, it’s—I mean, yes, it is. But I’m not—I mean, I was —my profile is still—ugh.” I scrub my hands down my face, because nothing is coming out right. I’m all fucked up, panicked, and my words aren’t wording, so I take a breath and try again. “I haven’t used it at all since I met you, Rosie. I promise.”
She looks down, and I hate how quiet her voice is when she speaks next. “Why didn’t you delete your profile? Were you not sure about me?”