Page 114 of My Fallen Saint

Chapter Thirty-Five

Igo first to his office, but when I ask to see him, it’s Tracy who comes down.

“I’m really sorry. He says to tell you he’s unavailable.”

I swallow, then nod. I’m not too surprised. He said his piece, and as far as he’s concerned, it’s over.

But he’s wrong.

“Can I talk to Tamra for a minute? Or Anna?”

She grimaces. “They’re both in Vegas. He sent them this morning to cover a meeting.” Her brow furrows, and she pulls me away from the reception desk. “I don’t know what’s going on. Normally, I’d think he was sick because, honestly, he doesn’t look good. But with that stuff in the papers about you two…”

She trails off, looking awkward. “Well, it’s none of my business, but I’m sorry he won’t talk to you. My guess is that he probably should. And I hope you guys can work it out.”

“Thanks,” I say. I don’t tell her that I’m determined that we will.

Since he won’t see me at work, he’s going to have to see me at his house. It’s presumptuous and bold and technically illegal, but these are desperate times, after all.

I make a few stops, first. The fact that he won’t see me at the office drives home how hard it’s going to be to convince him. But I’m going balls-out on this one, and if that means playing dirty, then that’s what I’m going to do.

Except Devlin has apparently anticipated me, because he’s changed the key code, a little fact that pisses me off, but at the same time gives me hope. Because there’s no reason in the world to change it unless he thinks I’ll come by. And the only reason he would think I’d come by is if some tiny part of him knows that I can forgive him.

It’s not much, but it’s a start.

I consider simply camping on his doorstep, but I have a feeling that if he drives up and sees me, that he’ll just drive off again.

Which means I have only one option, and I hope that it will work. I pull out my phone, find Tamra’s number, and hope that it doesn’t go to voicemail.

“Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?”

I sag with relief. “If you help me, I will be.” I hesitate, knowing I’m asking a lot. If he finds out—and of course he’ll find out—he could fire her. “He changed the code to his house. Can you give me the new one?”

I can practically hear her grin when she replies. “Ellie, I was hoping you’d ask.”

I tap it into my phone, thank her, then turn to the lock. Five-twelve-twelve-nine-five.

The lock whirs, and I sigh with relief, then step inside. I close the door behind me, then lean against the wood. It’s only a first step, but it feels so important.

Now, though, the work begins.

I take a step toward the living room, then pause, the numbers running through my head again. There’s something familiar about them. About the pattern. I try to think where I’ve seen it before, but nothing comes to mind, and I shake it off as I continue toward his living room, my overstuffed shopping bag in my hand.

I’m heading to the bedroom, because I know what I need to do. How to prove to him that I understand what being with him means, that I forgive him for Uncle Peter, and that I’m going to convince him to forgive himself.

Most of all, I’m going to tell him that I love him. And prove that I trust him.

And the first thing I intend to do is recreate the scene I’d set before the world spun out of control. Which is why I’ve bought all new candles to put around the room, along with a few other treats.

But when I reach his bedroom, I stop dead, not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

The room is exactly how I left it. Candles on every surface. Burned down a bit, yes, but still there. And the rose petals I’d scattered on the bedspread are undisturbed.

My heart flips, but it takes a moment for me to fully understand what this means. That he wants this too. That he’s not as closed off from me as he wants me to believe.

That there is, at the very least, a tiny crack through which I can slide to get into his thick skull that the only way to protect me is to be with me. Because if he’s not, I will surely die of a broken heart.

I wonder where he’s been sleeping if not in his bed, but that question is answered quickly enough when I go to the room where he’d put me up the night I learned about The Wolf. The sheets are mussed and there’s a book by the bed. He’s been sleeping here, and I wonder if it’s simply out of necessity or if that room reminds him of me.