Instead of the elevator, he found the emergency stairs and took them two at a time until he got to Shay’s floor. He just about died right there on the third floor landing. He bent over until he stopped wheezing and could catch his damn breath while he dug his fingers into his ribs in an attempt to relieve the sharp stitch in his side.
Once he could somewhat breathe normally, he yanked the fire door open and stepped out into the empty corridor. Only four apartments took up that floor. Within two seconds, he found Shay’s and, after a quick glance up and down the hallway, he used the side of his fist to pound on it.
After only getting answering silence, he pressed his face close to the jamb and called out, “Shay.”
He tried the knob, but, of course, it was locked. As it should be.
He pounded again and then put his ear to the door to listen.
Nothing. He heard no movement at all.
Fuck.
He pressed his forehead to the dark blue painted wood, took a couple of deep breaths, then turned. Smashing his back against the door, he slowly slid down it. He settled his ass on the floor since he might as well get comfortable while he waited. The fuck if he was going anywhere until he talked to her.
He was planting his ass right there and after a while someone might have to water him like a goddamn house plant so he didn’t die and begin to rot.
He tugged his beaded necklace out from under his thermal shirt.
Strength.
Protection.
Courage.
Those three words repeated on a loop in his mind as, out of habit, he ran his fingers over each bead one after the other. When he’d finish at the amulet, he’d start all over again.
About an hour later, he heard the ding of the elevator again down the hallway. Ozzy lifted his head from leaning it back against the door and glanced in that direction, quickly tucking his necklace out of sight.
He hoped like fuck it was her.
At this point, his ass was numb, his legs falling asleep and his muscles bitching at him. With a groan, he grabbed the door frame and pulled himself to a stand, waiting for the pins and needles in his legs to stop reminding him how fucking old he was getting and how sitting on the floor was no longer a good idea.
He heard the whoosh of the elevator doors as they opened and closed.
Then footsteps.
A bang and a curse came from around the corner.
Then she was there, coming toward him. Her head lowered and her arms full of folded cardboard.
With her eyes tipped down at her purse, she was grumbling to herself as she dug for something inside of it, trying not to drop any of her empty boxes.
Boxes.
Was she packing up her shit? Was she moving somewhere?
A noise escaped from the back of his throat before he could force it back down. When she lifted her head, she froze with the half dozen boxes tucked awkwardly under her left arm, her keys hanging from her right hand.
He never felt like a desperate loser before. Not until that very fucking second.
But the truth was, he was desperate. All because he couldn’t live without her.
He hadn’t been able to breathe since she’d left.
Every day had been a struggle.
Every fucking day.
She had to see that.
Take pity on him.
Something.
Anything.
Her gaping mouth snapped shut and her lips pressed into a slash. Her face had paled, her dark eyes had narrowed.
Making it very obvious…
She wasn’t happy to see him.
She wasn’t dropping everything in her arms and running to jump into his.
She wasn’t going to kiss him until they both couldn’t breathe.
She probably wouldn’t even invite him inside.
He didn’t want to do this out in the hallway. He didn’t.
But if he had to, he would.
He expected to be peppered with the obvious questions like, “What are you doing here?” Or threats of “You better leave or I’m calling the police.”
Instead, she said absolutely fucking nothing. She slapped on a blank mask and continued forward, her keys jingling within her fingers.
Without a word spoken between them, he remained stationed in front of her door because he was not letting her past him without going inside, too. This might be his only opportunity to get her to hear him out. So, it was now or never.
And for him, never wasn’t an option.
He was fighting like hell to rein in his desperation, to keep from dropping to his knees right there in the hallway and begging.
No, not begging. He wanted to jam his hand into his chest, rip out his heart and hand it to her.
He needed to return it to the woman it belonged to. Without her, he no longer had use for it.
The shine in her eyes was unmistakable as he plucked the keys from her fingers and turned to unlock the door. It gave him a sliver of fucking hope when she didn’t fight him for them. But her silence was killing him.