“Ezra. You have your friends. Your family. You’re a long way from being alone, I promise you.” He replies, glancing at me before looking ahead again. I felt a pang in my chest when he didn’t include himself in that list. I mean, why would he have? He wants a damn divorce. He evidently wants me out of his life.
* * *
I stayquiet for the rest of the drive. A short while later, we pull up at his apartment complex, the one he brought me to first after we got married. I look at him and frown. “Why are we here? I thought we were going back to my parent's place?”
Damien pushes the button, and the engine stops. “We’re staying here for a while.” He retorts vaguely, and I nod, unfastening my seatbelt before opening the door and stepping out of his car. We walk through the car park toward the entrance of the complex. It felt nice being someplace familiar for a change.
“Good Afternoon Mr. Wolfe. Welcome back,” The concierge, a young ginger boy with a British accent, greets us as we walk through the lobby.
“Hey Gilbert,” He takes the stack of envelopes from him as he walks by. “No one comes in unannounced, all right, bud?” He adds, looking through the mail briefly before handing them back to Gilbert again. “Toss those.”
“Yes, Mr. Wolfe.” We walk over to the elevator, which opens automatically as soon as you walk over to it. I lean against the wall; my eyes cast down. Damien follows me in and pushes the button to the thirty-fifth floor. I suddenly remember the last time we were in this elevator together; we were arguing, and he had me pressed up against the wall and fingered me to prove a point. Asshole.
After what felt like an eternity, the elevator stops, and the doors open. Damien looking at his phone, frowning the entire time, walks out, and I follow him down the dimly lit corridor to the end where his apartment was. I was quite excited to see Coco again; I missed her the last couple of weeks. Damien swipes his keycard, and the door opens, and he walks inside. I hear the patter of Coco’s feet on the wooden floor as she comes over to greet her owner.
Damien stops dead in his tracks as soon as he walks in, facing the kitchen, and reaches back, drawing his gun and pointing it. I feel the panic surge through me rapidly, and I’m unsure if I should stay outside or walk-in after him.
“Damien…” A woman’s voice comes from within the apartment.