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 otherholding 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.