Page 43 of After Hours

Zachary was tempted to get distracted as he pulled her to her feet—Romily standing there so lush and beautiful, made of lean muscle and aware of her own power now, not to mention all his in every possible way now — but there was going to be time for that later.

A long, long time, if he had anything to say about it.

While she was getting ready, he made a quick call to Frederick. Just to get a few details straight in his head, and to discuss an action plan moving forward.

“Claiming that prize, are we?” his friend asked with a laugh. His voice was dry. “Who could possibly have foreseen this shocking turn of events.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Zachary suggested.

His old friend was still laughing as Zachary ended the call.

Then he and Romily got back in the car and headed out of the marina. This time they headed away from the Bay and deeper into the suburbs. They passed the gleaming white Claremont Hotel, sitting pretty on its hill. They went through Caldecott Tunnel, out of the East Bay and into the broader Bay Area, and on until Walnut Creek.

It was quiet in the car. Peaceful. Romily had her hand on his leg. He returned the favor when he could take his hand off the wheel in all of the typically aggressive traffic. But as they drove toward Romily’s past, he found himself thinking about his.

Not in specifics this time. But there was a part of Zachary that would always miss the redwoods that had surrounded him in his youth. All that eucalyptus and moss. But that wasn’t something that he could return to. Because what he really missed were those snatches of his childhood where he’d been, if not preciselyinnocent, still young enough to imagine that things could get better on their own.

He knew better now. He knew that any kind of change took work. Sometimes a whole lot of suffering, but he understood that the only way out of pain was through. He was more than happy to put the work in to make that happen.

Today included. He followed Romily’s directions as she led him deep into one of those Contra Costa County towns that he’d never paid much attention to. This far out of San Francisco proper, to his way of thinking, a person might as well commit and move into the Central Valley.

But then, he supposed he couldn’t help but judge the kind of person who would buy a house in a development where everything looked beige and boring and the same. Zachary thought that was the kind of life choice that made statements about the sort of life a person expected to have.

Then again, life on the waterfront wasn’t for everyone. Oakland was a troubled city, but it was his now. He wouldn’t trade a single bit of spray paint on his gym doors for what looked to him like anesthesia delivered in the form of houses.

Or even the nostalgic deep green of Larkspur.

“Are you okay?” he asked Romily as they navigated their way through a neighborhood that felt like a maze to him.

She’d been gazing out the window, but when she turned to look at him, she didn’t look frightened at all. If anything, she looked resolved.

“I am more than okay.” Her voice had that same resolve. “If anything, I just… can’t believe that this is finally happening. That I’m in any kind of situation to come back here or try to reclaim anything. Part of me thought that I would be running and hiding for the rest of my life.” She smiled at him. “And to be clear, I was perfectly okay with that. Didn’t really want to lay eyes on him ever again.”

“You don’t have to now,” Zachary told her. He didn’t know what expression was on his face, only that her eyes went wide. “I’m more than happy to have a little talk with your man myself.”

“He’s not my man. Thank God.”

When Romily reached over to put her hand on his leg, Zachary covered it with his.

They made it to the house in question and it was indistinguishable from all the other houses on the same street. He figured that was on purpose. What a perfect way to hide in plain sight. An asshole like Romily’s ex could look like everyone else on the outside so no one would question what he was doing indoors.

He wondered how many other houses on the street were storing the same kind of secrets behind their matching interiors. It hadn’t been any different where he’d grown up. The houses might not have matched and they’d been tucked away prettily in all the redwoods, but the misery people lived with in private while pretending they were happy in public was no doubt the same.

Zachary couldn’t do it. He liked the brash honesty of a place where shit was always on blast and usually in the streets. He liked the clarity of knowing exactly where he stood.

He couldn’t go back.

This was the last stop on the nostalgia tour, and then he and Romily were never looking back again. It was going to be their bright fucking future all the way.

They parked in the driveway and walked up to the front door. Romily had explained that her douchebag ex was one of thosecyclists—meaning of course, the kind of man who pranced around in Lycra and tap shoes. Zachary didn’t feel he really needed to express his sentiments on that in words when the single look he’d sent her way made his feelings on that shit clear.

He already knew that there was a high probability that Joseph wouldn’t be home when they get here. But he could admit that there was a not-insignificant part of him that really, really wished that the man who’d treated Romily so badly was around. Zachary would have loved to teach him a few lessons.

After Romily rang the doorbell a few times, she looked up at him and shrugged. “He’s not the kind of guy who ignores a doorbell. There’s no way he’s here.”

“Let’s do it,” Zachary said. And stood at the door as she reached down behind one of the shrubs flanking the front step and dug around until she came back up with the key.

“He likes his routines,” she told him. “He doesn’t like change.”

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