Did Ethan find out more information? Something that strengthened the connection between my ex-husband and whomever was committing these recent crimes? Was there evidence Nick was involved, and not merely the inspiration of some other sociopath?
“My agent called.”
“Oh.” I smiled, somewhat relieved. But that relief vanished when Lachlan’s expression grew even more morose.
It reminded me of the despair that oozed from every inch of him the night I saw him drunk on the beach and he revealed his sister was dead. Back when we were still strangers.
Now that I knew him, knew how he looked when he was happy, when he was angry, when he was frustrated, I knew whatever his agent had to say wasn’t good.
I’d overheard rumblings about the possibility of a multi-game suspension. Had they made a decision? Seemed like shitty timing to me, especially considering he’d just lost his sister. I didn’t think Lachlan was right in punching a cop, putting him in the hospital. But now I realized it came from a place of love for his sister. His ohana. After meeting some of his family, I knew he’d do anything for them.
Just like I got the feeling he’d do anything for me, too.
“He informed me management set up a meeting to discuss my little…incident. Apparently, putting a detective in the hospital is frowned upon by the powers that be.” He laughed, but it wasn’t natural. More nervous. Hesitant.
“And when is this meeting?” I asked, comforted by the fact they hadn’t made a decision without allowing Lachlan the opportunity to explain himself.
At the same time, my unease increased. I doubted he’d feel the need to tell me about this unless it had something to do with me. With us. With the little time we had left.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Nine o’clock Monday morning.”
The words were like a punch to the gut, all the oxygen sucked from my body. Frustration built in my throat, making it hard to breathe, to think. I gripped the counter, needing it to steady myself when it felt like the world was spinning around me.
He ran a hand down my arm, attempting to soothe my unease, but I shook him off, pretending this sudden turn of events didn’t affect me like it did.
“So you’ll need to be back in Atlanta by then. And with the time difference and the length of the flight…”
“I need to leave tomorrow,” he said solemnly. “My assistant arranged a charter for me at eight AM.”
Pressure built in my chest, an ache unlike any I’d ever experienced filling me. My heart physically hurt at the reality that our remaining two days was now nothing more than a few hours.
“So this…” I dragged my gaze back up to his. “This is our last night together.” My voice rose in pitch toward the end.
His shoulders fell as he pulled me into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
He dropped a kiss to my forehead, his embrace comforting, yet agonizing. A reminder that tomorrow at this time, these arms would be nothing but a distant memory.
“I tried to see if my agent could move the meeting, but I’m not exactly bargaining from a position of power here. He’s of the mindset that if I don’t want to face a lengthy suspension, I need to do whatever management asks. And they want me there at nine o’clock Monday morning.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing down every emotion fighting to rush to the surface. It was okay. What difference could a day or two make? Maybe it was better this way. Less time for him to steal another piece of my heart.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, his own voice choked. “But maybe—”
I pushed against him before he could finish his thought. “It’s not a big deal.” I flashed him a bright smile, averting my gaze. I couldn’t, wouldn’t look him in the eyes. If I did, I’d break.
And I couldn’t break.
Not over this.
Not over something that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
Not over a week of sinful, lust-filled, depraved fucking.
Because that was all this was supposed to be. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Except it was so much more than that to me now.
And by the way he peered at me, I knew it was more to him, too.