The image of his face, so pale and drawn, popped in my head again. I’d never seen him look like that in all the time I’d known him. Not much scared the man I loved. But the second I’d realized how labored his breaths had become, it had dawned on me that he wasn’t fucking around. For whatever reason, that apartment sent him into a tailspin. It had scared the shit out of me, and free rent or not, no place was worth seeing him like that.
So, I was on a mission to find something we could move into that would allow him the space he needed to breathe. Preferably before our belongings arrived in the truck next Thursday. There were a ton of options, but I had no idea where they were—good area or not. Maybe it was time I found a Realtor, someone who could navigate the city for us.
I kept walking until the dog park appeared in front of me. I saw Zeke first. He was on the far side of the park, throwing a ball while Tank hauled ass to retrieve it only to dutifully return and drop it at his feet before sitting and waiting for another round.
I found Case sitting on a bench in the sun, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands.
“Hey, babe. You okay?” I took a seat beside him and passed over the water bottle.
He glanced over at me and smiled. “Much better.” He took the water but didn’t open it. “Sorry about that. I’m not sure what came over me.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
I should’ve seen this coming. Somehow.
I nodded toward Zeke. “He say anything?”
“Nope. Probably tryin’ to figure out how to let me down easy. Who wants a masochist who’s claustrophobic?”
“For one, Zeke doesn’t let anyone down easy. And two, I’m not sure this is claustrophobia.” Although, I wasn’t sure what else it could be called.
Truth was, as far as I knew, Case had never had this sort of reaction to anything. While I had waited in line at the coffee shop, I’d thought about all the scenes he had done at the club. A time or two, a Dom would find it amusing to put Case in a cage. Not once had I seen him panic, even when a heavy padlock kept him from escaping.
So what was it about the apartment?
“What are you doing?” Case nodded toward my phone.
“Trying to find us another place to live.”
His back went ramrod straight and he dropped the water bottle. “No. Don’t do that. I just need some time to get used to it. I’m sure I’ll be fine after a while.”
“Nothing about that situation was fine,” I told him, picking up the water bottle and passing it back. “And I’m not about to let you suffer, so just sit there and breathe.”
I could tell he wanted to argue, but thankfully he didn’t. His attention shifted to Zeke and Tank.
I continued to skim through my phone, glancing at rentals. Nothing even remotely caught my attention. It wasn’t that money was an issue, because between the two of us, we made a decent living, and over the last year or so, I’d managed to save quite a bit. Working for Trent Ramsey had afforded us a comfortable lifestyle. I’d prefer to own a place, but not knowing the area, I wasn’t sure that was feasible at the moment. Even if that was the route we took, we would have to stay somewhere in the interim.
However, I also wasn’t sure I could take Case back up to the apartment and watch him fall apart again. Masochist or not, no one should suffer like that.
*
Half an hour later, we were back at the Chatter building, wandering through what would soon become the upscale restaurant. As of right now, it was laid out for the bank that had once inhabited the space. Tiled lobby area, counter where the tellers had worked, even the cheap carpet where the cubicles were, desks still there but empty. It looked nothing like it would once the conversion was complete; however, I could see the potential everywhere I looked.
As soon as I stepped into the space, I felt a strange sense of peace. As though this was where I belonged. I could imagine people filling the dining room while I worked away in the kitchen, producing the meals they would be consuming. Damn, I longed for that day. When people would come here because I was here. I envisioned them telling their family and friends to check it out because it was amazing.
I’d never imagined myself becoming an Emeril or Gordon Ramsay or even Bobby Flay. I simply wanted people to eat what I prepared because they enjoyed it. I wanted my restaurant to be on their list of top three. The place they wanted to go on a Friday or Saturday night for a romantic, elegant escape from their everyday. And yes, perhaps I wanted to hear my name on their lips when they mentioned the reason they came.
