Elias stepped outside Nicky's apartment with fists still clenched and his chest on fire. The air hit him like a slap—cold, loud, unforgiving. He didn't realize how badly he was shaking until he saw the tremor in his hands.
He couldn't be in that apartment any longer. Not with Nicky broken and guilt-stricken and still not fully understanding what he'd done. Not after hearing the words "It just happened" like they didn't carry a blade.
He needed space. Air. Distance.
He lit a cigarette even though he'd quit two years ago. The first drag burned. The second helped him breathe.
Luis. Fucking Luis.
Elias pulled out his phone and stared at the contact for a long second. Then he hit call.
No answer.
He tried again.
Voicemail.
He let it ring a third time and finally left a message.
