I’ve been driving for sixteen hours straight. It’s over forty hours to get to the apartment building where Mila’s staying. I stop off at a gas station, fill up, take a leak, and stock up on snacks and energy drinks. I’m not stopping until I’m halfway there.
Even then, I’ll find a truck stop, take a shower, and sleep a few hours before taking off again. I want to be kissing her for New Year’s, and I don’t have much time left.
Hunter’s been blowing up my phone, but I haven’t answered any of his calls. I can’t deal with that right now, since he will know what I’m doing by now. Jace will have told him. I don’t want him to try and talk me out of it.
I glance down at the clock in the car; it’s 3:44 a.m., and I can barely see straight. When I open the window to wake up, the cold air hits me, and I shiver. I know I’m getting close to snow, and I need to keep my wits about me.
Spotting the lights of a truck stop up ahead, I let out a deep breath. My body is stiff and sore from being stuck in the same position for so long. I’m not halfway, like I wanted to be, but if I take a quick nap, I’ll be good to go in a few hours. I pull in and find a place to park for a few hours.
Thank God I didn’t take my Harley, since I would have had to stay in a motel. Jace’s car is pretty big, and if I drop the back seat down, I should be able to sleep fairly comfortably. Only, in my haste, I forgot to bring a blanket or a pillow with me. I didn’t even pack a change of clothes. But it doesn’t matter. I can get something when I’m in New York.
Thirty hours later, and I’m in New York. I feel hot and wired from too many gas station coffees and energy drinks. My ass went numb about five hours ago, and I don’t think I will ever feel it again.
The city’s huge. So much bigger than I’d seen in photos and on TV shows. I drove through a lot of cities to get here, and each time I thought they were huge, but nothing compares to New York City.
A car honks, a taxi driver yells. There are people everywhere. They don’t even care that you’re trying to drive; they just walk right in front of the car like they don’t care about their life. I’m worried that I’ve made it all the way here just to hit a pedestrian and end up in jail before I even get a chance to see Mila.
I’ve never left Ridgecrest. Not in the same sense other people do. We moved to the trailer park when I was six, from one a couple of towns over. So, I’ve lived in the same place my whole life. Hell, the short trip to Alessandro Amato’s place is the farthest I’d ever been away from Ridgecrest.
Until now.
I already hate the city. Too many people, too many cars. I’ve never felt claustrophobic in my whole life until today. I look down at my phone’s GPS—just a few more streets, a few more turns, and I’ll be outside her apartment building.
Someone bangs on the hood of Jace’s car and screams, “Watch where you’re going.”
My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I grip it tight. I want to get out and hit this fucker. But I’m so close to Mila. I have to hold it in.
I look out my window and up at the tall building as I approach it. Fuck.
There’s nowhere to park the car, and I spot a news crew standing waiting in the front. Fucking slimy bastards trying to get a story. The only story is that Mila’s innocent, and I’m here to bring her back home.
Turning down an alleyway, I find nothing but no parking signs; where am I supposed to park in this city? I give up. I’ve been driving for too long, I’m exhausted, and I just need to hold Mila in my arms.
I park and jump out of the car, and the instant chill in the air has me wrapping my arms across my chest. When I left, I knew there would be snow, but I didn’t even think to bring a jacket. Okay . . . I don’t really have one. Not one for snow, at least.
After locking the car, I and head toward the building. I know she lives in the penthouse. It’s like that story of Rapunzel. Mila’s all the way up in the tower, and I’ve come to rescue her.
I shove past the press and, seeing the doorman busy trying to push them back, slip into the rotating door of the building. The lobby’s huge, and the man behind the desk raises his head at my approach. But I don’t need, or want, to talk to him. I know what floor she’s on.
As I walk over to the elevators, the sound of my boots on the marble floor echoes around the otherwise quiet lobby. But before I can push the button, the man behind the desk appears and stops me by grabbing my arm.
“Excuse me. Can I help you?”
I shake his hand off my arm. “No.” Don’t need this guy’s help. “Know where I’m going,” I mumble. I’m tired and wired at the same time and so close to my girl. I don’t want trouble; I just need to get up to her.
“Are you here to see someone?” he asks, standing in front of me and blocking me from going any farther.
I take a step back and look him up and down. He’s an older guy with graying hair, wearing a black penguin suit. I see a hint of a tattoo under his shirt collar, so he’s not a complete suit. I grit my teeth and relax my hands. I can’t make a scene here; the press is watching.
“I’m here to see my girlfriend. Mila Hart. She lives in the penthouse.”
His cold blue eyes narrow at me. My hands flex into fists, but other than a slight tick in his jaw, he doesn’t react.
“You’re not on the list.”
What fucking list? “I don’t need to be on a list. I’m her boyfriend.”
He looks down at my tattoos, at my jeans I’ve been wearing for almost three days, and the lack of proper clothes for New York in winter.
The man jerks his head to come over to his desk, and I begrudgingly follow him. He isn’t going to let me up if I don’t. After picking up a black receiver, he dials a number. He better not call the cops. I’ve done nothing but come to see my girlfriend, and there are no rules against that.
I guess I should have told Mila I was coming. But I wanted this to be a surprise.
“Hello, Mary . . . Yes.” He smiles. “I have a visitor down here for Mila Hart, but she has no visitors on the list.”
Can’t even have visitors? Her mother has gone too far.
“Yes, her boyfriend.” He looks at me. “Yes . . . of course.” He smiles again.
He looks up at me, and his smile drops. Fuck. His eyes are judging me, but I don’t give a shit what he sees. If I can’t get up there to see Mila, I will find another way.
“What’s your name, kid?”
I cross my arms over my chest and eye him down. “Roman Valentine.”
He repeats my name back to the person on the other end of the line. It better not be her mom—she would never agree to let me come up. She never approved of me when we were kids.
“Not a problem. Thanks again.” He hangs up the phone and looks up at me.
I can’t read his face as he keeps me waiting for a few moments longer.
“Okay, kid. Apparently, Mila forgot to put you on the list. She’s out right now, but the housekeeper, Mary, said you can come up and wait.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. She’s not there, but she will be, and she’s going to be so surprised when she sees me.
He looks me over once again and gives me a small smile. “Mila’s a splendid girl. Always sweet to me. You treat her right, you hear me? She needs all the support she can get right now.”
I nod, not knowing what to say in response.
He looks at my empty hands. “Do you have any bags with you?”
I shake my head.
“You’ve never been to New York before, have you?”
I raise my brow at him. Obviously, I look out of place wearing a tee when it’s been snowing out there.
“I can show you where to go if you want some warmer clothes.”
Is he trying to get rid of me? “I’m good,” I gruffly say as I walk over to the elevator, ignoring him as best I can.
“If you change your mind, I’ll be here till nine.”
I don’t reply, and the elevator doors glide open almost as soon as I press the call button. Inside, I select the floor labeled only PH. I’ve never been up that high before, and my stomach lurches on the ride up. I don’t know how people do this every day. I feel sick.
The doors don’t open right away, and I begin to panic that the elevator is broken. But then it beeps, and the doors slide apart.
Stepping out, I find myself in a huge open space and freeze. This place looks like an art gallery. It’s too perfect and impersonal for anyone to live here. There are white marble floors throughout, a huge, dark kitchen, and a black leather couch over a white rug in the living room. Sunlight streams in through floor-to-ceiling windows, and I can see the tops of skyscrapers from where I stand.
My stomach lurches at how high I am. Fuck. Do I have a thing about heights now?
“Hello, you must be the famous Roman. I’m Mary.”
I turn to find a middle-aged woman wearing a blue uniform dress looking up at me and clear my throat. “Yes.”
She grins even more. As I look around to see if anyone else is here, I feel her take my hand. I flinch away slightly, and she just pats my arm. “No one else is here, dear. Just you and me. But I’ve heard everything about you.”
I can’t help but smile at that. Mila’s been telling this woman all about me.
“She told me you’re the shy one who doesn’t say very much, but when you do, it’s always meaningful.”
I like that Mila’s taken the time to describe me to this woman. And she’s remembered. “It’s hard to get a word in when Mila’s around,” I reply.
Mary laughs, nodding her head. “Oh, well, we know the same Mila Hart.” She beams up at me as she pulls me toward the kitchen. She pats a stool and I take a seat. Rounding the counter, she turns her back to me and opens the refrigerator. “Would you like some orange juice? A sandwich?”
When she turns to look at me, my stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and she chuckles. I nod shyly at her now. I should have eaten more on the way here. Not all that junk.
“Let’s get you fed, then you can tell me all about yourself.” I purse my lips and she laughs again. “Just joking. I know you don’t talk much, and I’ve already heard everything about you.”
I raise my brow . . . how much has Mila told her?
“When Mila first came here years ago, she used to tell me all about her best friends back home. But she talked about you the most. I’m so glad she got to go back home and that everything worked out between you. She really needs you. Needs all of you.”
I wonder if she knows about us all . . . Hunter, Asher, and Jace. Or if she thinks they’re just her friends.
“I’m here to take her home. I’m not leaving without her.”
Mary places a sandwich and a glass of orange juice in front of me. Then she places her hand on top of mine. I don’t flinch away this time; I feel comfortable with her already. Mila obviously trusts her enough to tell her about me.
“Are the others coming?” She gives me a small smile.
I shake my head. “They were told to wait for her to come back.”
She cocks her brow. “But not you?”
I grunt but don’t answer.
She pats my hand. “Oh, I think you’ll be my favorite of her boyfriends.”
This time, my smile reaches my eyes. I take a bite of the sandwich and almost moan at how good it is.
I like her.
