There had to be some mistake. Something had happened. Or maybe he thought I wanted to get married and that had spooked him. If I could just talk to him . . .

I jumped to my feet. I had a key to his apartment. Maybe he wasn’t gone yet.

Grabbing my keys and cell, I hurried to my car, not even stopping to put on shoes. I broke the speed limit on my way to Kade’s apartment, screeching into the parking garage and slamming the car into park. Seconds later, I was jamming my finger repeatedly on the elevator call button.

My hands shook as I unlocked Kade’s door. I pushed it open and stepped inside, flipping on a light switch.

The place looked exactly the same as it had hours earlier, as though Kade had just stepped out. Dishes from breakfast were still in the sink. But I could tell immediately that no one was there. The apartment held an emptiness that I could feel.

Hoping against hope, I ventured farther, back to the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets, blankets, and pillows where we’d left them when Kade and I had climbed from the cottony cocoon earlier. Making my feet move, I went to the closet. Kade’s clothes remained, hung neatly on wooden hangers.

Nothing gave any kind of an impression that Kade had left in a hurry, or permanently. Maybe Blane had been wrong, but then, where was Kade?

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I dialed him.

The number had been disconnected.

My legs wouldn’t hold me anymore and I sank onto the bed. Kade was gone. Really gone. And I knew it, deep down inside, in the place where you just know that the bad thing tearing your life apart is real, and isn’t going away.

Something broke inside me then, though I couldn’t say what it was. After everything, all that had happened, what I’d been through—Kade’s blood on my hands, almost losing him, kidnappings, beatings, too many close brushes with death. All of it had been for nothing.

I was alone and I was having a baby. It terrified me. How was I supposed to raise a child when I didn’t want to face another day?

Sitting with my back to the headboard, I pulled my knees into my chest. I was cold, though it was warm in Kade’s bedroom. I didn’t think, didn’t feel, and didn’t care. I stared at the wall, listening to the deafening silence of the apartment. Kade would come back. He had to. If he didn’t, for the first time in a young life already filled with too many bad things, I didn’t wonder how I’d go on—I wondered if I even wanted to.

My phone was buzzing. I opened my eyes, blinking blearily. Sunlight streamed in the room now. The phone lay on the floor a few feet from me. I vaguely remembered dropping it.

I stared at it until it stopped.

Voices.

I opened my eyes. The room was dark. My body ached from being in the same position for so long. I didn’t care. Then it hit me all over again. Kade was gone. A fresh wave of despair washed over me.

The voices grew closer, but I didn’t care enough to listen. The light flipped on and I winced in the sudden glare.

“Kathleen!”

A woman’s voice. Alisha’s, I thought.

“She’s in here!”

She sounded panicked, and I wanted to tell her that I was okay, but couldn’t summon the energy to speak.

Alisha dropped onto the bed beside me. “Kathleen, we’ve been searching all over for you. God, I was so worried—” She was fighting tears now.

A man’s torso suddenly appeared in my vision, then Alisha moved and he took her spot on the bed.

Blane.

The moment I saw him, tears started leaking from my eyes.

“He’s gone,” I whispered. “He left me. He left the baby. He just . . . left us.”

The look on Blane’s face was stark, then he pulled me close to his chest. “I know,” he said softly, his lips moving against my hair. “But I’ve got you.” He stood, lifting me in his arms. My head was buried against his neck, my tears wetting his skin, as I fisted a handful of his suit coat and held on.

“How did you find me?” I asked later. Blane had taken me to his house and placed me in his bed. I hadn’t protested.

“I stopped by Alisha’s after I left,” Blane said, “asked her to check on you in the morning, but you weren’t there. When you hadn’t come back by the afternoon and didn’t answer your cell, she finally called me.”

My face heated in embarrassment, and I looked away from Blane’s steady gaze. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean for anyone to worry.”

“It’s my fault,” Blane replied, taking my hand in his. “You were in shock and I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

I swallowed hard, tears swimming in my eyes when I looked back at him. “I hate feeling weak,” I whispered.

Pain flashed across his face, then he was moving to lie down beside me and gathering me in his arms.

“You are not weak,” he said fiercely. “Don’t ever think that.”

Blane’s fingers combed lightly through my hair as he cradled me close. I breathed in the warm, familiar scent of him, easing into the strength of his body. I could hide away here, in the circle of his arms, and the pain was a little easier to take.

“Thank you.” My words were a small breath of sound, but I knew Blane heard them.

“I don’t need to be thanked,” he said softly.

I gripped him tighter, my throat closing. We stayed that way for a long time, until I drifted to sleep.

It was the middle of the night when I woke again. Mechanically, I rose and went into the bathroom. My mind started spinning and I had to force myself not to think. I didn’t want to think. If I did, I would feel, and I couldn’t handle the pain. Not yet.

I stepped into the shower, standing under the hot spray of water, and let it wash over me. I scrubbed, rinsing my hair until the strands squeaked. Drying off, I found a toothbrush and brushed my teeth, then wrapped myself in Blane’s rarely used robe that hung on the back of the door.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I could see Blane was sitting on the side of the bed. He’d changed into pajama pants, his shirt discarded. The soft glow of the bathroom light illuminated him when he glanced up at me. He stood as I approached.

“Feel better?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You didn’t brush your hair,” he said.

I shrugged again, not caring about my tangled hair.

Blane moved past me into the bathroom, returning in a moment with a brush in his hand.

“Sit down,” he said.

I climbed into the bed, sitting cross-legged while he knelt behind me. In a moment, I felt the bristles gently pull through my wet hair.

It was a scene oddly reminiscent of that night so many months ago, when Blane had brushed my hair while we sat in my bed. He was just as gentle now as he had been then, easing through the tangles he encountered.

The huge gaping hole inside my chest didn’t seem like it was going to consume me, not with Blane there.

When he was finished, he set the brush aside and helped me under the covers, tucking them around my body, then he turned away.

I caught at his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll sleep in the other room,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze.

Disappointment flooded me, but I understood. What, was I going to ask him to sleep in his own bed with me when I’d rejected him for his brother? Was I that selfish?

I bit my lip to keep from saying anything and just nodded, lowering my hand.

Blane seemed to hesitate. “Did you want me to stay?”

Our eyes met. “Only if you want to,” I said.

He gave a small nod, then went and switched off the bathroom light, plunging the room back into darkness. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but Blane didn’t seem to have a problem navigating his way back to the bed. He pulled back the covers and the bed dipped from his weight.