135. Nate

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE

NATE

After staring at the ceiling for forty-five minutes, I carefully slide out of bed.

Rosie makes a small sound of protest, but when I tuck my pillow against her front, she settles back into sleep.

That bad feeling in the center of my gut just won't go away.

Rosie is kind and caring and the love of my life. And I don't know why, but it feels like my whole future is riding on tomorrow.

I can't let her go.

Can't let her move out.

I move quietly into the closet and tug on sweatpants and a T-shirt.

My plan is thin at best, but maybe if I can bring more of her things here, she'll feel at home. And she'll see how serious I am.

Society might think it's too soon, but I don't care what anyone but Rosie thinks.

Charles is standing in the closet doorway when I turn around, watching me.

I scoop him up and carry him over to the bed, gently setting him on the mattress. "Keep an eye on her."

He sits, heeding my command and not rising as I walk out of the bedroom .

I pause in the kitchen and pull a small notebook out of a drawer.

I write a short note, letting her know I'll be right back, in case she wakes up while I'm gone. Then I find her keys and leave.

I feel like an absolute creep entering her apartment in the middle of the night, but no one sees me, and no one stops me.

Locking the door, I start walking through, wondering what I should take with me.

There's hardly anything on the walls.

Not much for decoration on the counters.

I pause in the kitchen and pull open the freezer door. She mentioned freezing homemade soups, and I spot the stack of containers. I let my fingers bump over the lids and decide to take as many as I can fit in my freezer back home.

Food is obviously Rosie's love language, and maybe bringing her food to her will help with that at-home feeling.

After closing the freezer, I move on to the bathroom.

Ruth brought most of Rosie's toiletries over already, and when I find nothing but cleaning products under the sink, I decide I can skip this room.

Then I step into her bedroom.

I grab both the pillows and pile them at the foot of the bed.

There's a throw blanket crumpled up on the floor that I shake out and fold, then set next to the pillows.

I move to the nightstands and find random things—hair clips, charging cords, and nail files in the first. But in the second, I find a small velvet bag.

I smile when I pull it open, finding a slender vibrator inside.

She might get mad at me for going through her private drawer, but she'll forgive me when I use it on her.

I toss the pouch onto the pile of bedding.

I lower myself to the ground and look under her bed but find nothing except a single sock .

I grab the sock, then turn on my knees to her closet.

Pulling the doors open, I find it much emptier than the last time I was here. Ruth cleared out most of the clothes that were still hanging, exposing more of the bottom of the closet.

I plant my hand on one of the plastic storage containers stacked along the floor and push myself up.

And as I stand, my eyes catch on something I didn't see before.

Behind the plastic containers is a slender olive-green metal box.

A lockbox.

I stare at it. Knowing it's private.

But the longer I stare, the harder my heart beats.

This feels like last time. But it feels worse.

And I know it's not my place.

But I'm past doing what's right.

I close my fingers around the cold metal and pull it free.

It has weight to it, but I think that's just from the box itself because when I shake it, I don't hear any noise.

Setting it on the bed, I drop the sock on the mattress, and I try to open the box.

Locked.

My eyes bounce around the room, but I have no idea where to look for the key. And for all I know, she doesn't even keep the key here.

But I won't let that stop me.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit Tony's contact, selecting a video call.

It only rings twice before he answers. "You know, I could be sleeping."

I take note of the bright lights around him. "Could be, but you aren't."

He rolls his eyes. "What do you need?"

I pick up the lockbox and hold it so he can see it. "I need to open this."

"Where are you?" He narrows his eyes at the screen. "You back at your girl's place?"

I nod. "Can you walk me through breaking it open?"

He lifts a brow. "Not any quicker than I could do it myself. "

"Yeah, well, I don't have time to wait for…" I pause when he stands, and I take in more of the space around him. "Are you in a fucking airplane hangar?"

He nods. "I'll be there in ten." Then he hangs up.

"What the fuck?" I shake my head as I carry the box to the kitchen and set it on Rosie's small island.

Then I pace.

Until ten minutes later, as promised, Rosie's locked door opens, and Tony Stoleman steps into her apartment.

I take in his head-to-toe black. "Did you just get into town, or are you just leaving?"

He tips his head at me. "You want me to open that? Or you want to ask your girl to do it?"

I run my tongue along my teeth. "New deal, I won't ask you what the fuck you're doing hanging out in a private hangar." I sniff the air. "Or why you smell like gasoline. And you won't lecture me about women."

Tony flashes me a grin. "I agree to your terms."

Without another question, Tony picks up the box and has it open in a matter of seconds.

He sets it on the counter.

"You find something that needs taking care of, let me know." Tony backs toward the door.

"You offer that to all your friends?" I remember the last time we were in this apartment together and the offer he gave me then.

"Just my favorites." He smirks.

"I appreciate that. Truly."

His nod tells me he understands, then he pulls the front door open. "Gotta go catch that flight."

The door shuts behind him, and I turn to the box.

Inhaling slowly, I lift the lid.

And then I hold my breath as I take out the single sheet of lined paper, folded into thirds.

It's just like the others.

Until I open it.

Because this one isn't written to me .

Dear _____

I don't actually know who I'm writing this to.

There's no one left. No one to care.

Hasn't been anyone for a long time.

Honestly, I thought writing this would be harder.

Maybe I'm just too numb.

And maybe that's the point. That there's nothing left to fight for.

But if you're reading this, then I'm sorry you had to find my body.

I step back.

Feeling like someone just hit my chest with a baseball bat as I reread that last line.

Her body.

Find her fucking body.

Is this…

I tug on the collar of my shirt, feeling like I can't breathe.

I didn't want to be anyone's problem, but I can't go to prison. I just can't.

And if you're here, looking for me, then you already know I murdered my dad tonight.

I had to.

It was him or me. And I only had enough pills for one of us.

I assume I'll get caught.

I didn't do anything to cover it up.

I can't. I'm too tired.

And I just don't want to be tired anymore.