Entwined With You

him I was imagining Gideon in his place.
    When I got home, I found Cary and Trey hanging out in the living room. They were eating torpedo sandwiches and watching a comedy show.
    “We’ve got plenty,” Trey said, pushing half of his sandwich toward me. “There’s beer in the fridge, too.”
    He was a great guy, with an awesome personality to match. And he loved my best friend. I looked at Cary and for a second, he let me see his confusion and pain. Then he hid it behind his bright, gorgeous smile. He patted the cushion next to him. “Come sit, baby girl.”
    “Sure,” I agreed, partly because I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone in my room with my thoughts driving me crazy. “Just let me take a shower first.”
    OnceI was freshly scrubbed and cozy in worn sweats, I joined the two men on the couch. I brooded over getting a “not found” error when I tried to track Gideon’s smartphone with the instructions he’d given me.
    I ended up sleeping in the living room, preferring the couch to a bed that might smell like my missing husband.
    I woke up to the smell of him anyway, and the feel of his arms around me as he lifted me. Weary, I rested my head against Gideon’s chest and listened to the sound of his heart beating strong and sure. He carried me to my bedroom.
    “Where have you been?” I muttered.
    “California.”
    I jolted. “What?”
    He shook his head. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
    “Gideon …”
    “In the morning, Eva,” he said sternly, putting me to bed and pressed a rough kiss to my forehead.
    I caught his wrist as he straightened. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
    “I haven’t slept in damn near two days.” There was an edge to his voice that set off alarms.
    Pushing onto my elbows, I tried to see his face in the semidarkness, but it was too hard and I was still trying to shrug off sleep. I could tell he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and that was about it. “So? Got a bed right here.”
    He heaved out an exasperated, weary breath. “Lie down. I’ll get my prescription.”
    It wasn’t until he’d been gone too long that I remembered he kept a bottle of his pills in my bathroom. He’d left for no other reason than to leave. I shoved the blankets off me and stumbled out of the room, making my way through my darkened living room to find my keys. I wentto Gideon’s apartment and let myself in, nearly tripping over a suitcase left carelessly by the door.
    He must have taken just enough time to drop it off before coming to me. And yet he hadn’t intended to spend the night in my bed. Why had he come? Just to see me sleep? To check up on me?
    Fuck. Would I ever understand him?
    I searched for him and found him sprawled facedown on the master bed, his head on my pillow and his clothes still on. His boots lay a few feet apart from each other at the end of the bed, as if he’d kicked them off in a rush, and his smartphone and wallet were tossed on the nightstand.
    The phone was irresistible.
    I picked it up, typed in
angel
as the password, and scrolled through it without shame. If he caught me doing it, I wouldn’t care. If he wasn’t going to give me answers, I had every right to search for them myself.
    The last thing I expected to find were so many pictures of me in his photo album. There were dozens: some of us together taken by paparazzi, others that he’d taken with his phone when I was unaware. Candid shots that afforded me the opportunity to see myself through his eyes.
    I stopped worrying. He loved me. Adored me. No man could take the pictures he did of me otherwise, with messy hair and no makeup, doing nothing more interesting than reading something or standing in front of an open refrigerator contemplating what I wanted. Pictures of me sleeping and eating and frowning in concentration … Boring, commonplace things.
    His phone log showed mostly calls placed between him and Angus, Raúl, or Scott. There were voice mails from Corinne I refused to torture myself by listening to, but I could see he hadn’t answered her or called her in a while. There were calls between him and business associates—a couple with Arnoldo, and several with his attorneys.
    And three calls exchanged between him and Deanna Johnson.
    Mygaze narrowed. Those ranged from several minutes long to a quarter of an hour.
    I checked his text messages and found the one he’d sent to Angus when we were at the hospital.
    I need her out of here.
    Sinking into the armchair in the