29. Weston

This has been one hell of a long evening, so the last thing I need when I step off the elevator is to run into Jackson.

But here he is, standing directly between me and my apartment.

“Holy fuck. Not tonight.”

“Ohh, how sad,” he taunts. “The jock has a problem.”

“Get out of the way before I throw you out the window, Jackass.”

He laughs, unfazed. “I haven’t seen Renee around for a while. Know where she’s been?” When I growl, he shrugs. “I was just going to tell her thanks for checking on me and helping me get inside during the blackout. You mind passing the message along?”

I do mind, but more to the point, I need to know exactly what the fuck he’s talking about. “What did you say?”

Jackson looks at me as if I’m the one with half a brain. “I said, tell Renee thank you for helping me into the apartment and checking on me after the blackout.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing about her helping you?”

“Maybe because you’re an idiot and she can’t tell you every single detail or your head explodes?”

“Fuck off.” I don’t have time for this shit with him tonight. I push the button to close the door on the elevator then ride it right back down to the lobby.

Paolo is in the security shack when I get down there. “Hey, man,” I say, “can I ask you a favor?”

He tsks noncommittally. He still has a sweet spot for Renee, which means he has a corresponding sour spot for me.

I swallow and push through the awkwardness. “I need to know how much footage you guys have from the blackout.” No point in beating around the bush.

He shrugs. “Some. The cameras operate on a backup battery system. A few were fried by the surge, but others kept recording.”

“Would I be able to see?”

He gives me a look.

“Please, man,” I say. “I’m begging here. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t super important.”

He eyes me for a moment longer. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he turns to the monitors and cues up the footage in question.

It’s black at first—obviously—but then it springs to life when the power returns.

And I see Renee talking to Jackass in the hallway. He’s wasted—that much is obvious. He leans on her heavily and lets her practically carry him into his place. And then she comes out ten seconds later and heads back to Sutton’s door. She doesn’t go into my apartment. Doesn’t even look at the door.

She didn’t do it.

She didn’t. Fucking. Do it.

Which proves beyond all doubt that she’s innocent and I’m an asshole.

It also means…

A darker thought encroaches and I try to push it away, but it’s here and it isn’t budging. If Renee didn’t steal from me—and now, I know for a fact she didn’t—someone else did. Someone with access. A key. Someone I wouldn’t think to suspect.

My guts clench so hard they ache and I’m never going to forgive myself. For hurting her. For all the shit I said and did to her.

I shouldn’t have needed proof. I should have known she was innocent. She’s never lied to me after all.

“I’ll have tickets for you at will call, Paolo. Every home game for the rest of the season.”

He tsks again, but I’m already up and moving. In the elevator, I use my phone to pull up Hunter’s online auction account. He has a shit memory and uses the same password for all his accounts, socials, and emails, so it isn’t hard to get into and find that he’s been selling my stuff.

I don’t know which one of us is dumber: him for not being even smart enough to attempt to hide it from me, or me for believing an addict.