“Therapists aren’t supposed to make jabs at their clients, dipshit.”
“Well, I’m not your therapist right now, I’m your friend.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, smiling. “You down to grab some lunch? Ash has been gate keeping this sandwich shop for two weeks, and he promised to take us today, but he had to leave.”
I nodded, suddenly hungry. “You talking about the shop on Ninth?”
Dominic jerked back, his dark brows snapping together as if I’d told him his cat had just died. “What shop on Ninth?”
I nabbed my jacket off the back of my chair, throwing it on. “Ash gets a massive sandwich from there every Tuesday. Tucked between the barber shop and that disgusting coffee place.”
“How do you know where this fucking deli is?” he shot back, falling into step beside me as I headed down the hall.
“That’s not the fucking question you need to be asking, Dominic,” I deadpanned. “The question you need to be asking is, given what we do for a damn living, how did you not figure out where this restaurant was?”
“Fuck you, Mitchell,” he grumbled, tagging the elevator button.
I chuckled. “Where is Ash? Client meeting?”
Dominic pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. “No, he went to Seattle University to get Margo’s car. He’ll be back this evening to deal with the client. They were fine with the meeting being pushed back.”
I stiffened, a wall of ice slamming down on top of me as my chest tightened. “What?” I asked, turning to him, lunch forgotten. “Did something happen to Margo? Is she okay?”
He twisted his neck, his eyes meeting mine. “I would assume so. Rossy didn’t say she wasn’t on the phone. He just had to drive her home from campus yesterday.”
What the hell? Grayson didn’t mention anything during our meeting.
Why would he?
To everyone else, Margo isn’t yours.
The elevator doors dinged open, and without a second thought, I stepped inside, closing it before he could follow. “Hayes, what the fu—”
His words were cut off as I hit the rooftop button, punching in the access code.
Ten minutes later, I was in the chopper, heading for Astoria.
Chapter Ten
Margo
Twelve hours earlier.
In hindsight, I probably should’ve waited until morning.
However, if I’d done that, I would’ve had to disclose the most embarrassing, broken parts of myself to Rossy in orderfor him to understand, and I didn’t want to do that. There was no way in hell I was going to let the toxins of my past touch my present and taint my future.
Not after the way I’d had to crawl my way out of my own grave.
“Is this the right place?” the driver rumbled from the front seat, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
It had been a long ride, and when I had my money back, the ride back home would feel even longer. Thankfully, this service let me choose a round-trip option. Granted, it cost a huge chunk of money I had to pull from my stash at the back of my closet. I learned a long time ago to always keep cash tucked away in case your entire life imploded on a whim.
Just like mine was on the cusp of.
“Unfortunately,” I muttered, looking back at the shitty house across the street. I tried to ignore how even more run-down it looked since the last time I’d been here. The shutters were each hanging by a single nail on either side of the front living room window. The screen door was off the hinges, leaning against the porch wall, surrounded by junk, and that same variation of trash was littered all over the front yard. There was so much now that you couldn’t even see the grass. The tree, once beautiful and vibrant, had been chopped down, but the fuckers decided to use the stump as the beer can collector.
Shame weighed heavy on my shoulders as I ripped my eyes away, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I was never supposed to be back here,” I whispered to myself. Once I stepped out of this car, the promise I’d made myself years ago would be broken, and right now, the notion of that was nearly detrimental.