Chapter 32

Cora's sobs follow me as I make my way down the hall to my bedroom. The one I used to share with her.

The place she belongs.

Where she will be when all this is over.

As messy as this fucking is, I meant every damn word. I want to be better for her. I want to deserve her. She will be the last for me.

She will be staying.

As much as I want to trust that she won't run, I grab my tablet from the nightstand and pull up the alarm system. Swiping over the options, I turn on all the sensors. She won't be able to crack a window without every house within a mile radius knowing that she has triggered the alarm.

Stepping into the bathroom, I turn on the shower and step in before the water warms. The icy water is shockingly cold. So cold it burns my goosepimpled skin. I hiss through the discomfort as it slowly warms to a scaling hot temperature.

I love the smell of Cora on my skin, but I need to think. With my palms pressed to the shower wall, the hot beads rain over my head and down my body. Water blows from my face with every soothing breath that exhales from my lungs. It's relaxing and exactly what I need to figure out how to fix things between us.

I know what I need to do.

Turning off the water, I grab the towel from the hook and wrap it around my waist without bothering to dry the rest of me. Walking across my room, water continues to drip down my body, leaving wet footprints in my wake.

Heading into my closet, I quickly dry off and pull on a pair of dress pants and a pressed white shirt. After putting on my shoes, I work on my cufflinks as I begin walking toward Cora's room.

The doorbell rings, drawing my attention away from my original destination. It rings again, and from the corner of my eye, I notice Cora, eyes red and still cocooned in a sheet, stepping from her room. We make our way down the stairs as it continues to chime over and over again. It is either stuck, or someone on the other side in quite intent on getting our attention.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I shout. "I'm coming."

Opening the door, I'm caught off-guard by our unexpected guest.

"Mr. Millington," Detective Michales greets me. "I was hoping to get a few minutes of your time."

Cora steps past the threshold and quickly garners his attention, "Ms. Durant, pleased to see you're still alive."

She turns toward him, exposing the cut on her face from the driveway. His hand slams against the door, and he begins to press himself inside, "Did he do that to you? Did he hit you?"

"I don't recall inviting you inside," I shove my body in front of him to prevent him from making it over the threshold. "And as I've said before, if you want to talk to me or Cora, it will be through my attorney."

As though he didn't hear a word I just said, he continues to push his way through the door as he asks Cora, "Do you need help?"

While it's only a mere second, it feels like minutes of deafening silence when she hesitates to answer him. Minutes in which a life in prison flashes before my eyes.

"No." She shakes her head. Lifting her hands to expose her well-scratched palms, she continues, "I fell in the driveway. Stupid cobblestones weren't designed for stilettos."

"Happy?" I snark while pushing the door shut, forcing him to take a step backward. "You know my attorney's number; try using it."

Closing the door, I immediately turn to face Cora. I stare at her for a moment, slightly surprised that after our interaction this morning, she didn't take the out Michales offered her. Before I can say a word, she blurts out, "This doesn't mean we're okay."

Maybe not.

But it means more than you realize.

We stand in the foyer in silence, minutes passing as both of us are at a loss for words.

The bell rings again, in quick succession from the finger laying on it from the other side of the door. Flinging open the door without diverting my attention from Cora, I shout, "For fuck's sake. Do you not fucking understand what call my attorney means?"

"Sorry," a deep voice bellows, and I turn to find a man I've never met standing on my front step. He's a huge man—several inches taller than me and easily carrying fifty additional pounds of muscle—the kind of guy I didn't exactly enjoy going head-to-head with on the field. If he weren't intimidating, the fact that he has a blond clone standing behind him definitely would make up for it.

"We don't exactly deal with lawyers," the blond clone chuckles from the back.

Removing his sunglasses, the man on the threshold presses the door lightly while exposing the gun tucked into his waistband. "Are you going to invite us in?"

"Probably not." I push against the door. "I don't fucking know you."

"No. You don't." He puts his full weight into the door and shoves his way inside forcefully. "But you know our boss, and you've kept something you shouldn't have."