Ricky scurries across the marble floor toward the door of the building.
I lined his palm with a hundred dollar bill with the hope that he’d tell me if Arietta is already upstairs.
After he pocketed the cash, he explained that he lives by the rule of conscience.
I asked what the fuck that was. He laughed and said it meant that he couldn’t sell out the residents of the building.
I would have saved myself some money if I knew that sooner.
He opens the door and smiles.
In walks a brunette that I recognize immediately.
Maybe my luck is changing for the better.
I bolt to my feet and sprint toward her. She stops as soon as she notices me on the approach.
“Bianca,” I call out.
Her blue eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?”
Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to find Maren.
“I need to see Maren.” I take a step to the left to try and lure her away from Ricky.
I don’t need the doorman in my business. He’s not my friend. He’s not even my informant. He’s a guy who stole a hundred dollars from me.
“You hurt her,” she accuses.
I nod. “I did. I’m so fucking sorry for that.”
“You should be sorry. You need to apologize to Maren, not me.”
She’s right. I want to do that. “I can’t find her.”
Her gaze hits the floor. She leans back on her heels. “Do you care about her, Keats?”
“I love her,” I say with conviction. “I am so fucking crazy about her.”
Her gaze darts to the elevator. “Let’s go somewhere to talk. I came to get the dog from Arietta to bring him to you, but that can wait.”
Everything can wait until I have Maren back in my arms.***Never underestimate the power of your words.
It’s a mistake I’ve made countless times in the past. I did it again with Maren.
Bianca told me everything hours ago as we sat at a café facing each other.
Maren went to meet her boss the afternoon Earl Newman told me to go to hell.
That was Royce Knott she was hugging. He took off because his longtime girlfriend had dumped him, and while he was gone, his brother fired Maren.
That embrace was innocent. It was Maren being compassionate because that’s who she is.
Even after everything she’s been through.
I glance out the window of the car into the darkness. I called up the driver I’ve used on occasion and offered him a ridiculous amount of money to make the five-hour drive to take me to Tupper Lake. Bianca drew me a map to the location of the cabin where Maren is staying.
She did it from memory because she was here with her once.
It was days after Maren lost her baby. She was bleeding when her boyfriend, Kollin, took her to the hospital. When the doctor came in to tell them that the child growing inside of Maren for twenty-two weeks had died, Kollin rushed out of the examining room.
An hour later, he sent a three-word text to Maren: I need time.
He never spoke to her again. He packed up her belongings that afternoon and had them sent to her parents’ apartment. He arranged for the manager of Human Resources to fire her hours later under the guise that they were cutting costs.
She didn’t give him the son they were expecting, so he pushed her out of his life with a short text message.
“How much longer?” I ask the driver, my impatience seeping into my tone.
“We’re five minutes out, Mr. Morgan.”
Just five more minutes until I can tell Maren I love her.
I rest my head back on the seat, close my eyes, and hope to hell she’ll forgive me.Chapter 58MarenI fell asleep after a late dinner.
I made myself a meal that consisted of scrambled eggs and fruit. I stopped to buy supplies at a store in Tupper Lake before I drove up to the cabin. The couple that runs the store recognized me from the visits I used to make with my parents.
A sense of nostalgia rushed through me as they talked about how happy we always looked on our way to our retreats.
I’ve always viewed my time here like that - a retreat.
It’s an escape from the stress of New York City and a chance to recharge and revaluate my life.
Sitting up in the bed, I hear the crunching sound of gravel.
That can only signal that a vehicle is making its way down the road that leads here and to a few other cabins.
I glance at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table.
It’s almost three a.m., so I’ve been asleep for more than four hours.
I swing my feet over the side of the bed. I let out a short, quick breath when I feel the coolness of the old wood floors on my toes.
Wrapping one of the thin white blankets on the bed around myself, I stand.