Chapter Eighteen

Theo

I take it all in, my eyes hungrily devouring every square inch of this tiny space that Danica calls home, even as she continues to gesture around to the kitchen, and the other rooms down the hall. It’s not what I expected, and there is a ball of tightness that expands across my chest as I take in every minute detail, while trying to maintain an air of cool detachment.

For years I have watched her, parked outside the building, staring up at her window. Wondering what it must be like. Would she have painted the walls in her favorite color? Would she have a couch that she could rest on, as she used to do at Ma’s whenever she fell asleep after staying up too late reading, or snuggled into my side watching a show? Would she have pictures on the walls of all of us, or would I be carefully removed from her space, no hint of the past that we shared?

A pain fills me, sadness causing my chest to physically ache. Aside from what looks to be a well-used reading chair in the corner, adorned with a blanket that I know Ma made and gifted her as a graduation present so she would have a small bit of home to take with her to the dorms when she went off to college, this space is nothing like I imagined it would be. No paint, or pictures hang from the walls. The kitchen is simplistic, a small coffee pot and toaster the only appliances atop the counters. No decorations, no plants, absolutely nothing that screams this place belongs to my beautiful girl. If I hadn’t seen her unlock the door and disarm the security system that was clearly designed by Finn, I wouldn’t have believed that this was the space that she calls home.

Not cold and carefully placed together like the house she grew up in, though I had only been inside that once when I was helping move her things out, and over to the new place she had shared with Caleb for the remainder of her senior year and the summer leading up to her college journey. Not a comfortable mish-mash of things that scream comfort and home either. It’s just. . . empty. A shell of what I imagined and hoped it would be for her, and I am disappointed at the sight. My girl has been living here for years, but has she even been living?

Throwing a subtle glance at Bash, I stand abruptly. “I’m gonna take a piss.” And make my way carefully down the hall, meticulously taking in every detail, searching for something, anything that screams ‘her’ in this empty space.

I hear Bash’s voice as he strikes up a conversation, distracting Danica as he leads her into the kitchen, facing away from me. I make quick work of opening the door to the bathroom, noting that it is just as generic and blank as the other public spaces. I shut the door softly, making my way to the end of the hall toward the master bedroom. Opening it just enough for me to sneak through, I close the door gently behind me as I enter the room. Even in the darkness, softened only by the glow of the city lights outside, I can see that this space is also not a true reflection of my girl.

A nightstand on the side she must sleep on with a small lamp, the one small closet in the room is open to reveal dresses and jackets crammed inside, with shoes lined neatly along the floor, and a dresser in the far corner of the room. The only thing that shows any sign of life or color in this sterile space is her bedding, soft cream sheets and quilt with a few decorative throws adding a small pop of color. I breathe in, and am hit with the smell of her. Unable to resist, make my way over to the bed and lay down in her spot, grabbing the nearest pillow and hugging it to me as I breathe in the scent.

Staring up at the ceiling, noting this is the view my girl sees as she falls asleep every night, I wonder what must go through her head. Does she ever think of me, does she dream of me as she drifts off to sleep, or is that other fucker the one who fills her head? A wave of cold washes over me. Shit! Is he the reason why she hasn’t put any effort into making this place her own? From my time following her, I know she spends a lot of nights here, but. . . shit! What if that fucker’s space is more of a home to her than her own damn apartment? My fingers cramp and I glance down with a startled look to find that I am squeezing the life out of her poor throw pillow. Crap! I need to calm the fuck down and get my shit together.

With a calming breath, I force myself to stand, leaving her bed and the comforting scent of my girl behind as I slip out of her room unnoticed. I see Bash got the hint from my look and is doing a great job of distracting her still, his antics over the top as he gestures with wild animation to emphasize whatever he is saying. I see his gaze flicker to me briefly over Danica’s shoulder, not missing a beat as he continues to talk. Danica starts to turn but Bash grabs her arm and drags her over to the cupboards, and I hear some bullshit about how he is starving and they need to whip up some ‘snackage’ while they wait to hear from Finn and fucking Jonathan.

I start to make my way down the hall back towards them, and realize there is one more room that I have not yet explored. Unable to resist the urge to absorb every detail of her life without me, I can’t help but make my way towards that last door. Quietly, I poke my head into the room that she indicated was for guests. My breath catches in my throat at the sight before me.

Unlike the rest of the apartment, this room has been fully decorated, with meticulous detail. Painted in soft and soothing shades of blue and cream, it is decorated with a small bed that was clearly meant for a child. Blue curtains that hold puffy white clouds and small airplanes block the view from the window. Along the far wall is a small shelf lined with toy airplanes and blocks, other bumpy and spinney toys that I can’t recall the names of, and there is some sort of fabric-swing looking thing installed in the corner, the same kind that she has installed at Prism, dangling from an industrial looking clip attached to the ceiling.

What the fuck is this? And why would she put so much effort into decorating this room when the rest of the place clearly garnered no second-thought? It even smells different in here, soft, and clean, like that soap you find in the baby section at the store. The same shit that my nieces and nephews used for years when they were younger.

There is love pouring from every inch of this room, every tiny detail carefully placed, and my heart stutters at the image in my mind. Danica holding a precious baby boy, her beautiful red hair and my bright blue eyes, cherubic smile showing her beautiful dimples on that perfect little face that I see so often in my dreams. The future we have been robbed of thanks to all this bullshit with my fucking blackmailer.

And now to find out she has been dealing with a stalker of her own, one that my damn friends didn’t bother mentioning to me? I am going to fucking lose my shit if I am not careful, but man do I want to fucking hit something. . . someone. Pushing down the rage that is at war with the bittersweet ache in my chest, I force myself to turn and exit the room, only to run directly into the person who is always at the forefront of my mind.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I-” Stumbling through the words, I am caught off guard for once as I find myself caught snooping in my girl’s private space.

Arms crossed over her chest; lips flat as she glares at me. She glances over my shoulder into the room and her face softens. “This is my godson’s room. Wolfie.” She lifts her chin, nodding at the space I had just invaded. “You probably don’t remember; it’s been such a long time. But my old friend from my freshman year of college? Sierra? Well, she ended up being my roommate for years before she left for residency, and I became close with her younger sister, Quincy, too. Quincy’s little boy stays here sometimes. With Sierra on the east coast, she doesn’t have anyone else, so I help her out when I can. Watching Wolfie on the nights when she has class or giving her breaks on the weekends whenever our schedules line up.”

“I remember everything about you, il mio passerotto.” My words are soft, not meant for her to hear, though from the furrowing of her brows it’s clear she caught them anyway. And it’s true, I remember every little detail. Our days spent together her senior year, when shit hit the fan with her abusive fuckface ex, Bradley (who is now dead by my own hands), our blissful spring with every waking moment spent together when we were both not practicing for our respective sports. Our tumultuous summer spent loving each other, planning for a future together after she was done with college and I was situated in my role with the NHL, though by that point I was scrambling trying to figure out who had sent the blackmail letters, not realizing it was only just the beginning of years of torture.

The day she told me she was going to college in Oregon, me realizing she would be close enough for us to see each other on the weekends was the fucking highlight of my summer. And that fall, finding a routine with her in school, and me getting situated on my new team, meeting her new friends when I came down for a quick visit, or spending every free moment facetiming each other and texting. I couldn’t forget a single fucking second of it, because it wasn’t long after that when that future, my dreams, were ripped away from me. When she ripped my fucking world in two.