[Summer's POV]
The apartment key nearly breaks off in the lock as I slam it open. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape, matching the frantic rhythm of my thoughts.
"Scott!" I scream, my voice bouncing off the empty walls. "Scotty, please!"
I race through our living room, scanning for any sign of him. The space feels wrong, hollow, abandoned. His keys aren't on the hook by the door. His laptop isn't on the coffee table. The security cameras blink their red eyes at me, silently recording my panic.
"Baby, please be here," I whisper, my voice cracking as I push open the bedroom door.
Our bed is still unmade from this morning, sheets tangled from where we'd made love before he left for work. Before everything fell apart. I run my hands over his pillow, still holding the indent of his head.
"SCOTT!" I scream again, louder this time, as if volume alone could summon him back to me.
The bathroom is empty. The kitchen is untouched. No note, no message, nothing but silence answering my desperate calls.
My legs give out beneath me, and I slide down against the wall, a sob tearing from my throat. The backpack full of drugs is still in Taevion's car, evidence of my betrayal. I'd left it there in my rush to find him, too frantic to think clearly.
"It wasn't what you think," I whisper to the empty apartment, tears streaming down my face. "I wasn't cheating on you again. I would never..."
My phone. I need my phone. I scramble to my feet, spotting it still on the couch where I'd left it this morning. With shaking fingers, I dial Scott's number, pressing the phone so hard against my ear it hurts.
His voicemail greeting cuts through my panic like a knife. "This is Scott. Leave a message."
"Scott!" I wail into the phone, my voice breaking as tears stream down my face. "Please, baby, it wasn't what it looked like! I swear I wasn't cheating on you again. I would never do that!"
My words tumble out between gasping sobs, barely coherent even to my own ears. I slide down the wall until I'm curled on the floor, clutching the phone like a lifeline.
"Taevion is dead, Scott. He's fucking dead! I got him killed for you!" My voice rises hysterically. "My brother… Jonah shot him. Right in front of me. I went there to get his stash, not to sleep with him. I wanted… I needed…"
A strangled sob cuts off my explanation. I can barely breathe through the panic crushing my chest.
"Please call me back. Please, Scotty. I love you so much. I did all this for us… For you! Everything was for you!"
The phone beeps, cutting me off. Message too long. I immediately redial, desperate to finish explaining, to make him understand.
Voicemail again.
"It's me. I just… I had Jonah kill him because he hurt you, hurt us. I got his drugs to keep you with me because I can't lose you again. Please, Scott. Please come home so I can explain. I'll do anything…"
The message cuts off again. I scream in frustration, hurling the phone across the room. It hits the wall but doesn't break.
I curl into myself, rocking back and forth as my mind races. Where would he go? Who would he turn to? Not his parents, he hasn't spoken to them in years.
I snatch my phone from the floor, my fingers flying over the screen as I tap out message after desperate message to Scott.
"Please baby I can explain"
"It's not what you think"
"I swear I wasn't cheating"
"Call me"
"Please"
"I'm begging you"
I send them rapid-fire, one after another, my vision blurred by tears. But something's wrong. The messages aren't showing as "delivered" like they normally would.
My stomach drops as realization hits me like a physical blow.
"NO!" I scream, hurling the phone against the couch cushions. "HE BLOCKED ME! HE FUCKING BLOCKED ME!"
I grab fistfuls of my hair, pulling until my scalp burns with pain. This can't be happening. Not after everything I've done to fix us, to make things right. He can't just cut me off completely.
I need to reach him, need to explain before his mind creates scenarios even worse than reality. But how? Who would he talk to? Who might know where he is?
I pace the living room frantically, my mind racing through possibilities. Diesel Steve from his NA meetings. His sponsor would know where he is, might even be sheltering him right now. But I don't have Steve's number, don't even know his last name.
What about that guy from work? TJ? The one who crashed our dinner with Jenna, who drank from Scott's glass. They seemed close. Would Scott go to him?
I grab my phone again, opening Facebook to search for him. Tyreese Jones. There are dozens of profiles, and I have no idea which one might be the right person.
And then a third option hits me with such force that I physically stagger back.
"Jenna," I whisper, the name turning to poison on my tongue. "That disgusting, filthy whore."
Of course. She's been circling Scott like a vulture since I came back, waiting for any opportunity to sink her claws into him. And now I've handed her the perfect chance.
"I'll kill her," I snarl, my vision going red around the edges. "I'll tear her fucking throat out."
I open our shared location app, the one Scott and I set up when I came back. My hands shake so badly I can barely navigate the interface. His location should be right there, a little blue dot on the map showing me exactly where to find him.
But the screen just shows my own location, blinking sadly in our empty apartment.
"No, no, no," I moan, refreshing the app over and over. "He turned it off!"
I collapse to my knees, my body giving out as reality crashes down on me. The silence of our apartment becomes a physical presence, crushing me beneath its weight.
"SCOTT!" I scream, the sound tearing from my throat like a wounded animal. My fists pound against the floor until my knuckles split open. "I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT THIS TIME! I FIXED EVERYTHING!"
My voice echoes back at me, mocking my desperation. The security cameras blink their accusatory red eyes as I spiral further into madness.
"I'LL KILL MYSELF IF YOU DON'T COME BACK! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? TO FIND ME DEAD ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR?"
My hands scrape against the cold tile as I force myself up, my rage crystallizing into something sharper, more focused. I won't be discarded again. I won't be abandoned.
"No," I whisper, the word barely audible at first. Then louder, with growing conviction. "No!"
I told him what would happen. I made it perfectly clear what I'd do if he ever left me. If Scott doesn't come back to me, I'll find him. I'll kill him. I'll kill us both.
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside me, startling in its clarity. It echoes off the walls of our empty apartment, high and brittle like breaking glass. If that's what it takes for us to be together forever, so be it.
"Death is just another kind of forever, isn't it?"
The laughter dies in my throat as I grab my phone again, scrolling through my contacts with trembling fingers. If Scott won't answer me, maybe he'll listen to someone else. Someone who can make him understand what's at stake.
I scan through my phone, stopping at Scott's NA group schedule. The meetings are all there, meticulously organized by days of the week and times.
I've memorized this schedule, could recite it in my sleep. He never misses a meeting, especially when he's stressed. That's where I'll find him.
"I'll stake out every single one if I have to," I whisper, a strange calm settling over me as I formulate my plan. "I know exactly where you'll be, Scotty."
I drag myself off the floor and move to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back at me, eyes red-rimmed and wild, mascara streaking down my cheeks in black rivers. I look insane. Unhinged.
I start wiping away the smeared makeup, my movements becoming more deliberate. "He has to go to meetings," I tell my reflection. "He's too committed to his sobriety to skip them, especially now."
The certainty of this knowledge steadies me. I have a plan. I have access. I can find him.
"I'll wait outside every meeting until he shows up," I continue, my voice stronger now. "I'll explain everything. Make him understand."
But what if he doesn't go to his meetings? What if he's so desperate to avoid me that he skips them entirely? The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me.
"No," I shake my head firmly, refusing to entertain that possibility. "He'll go. He has to."
Because if he doesn't, if I can't find him at the meetings where I know he should be, I honestly don't know what I'll do. I might have to do something really dangerous.