Her voice tremored. "Brady's not here. He's never not here."
My brows rose.
"That's surprising," I admitted. The man was always on time. In fact, he was always early. "Did you call him?"
"Yes," she answered quickly. "I called him about ten times. He's not answering. And I know he didn't forget. He has impeccable timing and remembers everything that I ever say, most of the time using it against me at a later date."
I snorted.
"I'll go check on him, babe," I murmured. "Start your walk. If I find him, I'll send him your way."
"Okay, but if you need to get inside his house, he said there's a key right inside the garage underneath an old golf bag." She blew out a breath. "I don't even know what to do with myself. I feel lost."
"Go walk," I repeated. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
"Okay," she breathed. "I love you."
Then she was gone.
I, on the other hand, was finding it hard to breathe.
I love you.
Holy shit.
She'd never once said that to me. Not when I'd just made love to her. Not when I held her in my arms and pressed my lips against her head. Not when we were saying goodbye.
Never.
Then bam.
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and it took me a few long seconds to get my head unscrambled.
I love you.
Stupidly, I'd been waiting to say those same words to her, unsure if they'd be welcome at this point.
Now that she'd said them, I felt like an asshole for not telling her before now.
As I rode to Brady's place, I realized that I needed to apologize again. She wouldn't think that I needed to, but I did. I'd been holding myself back, even now, because I was too worried that she'd throw the words back in my face.
But she hadn't done that and I should've realized that she wouldn't.
Five minutes later, I pulled into the driveway behind Brady's truck, and turned off the engine.
Everything looked okay from here, even the blinds were open, meaning he was up.
Brows furrowing, I got off the bike, hung my helmet up, and started toward the door that would lead inside from the garage.
I knocked, and waited.
Nothing.
Thirty seconds later, I knocked again.
Nothing.
Worry starting to tighten in my gut, I turned around and walked toward the golf bag, finding the key exactly where she said I'd find it.
Holding the key at the ready, I walked back to the door and tried the knob to find it unlocked and turning in my hand.
Shoving the key into my pocket instead of returning it, I turned the knob fully and pushed the door open.
The minute the door was open, I could hear Butterfinger barking somewhere beyond, and I knocked again, impatient to collect my charge. "Brady! You're late, old man!"
That's when I heard a car pull up.
I backed back out of the house and looked, to find myself unsurprised to see Naomi idling at the curb.
She waved at me apologetically.
I rolled my eyes, turned back to look inside, and called his name again.
I didn't go in yet, though.
Though Brady may be old, he was still likely a good shot, and I didn't want to find my belly full of buckshot.
"Brady!" I shouted. "Yo! My woman is about to lose her shit!"
Still no answer. Butterfinger was going crazy somewhere beyond the kitchen that I could see.
I looked over my shoulder at Naomi who was staring at me through her rolled up window, and shrugged.
She grinned, then mouthed 'go!' to me.
I rolled my eyes, and waited for the shuffle of the man's footsteps, but they never came.
Only the barking, which was getting more and more insistent.
Realizing that something might really be wrong, I stepped over the threshold and stopped in the large, open kitchen area that led straight to the living room.
Although the house was older, it had a ton of potential, and could really become a great place to raise a family. Or had been, according to Brady. He'd raised five kids here, and I could see all the love displayed on the walls, shelves, and hearth.
The kitchen was painted a warm chestnut brown, and the décor obviously leaned more toward old country, which I happened to like.
The living room blended in seamlessly, sporting the same warm brown, and transitioned to a lighter beige about halfway across the room.
The walls were decorated with picture after picture, and in the middle of the fireplace was a large family portrait with seven people, five kids, all very young, and a smiling Brady with his arms around his wife and as many of his kids as he could reach.
He had a smile on a mile wide, and I grinned in reaction to his happiness.
"Brady!" I called again. "You in here?"