**********
I went back inside Brogan's apartment and stood staring out the window at the city beyond for a good long while as I considered Stuart's demeanor and everything he had said.
I felt worried and sickened, scared and confused. There was something wrong with Stuart-either it was paranoia or perhaps drugs, maybe both-but was the paranoia based on something real? Had Brogan told me he paid Stuart's debts and not really done so for some nefarious reason? I shook my head at the very thought. No . . . no. I didn't believe that. I wouldn't. I trusted Brogan. It had been weeks since I'd been knifed, and the threat had been about Stuart. So, if no harm had come to him . . . although . . . why had Brogan lied about buying my family's old estate? He had bought it months ago and that day when we'd gone there together, I'd said something to him about how it had gone up for sale, and he could have bought it himself, and he'd . . . what had he done? He'd said he needed a guesthouse for Eileen. He'd redirected the conversation. But why?
I wanted to trust him so badly, but doubts were assaulting me left and right. Speaking of doubts, what was he really working on today? And why had he pawned me off on Fionn so many nights recently while he apparently worked late? I hadn't wanted to pry too much before today, suspected maybe Brogan did jobs he didn't want me involved in for safety's sake, and I was okay with that, but now I needed answers. I needed reassurance. To know the truth, I would have to look in his eyes and watch as he answered all my questions. That meant waiting until later.
The buzzer sounded from the street and I walked quickly to the door, giving the screen a precursory glance, seeing Daisy's face and buzzing her up.
I opened Brogan's apartment door and waited for the elevator in the vestibule, pacing as I did so, going over my worries again. I needed to put them aside though as soon as the elevator opened because Daisy needed me. What was taking so long?
Finally, the elevator dinged softly. Even before the doors slid completely open, I heard Daisy laughing with someone and frowned slightly. Was Brogan home already? Daisy stepped out of the elevator smiling, although her eyes were red and puffy. I smiled back and started toward her, when Courtney stepped out from behind. I halted, my smile slipping. Oh God. What now?
"Lydia," Daisy said, "this is Court-"
"Yes, I know who she is." I sighed. "Hello, Courtney. Brogan isn't here."
Courtney gave me a smile, somewhat cat-like, but it moved quickly into a small frown. "Oh dear. Well, I'd tell you to leave him a message, but it's somewhat personal in nature." She tapped one long red nail on her front tooth for a moment as if in thought as my heart began beating faster. What was she up to?
She looked at Daisy. "Oh Daisy darling, you've confided in me about your philandering husband, the prick." She put her hand on Daisy's shoulder. "And so I feel comfortable confiding in you. I had a pregnancy scare!" Her eyes widened as she turned her face to me. "I just wanted to let Brogan know there was no longer reason for concern. Until next time, I suppose." She laughed softly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Pregnancy scare? Next time?
"You're lying," I said flatly. There was no way Brogan was sleeping with this woman. Or was that where he'd been going some nights . . .
Daisy looked confused as her head moved from Courtney to me. Courtney walked toward me slowly, sizing me up as if she was about to devour me and wanted to make sure I'd satisfy her appetite.
"No," she said. "I'm not. Ask him yourself."
"I will," I said, lifting my chin and crossing my arms, biting down on my lip that insisted on shaking.
One side of her mouth tipped up in some strange version of a smile, and there was pity in her eyes. My guts twisted painfully, and it took everything in me not to run inside and slam the door on her, make this stop, start this whole day over. I'd woken in Brogan's arms; his hand had been cupping my breast possessively.
"He told me about you as he fucked me. Did he tell you that? He told me how he was going to ruin you. He told me he was going to enjoy it."
My stomach dropped and a small sound came from my throat. Oh God. I put my hand over my mouth, to stop the noise, or perhaps the vomit that threatened. Please make this stop. Blood was rushing in my ears and my skin felt hot and prickly.
Daisy moved quickly to my side, glaring at Courtney. "Wait, who the fuck are you?"
Courtney's eyes moved slowly away from me, halting on Daisy. She tilted her head. "I'm the woman Brogan is going to marry once he's done demolishing her completely," she said.
And that's when I did turn and run into Brogan's apartment, straight for the downstairs powder room where I vomited up my breakfast.
I distantly heard Daisy speaking harshly and then the slam of Brogan's door and Daisy's heels clicking on the floor as she called my name. I groaned and a second later Daisy was behind me, holding my hair away from my face as I spat into the bowl. I stood slowly and she helped me to the sink, meeting my eyes in the mirror, hers red and puffy, mine wide and shocked.
"Pack your stuff, honey," she said as she turned on the water. "I don't know what's going on, and you're going to tell me. But either way, I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here. We're going to get in my car, and I'm going to take you back to Greenwich. Fucking men," she muttered.
I blinked at her, my head and my heart aching. "Okay," I finally squeaked. I just needed space. I needed to get out of here and think. I couldn't do that in Brogan's apartment.
"He told me about you as he fucked me. Did he tell you that? He told me how he was going to ruin you. He told me he was going to enjoy it." Oh God, Brogan. Why?
I walked numbly upstairs and started putting my things into my travel bag, allowing the tears to fall as I packed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Brogan
"Lydia?" I called, moving the large bouquet of endless summer hydrangeas to my other hand and closing the door behind me.
I went into the kitchen and put the flowers on the counter as I called her name again. Where was she? I wanted to celebrate. It was done. Stuart's debt was paid for. Finished. Thank God. A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. And now . . . I finally felt hope that the mess I'd created was going to be over, and Lydia and I could really move forward. I even wondered if maybe she'd agree to move in with me. I planned to bring it up at dinner. It felt soon, but then again, it felt like seven years too late.
I went upstairs calling her name for the third time, a tiny fissure of worry opening inside me when again, she didn't respond and I didn't hear the water running. I didn't hear anything.
Her room, cleared of all her personal items, hit me like a fist to the gut. I looked around helplessly. She was gone? Why? My heart slammed against my ribs as fear slid down my spine. Was she in danger? I saw a piece of paper sitting on her dresser and rushed to it, grabbing it.
Brogan,
I'm leaving to stay with my friend Daisy. Please don't call me tonight. I'll contact you when I'm ready.
Lydia
I swallowed, reading the note a second time, trying to understand. Why? A sick hurt assaulted me. When I'd left this morning, everything had been fine. We'd made sleepy love before either of us were fully awake, and she'd kissed me and smiled as I'd left, telling me she'd see me later that evening. And now she was suddenly gone with no explanation? And her letter, it was so . . . terse.
I turned and stared blankly at the bed, remembering the night I'd revealed all my secrets to her. My eyes moved to the bedside table, blinking at it repeatedly as more sick hurt gripped my heart. The folder-my stupid, ridiculous folder-the thing that had once kept me going, it was gone. Lydia had taken it with her? I stumbled to the bed, my legs collapsing as I sat down on the edge, putting my head in my hands. Why, Lydia? I didn't understand. Why?
**********
I sat at my desk staring blankly at the stack of papers in front of me. After finding Lydia gone, I'd come to my office in the Bronx. I couldn't be at the apartment. God, would I ever be able to be at my own apartment without her? She'd told me not to call her, but I'd done so anyway, getting only her voicemail. I'd give her a couple of days. And then I'd go to Daisy's and demand she talk to me. She owed me an explanation about why she'd left and why she'd taken my folder. My stomach felt sour and my head hurt. I'd been going over every moment of our exchanges over the past few days for hours and still hadn't come up with an answer.