Page 145 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Pretend that it never happened.

Pretend he isn’t gone.

Pretend that man on the balcony is the love of my life waiting for me after a long day.

Like I could walk out there right now, and Cal will just turn around, tell me about his day, and we will be us; together, alive.

The living room is shrouded in darkness, and the bottom of my vision is blurred by tears. I sniff and blink them away, squeezing my eyes shut briefly.

I suck in oxygen, realizing I had been holding my breath and then shakily push it back out. I only take two steps towards Nico’s shadowy figure on the balcony before I hear footsteps behind me.

Adrenaline rushes through my body, my mind jumping to the worst-case scenario.

The Volkovs.

Spinning, a hand flying up to my chest as my feet jump back, and my gaze finds the figure emerging from the hallway leading to the bedroom.

“Nico?” I manage to squeak his name out as he steps into the dim light from the hallway, hands raised, palms out to me and he is already talking before my mind can race.

“You promised to accept an explanation,” he says slowly, but fast at the same time.

He approaches me slowly, like a caged animal and I frown, leaning back. His hair is still perfectly in place, but his suit jacket is gone, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up.

My head is jerking towards the balcony, then back to Nico as he steps closer to me, palms still raised.

Confusion floods my veins, and the ringing from the explosion starts to invade my ears.

“Please. Max.” He reaches out, his hands soft on my arms. “Please stay.”

His eyes are begging. His expression is dire and serious, pleading.

Suddenly I am terrified and need to tell him, “Get off me, Nico, there’s someone on the balcony, Nicothere’s—”

I hear footsteps on the light wood floors behind me, but Nico doesn’t move as he glances over my shoulder.

If he doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for the gun I am absolutely sure he has tucked into the back of his pants, then he already knows there is another person here.

A Renzetti would never not be aware of who is in an otherwise empty house.

The room feels darker somehow, the air feels thicker, it’s harder to breathe.

I feel set up and scared.

“It’s okay, please, Max, please just, God—fuck—please,” he sighs, his expression is pained with his eyebrows pulled together as he moves his hands and places one in the middle of my back, gently turning me around.

The man from the balcony is walking slowly into the living room and looking straight ahead, but the shadows aren’t showing me anything but a white t-shirt.

All at once, all the oxygen is sucked from the room.

Nico’s hand tenses against my shoulders, holding me in place as my body stiffens and pushes back against him. He holds me in place, or holds me up, or—

“Max…”

The voice of a ghost.

“No.”

My voice is loud. It’s not a whisper. There’s no hesitation. It’s not a question. It doesn’t sound like my voice at all but it comes out again—