Page 91 of Locke

I clear my throat, stiffen my spine and put on a blinding smile.“It’s absolutely fine,” I lie to my boss.

Patrick glances at his watch again.“Okay… but check with Janine to set aside time to talk about Donovan.”

“Will do,” I say and then he’s gone.

I huff out a breath.

I am not okay and I need to be okay.

“Home,” I mutter to myself.“Home, bath and wine.Then sleep.”

It’s a good plan.It’s a good step one to make myself okay.

I wave goodbye to Jimmy as I exit the lobby.It’s dark outside and the parking lot is mostly empty.The only stragglers left are the ones who are going to eat dinner at the Blue Line, but most of the players have finished their workouts by this time.

My car is in the third row and I reach into my bag for my keys.I think about dinner and wonder if it’s a good idea to just cook up some ramen.

“Livia.”

I stop and the hair rises on the back of my neck.

The sound comes from my left, from the narrow corridor between the facility wall and the equipment storage structure that runs along the south side of the lot.The shadow there is deep, but I don’t need to see past it.

I know that voice.

Grant steps out of the dark.He looks worse than when I saw him in LA.

Thinner, the hollows under his eyes deeper, and the way he’s holding himself is slightly off center.He’s in a jacket that has a food stain on the front lapel and he’s looking at me with hope in his eyes.

My blood goes cold and my hand tightens on my bag strap.

“What are you doing here?”It comes out even and I’m proud of that.

He takes one step toward me.I take one step back and he stops, registering it.“I’m not here to cause a problem.”

“You’re standing in a dark parking lot at my workplace, waiting for me, hundreds of miles from your home,” I say, anger creeping into my tone.“That’s a problem.”

“Oh, come on, Livvy.It’s not like that.I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.You won’t answer my texts.You won’t call.I just need to talk to you, Livia.That’s all this is.”

I’m really scared right now, but I’m also really pissed.It’s the same thing over and over again and why can’t he accept it?“Jesus, Grant… there is nothing to talk about.”

“That’s what you keep saying but you haven’t heard what I—”

“Grant,” I yell, every bit of patience gone.I keep my eyes on him and I’m running the math on the distance between me and my car or between me and the lobby.“I need you to leave right now, because if you don’t, I’m calling the police.”

His expression tells the story.The reasonable quality doesn’t disappear exactly, but it thins.

“You’re going to call the police,” he says, his tone utterly flat.“On me.”

“If you don’t leave—”

“Livia, I drove nine hundred miles—”

“I know.”I struggle to maintain calm, but I can’t find my footing between fury and fear.“I know you drove nine hundred miles and I’m telling you it doesn’t change anything and I need you to get back in your car and go.”

He takes another step toward me.

I take another step back.