All I can do is stare at Kill’s back as he steps onto the elevator.

He gave me what I wanted. Exactly what I asked for. So why do I feel like someone’s just knocked the wind out of me?

“Ready?” Hugo breaks the silence. How could I have forgotten a man his size was in the room?

“Y…yes.”

He punches in the code, which I know from when Kill used it earlier to come upstairs, and we step onto the elevator. He doesn’t touch me and I take one last look around the office, at the blood splattered on every surface. Think about how Ben raised the gun and aimed it at me. How Kill took the bullet instead and saved my life.

The doors slide closed. It’s an awkward ride down and, chilled, I hug my coat to myself. I don’t speak and barely breathe and Hugo escorts me outside and into a car—his, I presume—and we drive through the bitterly cold night to my apartment. He walks me upstairs. Unlocks my door. Enters it before me, walking through each of the rooms, turning on all of the lights, before setting my key on the counter and turning to leave. He doesn’t speak a word as he does all of this. He barely glances at me.

Once he’s gone, I snap out of my daze. I pick up the key, lock the door. Lean my back against it.

This place feels foreign. How can that be after only a few weeks? Even the smell is no longer familiar. I take off my coat and let it fall to the floor. My shoes come off next. Then the dress. The panties. I’m not wearing a bra. I leave it all as I go into my bedroom, switching off lights on my way.

I wonder what would have happened tonight if Jones hadn’t done what he’d done. I can’t bring myself to say the words.

When I get to the full-length mirror in my room, I stand before it. I’m naked but for the earrings. I wonder if he’ll want those back. I take each one off slowly, set them down on the nightstand. I’ll send them back to the club tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

But what if he changes his mind and comes for me?

He won’t. I know he won’t. And the strange thing is, that’s the part that terrifies me. I won’t ever see Killian Black again.

I follow the trail the tear that’s sliding down my face leaves. It’s a smear of pink where blood has dried on my cheek. His blood.

He took a bullet for me.

He called me his girl.

But I’m not that anymore. Was I ever?

I’m very tired suddenly. Like I can’t stay on my feet a moment longer. I draw the covers on my bed back. It should feel familiar, but it doesn’t. It’s like I’m lying in a stranger’s bed. What’s happened to me in the last two weeks?

So much.

So fucking much.

I close my eyes. I want to shut everything out just for a few hours. I want to forget just for a little while. I entertain the thought of amnesia again. The hope of it. It’s useless, I know. Fantasy.

When I wake up the next morning, I don’t feel any better. In fact, it’s like I didn’t sleep twelve hours straight. I’m so tired and heavy, I can barely drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom to shower. I stand under the water for a long time watching water pool at my feet. It’s pink at first. I didn’t realize how much blood was on me, in my hair. I should change the sheets. I should do a lot of things. But I can only manage to dress myself and sit on the couch with the phone in my hand.

I dial the Dover Recovery Center and talk to a nurse there. I think she’s the one who was there the first day I’d gone in because she seems to recognize me.

“How is my brother doing?”

“He’s awake, woke up early this morning.”

“But how is he?”

She sighs. “The doctor is in with him now. Shall I ask him to call you after his meeting?”

“Yes. Please.” I give her the number of the landline and wonder where my purse is. Where my cell phone is. As I hang up and as if on cue, the doorbell rings. My heart races as I go to answer, not sure who I expect to find, but still surprised when a courier is standing there with a box.

“Priscilla Hawking?”

“Yes.”

“Sign here.”

Absently, I do. I then take the box and he leaves. Inside, I find my laptop, my purse, wallet. Nothing else though. I’m not sure what I expect there to be. What would there be? A fucking note?

I stand and decide instead of waiting for the doctor to call me, I’ll go see Jones myself. I’ll have to make some arrangements with them anyway. Neither Jones nor I can afford a place like that and I’ll assume they’ll want him out once they figure that out.

When I get outside, I realize my car must still be at Jones’s apartment. I grab a taxi and take it there, and find it in exactly the place I’d parked that night and soon, I’m outside the Dover Recovery Center. I head inside and decide to bypass the reception desk but as I take a few steps down the hall, I’m greeted by the same nurse as the first time Kill brought me here. She seems surprised to see me.

“Ms. Hawking?”

I stop. Turn. “Yes?”

“Didn’t Dr. Moore call you?”

“Oh, maybe.” I had given him the landline. “I’m here though and I’d like to see my brother.”

“Just a minute please. I’ll call the doctor to come talk with you.”

“What? Why?”

She looks almost embarrassed and a moment later, two men come around the corner discussing a file.

“Oh, there he is. Dr. Moore?” The nurse is visibly relieved.

I recognize the doctor and he recognizes me. He closes the file, excuses himself from the other man and heads toward us.

“Ms. Hawking, I left a message.”

“I didn’t get it. I’d left the house. What’s going on? Is Jones okay?”

“He’s fine. Let’s go into my office, shall we?”

“Where’s Jones?” I ask, refusing to budge until he tells me.

“He’s in the same room as last night and he’s with a nurse.”

“Okay.” I follow him into his office which is small but neat. I sit. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath in. “Jones has finally opened up about things.”

I clear my throat, look away for a moment.

“I think it’s in his best interest if you give him some time to work through this.”

“Time?”

“Ms. Hawking, I think it’ll be damaging for him to see you right now. He feels quite protective of you, and at the same time…” he trails off as if searching for the words, but I don’t want to hear it. I can guess.

“He doesn’t want to see me?” I can’t push this. I don’t want to because in a way, I understand.

“His mental condition is…fragile. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but my priority is my patient. Please understand.”

“When then? How long until I can see him?”

“Give it a few weeks. I’ll stay in touch with you. Mr. Black has asked me to keep you apprised of Jones’s progress.”

My heart leaps at the mention of his name. The doctor clears his throat and opens a file.

“Mr. Black is providing for the best possible care, Ms. Hawking.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks confused. “I mean he’s hired the best doctors.”

“Jones and I, we can’t afford…”

He puts his hand up. “Mr. Black is taking care of the expenses.” He checks his watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me?”

I rise. “You’ll call me…”

“Daily.”

I shake his extended hand, although I’m still uncertain.

“Thank you for understanding.”

I walk out of the building feeling deflated. It’s a blustery day, clear and windy, truly winter, and it looks like snow is coming. I get to my car, look back at the room I think is his with the big bay window. I’m tempted to go back inside and see him just once, but I understand what the doctor said. Why he said it. Jones needs time away from me. I’ve known it for a long time.