Chapter 6

Audrey

A one-off.

That's what I told myself the first morning after Jason and I were together, after I gave myself to him, wholly and completely.

I've actually lost count of how many moments we've had since then, hidden from the world and lost to our lovemaking. It's been weeks, and we're only getting hotter, brighter, hungrier for more. We have been able to keep things strictly physical, and for that, I am grateful. I wouldn't even know where to start as far as relationships go. I never had anyone to talk to about these things.

My heart aches. I wish I had Mom around, but she left this world long before I was old enough to even comprehend the idea of love, relationships, or marriage. I was left with my overbearing father and two older brothers, all three determined to "keep me pure" until I was wed.

I never really questioned my upbringing, but I couldn't agree with what Dad had planned for me, deciding certain things for me, regardless of what it would cost him. So, I ran away. It was a dangerous and perhaps foolish thing to do, but I've been breathing a lot easier since I left.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back and do things differently. They never listened, though. I had no one to talk to, no one who would understand me. At least here in Chicago, nobody knows me. I'm just a bubbly kindergarten teacher who was somehow able to afford an apartment in The Emerald Residence.

"Mrs. Ashel!" I call out to my next-door neighbor just as she comes down the front steps while I'm walking up.

It's Sunday morning and judging by her blue tartan outfit and lacquered beige shoes, she's on her way to church. A widow and former schoolteacher herself, Mrs. Ashel and I have gotten along great since the first day I moved in. As soon as she saw me come in with my keys and nothing but a suitcase to my name, she helped me get the lay of the land and get settled.

Upon seeing me, Mrs. Ashel lights up like the sun.

"Oh, Audrey, sweetheart, there you are! How are you holding up?" she asks, her milky blue eyes worriedly searching my face.

"I'm all right, thank you. How about you? You haven't heard anything from the building manager yet either, huh?"

She shakes her head in dismay. "No, but my son wants me to move in with him and his wife until the problem is resolved. They're coming by tomorrow morning to pick me up."

"Thank God, you can't keep living like this."

"Neither can you, honey," Mrs. Ashel replies. Underneath her matching blue tartan hat, she keeps her grey hair in tight curls, spending at least an hour every evening to make sure they hold up overnight. "What did the owner say? You mentioned you'd gotten in touch with him."

"They're still investigating the issue, but I understand there's been a misappropriation of funds. That's just one of the causes, mind you. There's more, but they're working to get the heat back on before the end of next week. Jason said they've already signed contracts with a new supplier, but they need to get a team onsite to check the installation requirements first."

We're outside the building in the middle of a cold February morning, but I'm used to it. My home isn't much warmer when I think about it, but I do look forward to hugging my little heater once I get upstairs. I spent the night at a hotel with Jason. I would've liked to have spent it at his place, at least, but we agreed not to let things get too personal between us.

"Well, that's good news then!" Mrs. Ashel exclaims. "It means I won't be bothering my son and his family for more than a week."

"Mrs. Ashel, you could never bother anyone," I reply, my gaze wandering up and down the street.

It's not busy at this hour, so I have a clear view of the block from where I'm standing. For the past week or so, I've felt a constant urge to look over my shoulder, though I don't think it's warranted. Two years have passed since I left; I can't imagine they are still looking for me. Besides, I would've seen something, a sign of their presence. They're not exactly the subtle type.

But this feeling has been getting more and more persistent, especially when I'm on my own and especially around The Emerald. Maybe it's just the ongoing discomfort of my heat situation.

"Audrey, I've been on my own for years now, and I do all right. My husband would be proud. I certainly am, especially in my old age. Going to stay with Eric does make me feel a little helpless."

"But you're not helpless," I reply. "The whole building is facing the same problem. I'm pretty sure our entire floor is currently temporarily unoccupied for the same reason."

"Yet you're still here."

"That's because I don't have any friends or family in Chicago," I chuckle dryly. "But don't worry, I'm going to be fine. What's another week in this freezing hell, anyway?"

"Hold on, who's Jason?" Mrs. Ashel asks, her slim brows furrowed tightly.

"Jason."

"You said you spoke to Jason?"

"The new owner," I say, smiling. "My apologies, we're on a first-name basis. Jason Winchester. His company owns the building. A good man, I'll give him that. Very … hands-on, you could say."

"Jason Winchester," Mrs. Ashel repeats his name, slowly nodding as her gaze wanders off to the side. "Oh, there's that dang car again."

I glance across the street and immediately spot the car she's talking about—a black sedan with tinted windows. The driver's window is rolled down, and I can see the man's profile quite clearly from where I'm standing. He doesn't seem to notice us, though; he's too busy scrolling through his phone.

"Who's that?" I ask.

"No idea," Mrs. Ashel replies, "but I saw him around here the other day. A week ago, too. Always parks right there and always at these early hours."

My stomach does a flip. Doubt is quick to infiltrate my thoughts as old worst-case scenarios threaten to rear their ugly heads and ruin my day. It can't be one of theirs. They wouldn't send an emissary. They'd come here themselves, and they would definitely make a spectacle of the whole thing. Subtle isn't their style.

"Maybe he's somebody's driver," I surmise, my voice lower than usual. I can't take my eyes off the guy. The more I look at him, the more uneasy I get. I can't put my finger on the problem, yet I cannot ignore this sensation, either. "Or a prospective buyer."

Mrs. Ashel scoffs. "I have a mind of going over there and telling him to forget about this place unless he wants to live in the equivalent of a Siberian winter."

The mere mention of Siberia sends my mind off to Russia, a trigger for me. Suddenly, I see the man in a completely different light. My uneasiness doesn't seem as ridiculous as before. His profile looks familiar for a reason—he reminds me of people I grew up around.

Pale-faced with a strong jawline and thick cheekbones. Short, brown hair. He wears a black turtleneck and a black leather jacket and seems to be deeply engrossed in whatever he is reading on his phone.

As soon as he looks up and notices me, I freeze. My heart stops, and I feel like a deer caught in the headlights. The helplessness I once felt as a child comes back to haunt me, to twist my senses, summoning a reaction I worked so hard to suppress in the years since I left New York.

There's a twinkle of recognition in his eyes.

Or maybe I'm losing my mind.

"Audrey, are you okay?" Mrs. Ashel asks.

I am unable to respond, caught in this man's brief gaze. His glance is fleeting, lasting for maybe a couple of seconds before he goes back to scrolling through his phone. Yet the impact it has on me lasts longer. Thoughts are swirling in the back of my head with no sense or meaning, filled with that same unpleasant familiarity.

"Audrey," Mrs. Ashel says again.

"What?" I snap out of it and look at her. "Sorry, my mind was somewhere else," I add with an awkward smile. "I'm sure it's nobody important. This is a busy street, after all, and there are a lot of residents on this block. Someone's always here visiting somebody."

"I miss the good old days when this was just a small, quaint neighborhood," she grumbles, readjusting the purse on her shoulder. "The '70s and '80s may have been messy, but I'm telling you, honey, this neighborhood was nowhere near as packed as it is today."

"That's the price of progress, Mrs. Ashel," I reply with a casual shrug.

Chills run down my spine as the black car's window rolls up. Moments later, it's gone, yet the empty space it leaves behind fills me with a subtle feeling of dread.

I wish I could figure out what it is that's got me so twisted on the inside. I keep telling myself that I just need more time to get over the past. I may have left it behind, but there's always a chance it could catch up with me.

"I need to go upstairs and warm up by the radiator," I say, suddenly freezing and no longer willing to be out in the open like this. "I'll see you when you get back. Have a great service at church."

"Of course, honey, you go on up and get warm," Mrs. Ashel says, gently squeezing my hand before turning away.

I watch her as she walks up the road, her heels clicking on the pavement. Most of the snow is gone, but the freezing temperatures remain. At least it's a dry end to this wretched season because the last thing any of us needs is to figure-skate across the street to the nearest 7-Eleven. Mrs. Ashel is a sweetheart. Always kind and generous. Always worried about me. Always brings me a slice of whatever she bakes over the weekend.

It dawns on me for the umpteenth time that I haven't made any true friends in this city. It's been two years, but I'm still worried. I try telling myself that I'm safe here, that I've been safe the whole time. My family is in the past, where they belong. And while it breaks my heart, it's for the best.

I decide to put the dark thoughts aside as I rush into the building to get warm, or at least try to.