Jesus, Beau. “Well, can you tell me?”

“No.”

“Fuck, Beau. Give me something here.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Broxton. She’s blocked your number because she said you would be hounding her, and she can’t deal with you right now. She said to read the text she sent you because she doesn’t want to hear any more excuses or explanations. I don’t know what the fuck you did, but I suggest you leave her alone, or you’ll have me to deal with.” Click.

I couldn’t believe she had blocked me. She must be extremely hurt and pissed. Well, duh, motherfucker. I needed to find where she was staying.

Where else would she go? I racked my brains and came up with Evan. I texted him to ask if he’d heard from Blaire, but he messaged back saying he thought she was with me. Fuuuck! Maybe she was staying with a friend from the hospital. We didn’t socialize with any of her work colleagues, so I didn’t even know where to start, other than with the Lademans, and Blaire would murder me if I brought her bosses into our drama.

I finally trudged upstairs and fell on the bed, still fully dressed and determined to find her tomorrow after practice.

I woke up feeling miserable on Friday morning. Actually, I didn’t exactly “wake up” because I had never truly fallen asleep, just tossed around the bed fitfully, punching and readjusting pillows as I missed the soft, warm body of my usual bed partner.

I tried calling and texting Blaire again to no avail, so I messaged Evan and asked if I could have Carrie for dinner tonight, and we arranged a time for me to pick her up. I needed a little Carrie time because my darling girl always made me smile. And your dumb ass gave up time with her on Tuesday to help Milan move. I wished I could kick my own ass.

I went down to the leasing office in my apartment building and canceled Milan’s apartment, paying a hefty penalty for breaking the lease early and not giving a damn about the money. As I walked through the lobby on the way out to the valet area, I saw Vincent getting ready to end his shift. Vincent! Maybe he knew something.

“Good morning, Vincent. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Broxton. How may I help you?”

“Um, did you see Blaire leave here last night?”

“Yes, sir. Doctor Cavanaugh left about thirty minutes before you showed up. I thought it was strange because she was carrying a large suitcase. I thought maybe you two had decided to extend your evening out, but then you arrived here. I do hope everything is okay,” he said, his worried eyes meeting mine.

I slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not, but I’m working on it. Thank you, Vincent.”