Page 19 of Midnight Whispers

My chest tightens with the need to remove that person from her life. She shouldn’t ever have to deal with assholes—I’ll do that for her. But I don’t need to know more about her life. I can’t even go there.

I keep my thoughts from straying and check my watch. I have some time to go check out her vehicle. Maybe it will hold some clues.

Telling myself I’m not crossing any of the lines I’ve drawn for myself, I leave the empty apartment and make my way downstairs and out onto the sidewalk. I cross the street and head to her old Toyota.

I’ve never looked inside her car before, so I don’t know what it normally looks like, but today the back seat is filled with cardboard boxes and plastic bags. Is she living out of her car? I would have known that, wouldn’t I? The boxes hold toiletries, and the bags have her clothes. Does her car always look like this? Tell me she isn’t a hoarder.

My shoulders draw tight because if I’d done more digging on Cin, I’d already know the answers to my questions. At the same time, if I go that far, I might never escape her.

I do another lap around the vehicle. When nothing else sticks out to me, I return to the apartment across the street. The last thing I need is to get caught skulking around the parking lot.

I keep watch on the bar, and about a half hour later, she reaches for her purse underneath the counter. She waves goodbye to the patrons sitting at the bar and leaves out the front door. I’m about to book it out of the apartment and to my car so I can follow her, but she diverges from her usual routine. She doesn’t make her way immediately off the porch and over to the side lot to her car.

Instead, she flops down on one of the old chairs and leans over, putting her hands over her face.

Is she crying? My stomach twists, and the urge to run over and find out who made her upset and make them pay for it rises inside me. But if I do that, she’ll wonder where I came from, and how do I explain that I’ve been across the road and watching her all day?

She raises her head, and I spot a tear track down her cheek.

My hands fist at my sides. I can’t just stand here and do nothing.

I hurry out of the apartment, not bothering to lock the door, and rush down the stairs. Rather than take the front exit, I leave the building out the back and run behind all the buildings to the alleyway where I parked my car. Then I slowly creep onto Main Street and drive toward the bar.

Much to my relief, Cinder’s still sitting in the chair. Her back is heaving, and she keeps wiping her cheeks. I’m not sure how I’m going to play this, but I pull up in front of the bar and slow my car to a stop, putting it in park before I climb out and walk along the front of the vehicle.

“Thought that was you,” I say, trying to play off a nonchalance that is natural.

Her head whips up and her eyes widen. She wipes the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. “Nero, what are you doing here?”

Jesus, hearing my name on her lips is enough to undo me. It’s only the pain in her eyes that keeps me in check and reminds me why I came here.

“What’s wrong?” I take the three steps up onto the porch and crouch in front of her so I’m not lording over her.

“Just family stuff.” She sniffles, and it’s clear that she’s trying to pull herself together.

But I want her a mess. I want to know all the ins and outs of this woman, especially what has her so upset. I want to fix her and the problem. But now isn’t the time to push her. She needs to trust me first.

“I’m familiar with those.”

Her head tilts. “Really?”

I nod and give her a small smile. “Unfortunately, yes. Anything I can help with?”

“You don’t even know me. Why would you want to help me?” The way her big blue eyes stare into my own makes me think she really wants to know the answer to this question, and it’s not a surface-level ask.

I’m not sure I can answer the question, so I say, “How could I not? I see a beautiful woman crying, and you expect me to just drive on by?”

She laughs.

“Seriously, though.” I take one of her hands. “What can I do to help?”

Her hands are so small, and the heat from her soft skin seeps into mine despite the fact that it’s cool out.

“I left my home because… I have nowhere to stay.”

I frown. “Why did you leave?”

Her lip quivers. “My mom died when I was really young. My dad passed about a decade ago.”

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