Sometime later Nate stirs, like he’s fighting to stay on that other side of consciousness, and I look down and see that his eyes are open, but only halfway, his face slack with sleep. I reach down between us and squeeze his hand. He squeezes mine back, the smallest movement, as if to say I’m here, I’m not leaving, and that’s all I need.

21

TAYLOR

My phone almost drops from my hand. “Released? What do you mean, released?”

“She posted bail,” Detective Bierman says, his voice resigned. “Listen, I fought the prosecutor not to grant bail, but she did. It is what it is. This doesn’t change anything. What we have is concrete. We will—”

I drop the call.

Mei slips in from my bathroom, lighting a cigarette. “What happened?”

I look at her, my eyes on fire. “Nate’s helping her.”

She frowns, confused. “I thought you—”

“I did.”

She takes a long, indulgent drag, then blows a thick cloud of smoke my way. “You need to go handle him.”

I put my head in my hands and push out a hard breath. “Fuck.”

I fight my way past the huddle of reporters who have been on my heels for three blocks now. Yelling and shouting questions at me, demanding to know things about that asshole, if I knew about the affair, when the funeral will be, and I remind myself to be impassive. I can’t smile or I’m guilty. I can’t cry or I’m faking it.

I push into the Equinox on the corner, the one Nate has been going to for years, and walk straight past reception into the weightlifting area, passing by a girl taking mirror selfies of her latest surgical enhancements that she’ll accredit to squats, a group of guys trying to out-lift each other. No one says anything to me, but heads turn. People whisper, thinking they’re being discreet, but they’re not. I keep my head down, looking for Nate.

I’m about to give up when I hear hard metal slam behind me. I turn around and see Nate, standing up from the bench press. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a muscle tee, the sides cut low enough for me to see the edges of what’s underneath, those dimples in his rib cage, the planes of lean muscles. Sweat clings to his arms, his neck, dripping down his face like salty-sweet rain. He reaches for his water bottle and throws his head back, taking a few gulps.

I close the distance between us and stand right behind him, breathing in his raw scent. He’s still unaware of me, completely in the zone. Just as I start to reach out to touch him, he feels my presence and whips around. He goes still at my smile and swallows hard.

His dark eyes flick over my face as he snatches the AirPods out of his ears. “What are you doing here?” He glares at me, so severely that if I didn’t know him, I’d probably back away.