Inside was a pond bordered by large stones covered in a fine, velvety moss. A small wooden seat was positioned beside a miniature maple tree, right at the perfect spot to look into the calm of the pond as a cherry blossom tree cast its shadow on the water.
Go right and he’d eventually reach the end of the garden outside the kitchen. There was a picnic table in that spot, along with two benches, under the spreading branches of a leafy green tree. Go left and, after several minutes, he’d find himself at a moss-covered wall—because this place was a haven, secret and contained.
Noah knew every corner of it… or he had. Kit had probably changed everything by now. She was always out there. She had a service that maintained the lawn out front and made sure the wooded area on her property was free of any damaged or dangerous trees, but the garden was hers.
“It gives me peace,” she’d told him once, her eyes shining and open. “I walk out there, put my hands in the earth, and the stress of the day just falls away.”
Shoving off the blanket tangled around his legs, Noah got out of bed. He was still wearing his boots, and it felt like his belt buckle had embedded itself in his gut. It made him laugh even as he winced, and the laugh had his head pounding like it had a live jackhammer buried in it.
“Shit.” Having collapsed back on the bed, he forced himself to get up, winced again. He smelled like a fucking distillery.
“Christ.” Stumbling into the bathroom, he threw some water on his face, then used one of Kit’s fluffy white towels to dry off. Not only did he smell like he’d bathed in whiskey, he looked like he’d been on a three-day bender. “Impressive, Noah.” He’d achieved that result in a single night. And Kit had seen him like this. Great. Just fucking great.
Leaving the bathroom, he walked out of the bedroom. “Kit?” he called out, gritting his teeth as his head pounded in time with his heartbeat.
All he heard was silence. The door to her bedroom—just down from his—was open. Looking in carefully, he saw her bed neatly made and piled with a ridiculous number of pillows. He’d once asked her what the point was when she only needed one for her head and she’d rolled her eyes. “Only a man would ask that question.”
He fucking missed her voice, her smile, her. That’s why he’d called her. It was coming back to him, flashes of what he’d done. He knew it would all eventually appear. That was his special curse: he could drink himself to oblivion, something he usually only ever did while alone inside his house, but he remembered everything. Sometimes it took a day before it all came back, but it always did.
He was already getting grainy, blurry images of Kit picking up a hypodermic, shock and horror on her face.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Walking into her sunny kitchen, he saw no sign of her. What he did see was a note propped up next to a large bottle of aspirin. He ignored the pills and picked up the note.
You’re probably still over the limit to drive, and in case you’re idiotic enough to think you’re not, I’m taking all the keys. Call my car service when you get up and they’ll take you home. I’m at the studio.
At the bottom was the phone number for the car company. He flipped it over in the hope she’d written something else, but that was all. A stabbing in his heart, he crushed the paper in his hand. He had to get the fuck out since it was clear Kit didn’t want him here. Not that he could blame her.
Having shoved the piece of paper in his pocket because he was pathetic and wanted something of hers, even if it was only a terse note, he thrust a hand through his hair and winced again at the smell of alcohol. He couldn’t go anywhere like this unless he wanted to attract attention, and that was the last thing he needed today.
Back when he and Kit had been friends, he’d left a few things in the closet in the spare bedroom. Wondering if there was a chance she hadn’t thrown it all out, he went back to the room and opened the closet.
It was empty.