But he managed it.
It was a miracle.
She reached out, and he looked to her hand.
When she retracted it, on that big, important desk, she’d left behind the little gray velvet box.
“I’m going to call,” she said.
His gaze sliced up to hers.
“Tell them you couldn’t make it,” she went on. “It’ll be okay.” That came fast because he was opening his mouth. “Honest. I’ll figure something out. Something believable. They won’t…it doesn’t matter. I just thought on it a lot last night and you’re right. I can’t lose you. We can’t lose each other. So we need time apart so we can make it to that space. In the meantime, I can’t ask you…to pretend.”
“I’m in this, I told you I was. I promised you that,” he replied.
“You’re out, Rix.”
Christ.
Now he was bleeding.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ll be okay.”
Her face got soft.
And…
Hemorrhage.
“I promise,” she said.
And then she walked out.
Alex left the office at lunch.
She didn’t come back.
When Rix asked after her, watching him closely, Krista told him she was going to work from home.
For the rest of the day, Rix avoided her and Kevin, and he really avoided Judge.
And he got hunkered down to work.
He didn’t get shit done.
When Rix got home that night, it was sitting on the kitchen counter where he’d put it for her the night before.
Brian’s guilt bottle of scotch.
Next to it…
The key to Rix’s house.
Alex’s key to his house.
There was also a note.
R-
It’s too much. It’s okay. It would seem weird giving it to Dad now anyway.
We’ll do something when I escape from New York.
x-A
Escape from New York.
She was making a joke.
An in joke.
Their joke.
Escape from New York.
And with that, Rix couldn’t hold it in anymore.
What he’d spent years packing in exploded a half second before he seized that bottle by the neck, slid that fucking key off his counter and shoved it in his pocket.
Then he walked all that shit to his truck.
He tossed the bottle on the passenger seat, hauled himself in, leaned across to open the glove compartment, and saw the ring was still where he’d put it.
He then started his truck up, backed out, and drove up the goddamn mountain.
Chapter 19
The Explosion
Rix
He hammered on Alex’s door.
But he didn’t fucking wait for her to open it.
He let himself in, looking right, thinking she’d be on her deck.
She wasn’t.
“Rix, what—?”
He looked left and up.
She was in her loft.
“Not even fucking face to face, Al?” he demanded, shoving his hand in his pocket, pulling out the key and then flipping it onto her coffee table.
It clinked and fell to the floor.
He then walked to her kitchen table and slammed down the bottle.
He turned back to her, again looking up.
“Your dad’s gonna expect something from me. And you’re gonna give him that fucking bottle.”
“Rix—”
“Fucking shut up,” he snarled.
The fingers of both her hands curled around the railing in front of her.
Rix pulled the velvet box out of his other pocket and slapped it on the table.
Then he went back to Alex.
“You’ve already told them we’re engaged. They’re gonna expect you to be wearing my ring.”
“Really, Rix—”
“You’re gonna wear my fucking ring, Alex!” he roared.
She fell silent, standing above him, holding on.
“I can’t lose you,” he bit off.
She nodded, quickly.
“I’m not gonna fucking lose you,” he declared.
“You won’t lose me, Rix,” she called gently.
Rix.
Alex’s Rix.
“There’s too many stairs in this house, we can’t live here,” he announced.
Her head jerked.
“We can’t live here,” he repeated. “It’s not safe.”
He felt it then, drifting down to him.
Lapping at him.
Washing it away.
“You love it here. It’s you. I love being with you here. I love sitting with you out on your deck. But it’s not safe,” he said it again.
Alex stared down at him.
He couldn’t see the colors of her eyes.
He could only see…
He turned, grabbed the bottle, and with all his strength, sent it sailing.
Five hundred dollars shattered against her wall, shards flying, liquid splashing everywhere.
And he bellowed, “It’s not safe!”
When he focused on her again, Alex was racing to him.
“Don’t get near me, baby,” he warned, holding up a hand to her.
A few feet from the bottom of the stairs, she stuttered to a halt.
“I can’t keep you safe,” he told her.
“Rix, honey, take a breath.”
“They come in the night, what the fuck am I gonna do?” he asked.
“Who? Who comes?”
“It starts,” he said. “It could be anything. We forgot a candle burning or some shit goes wrong with the wiring on the microwave. And we have babies. We have our Kinsley. We have three of her. What do I do?”
“Rix, honey”—those words were a naked sob—“please, take—”
“I can’t lose you.”
An audible emotional hiccup before, “You won’t lose me.”
“I can’t protect you.”
“You can. You do.”
“I can’t fucking protect you!” he thundered.
She said nothing.
“God. Christ. Fuck! Christ!” he bit off, beginning to pace, yanking his hand through his hair. He turned on her. “We’re not having a gun in our home.”