“I . . . yeah. But I can’t share that information. I told you that already.”
“It’s an emergency, Nate,” he growled. “Give me the fucking address!”
Something in Wells’s tone must have gotten through to the manager, because a moment later, the sound of computer keys started to click. Wells pressed even harder on the gas pedal, weaving his car in and out of traffic, ignoring the outraged honks sounding in his wake.
“Okay, here it is,” Nate came back, serious now. “Seven one one Malibu Bay Drive. Apartment six.”
“Text it to me, too,” Wells ordered, the address imprinting itself on his brain. “Thanks.”
He hung up the phone and shouted the location at the navigation screen, surprised when it came up despite his frantic tone. Six minutes. He’d be there in six minutes.
Still no blood sugar number for Josephine on the app.
What was he going to walk into?
His brain couldn’t even go there.
“Please, God, let her be okay.” The air conditioner had turned the sweat to ice on his skin, but he barely noticed. “I’ll be a nicer person. I’ll sell this car and give all the money to charity. I’ll never break another club. I’ll donate both of my kidneys. Yes, both. Take my soul, while you’re at it. Take everything. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Please.”
*
Josephine woke up to the sound of her apartment door being kicked in.
She jackknifed on the couch, screaming so loud that it could be heard clear to Orlando.
This was it. Her Dateline moment.
A robbery gone wrong. Or was it? questioned Keith Morrison.
Who would rob her, though? She had nothing of serious value in the apartment. Her clubs were kept in a locker at the golf course. Jewelry? Did they want the locket from JCPenney her mother had given Josephine at her graduation brunch? Because she would stab first and ask questions later, if they went anywhere near that locket—
Hold on.
Wakefulness collided with reality, bringing life back into focus.
She wasn’t being robbed. Not unless this shirtless, six-foot-two golfer with wild eyes had fallen on seriously desperate times.
“Wells?”
He didn’t move. Not right away. He simply continued to stare at her, chest heaving, the door behind him hanging off its hinges.
Finally, he held up his phone and pointed at it. “No dots.”
“What?”
He struggled through a swallow, his voice little more than a scrape. “There was an urgent low and then you just . . . went off the fucking map.” His breath sounded more like a wheeze. “And you wouldn’t answer your phone, Josephine. I thought . . . I thought you . . .”
At once, the situation clicked, the remaining sleep cobwebs dissipating.
The blood drained from her face.
“Oh Wells, I’m sorry.” Slowly, she stood. “I should have explained this to you.”
He dropped his phone with a loud bang, but didn’t seem to notice he’d done so.
“I had to change the sensor. It takes a while to warm up and connect again with the app, so . . . there is no number for a while.” He looked so shaken up, she was almost afraid to approach him. “It might have looked like I was crashing, but I was fine. I’m totally fine.”
Wells doubled over, hands propped on his knees, sides puffing in and out.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a chasm opening in the center of her chest. “I’m sorry that freaked you out. I fell asleep and my phone must have been silenced.”
“Okay.” He took several long, uneven breaths. “Just . . . let me get myself together.”
“Okay.” She shifted on her bare feet. “Would a hug help—”
“Yes,” Wells rasped, barreling toward her like a cruise missile. Josephine was scooped off the floor and enveloped in a bear hug that was so fierce, it made her eyes water. Wells buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply, gathering Josephine closer, closer, like he was trying to absorb her. “You and me not being together all the time is fucking stupid, Josephine,” he roared.
“You’re shouting in my ear.”
No apology was forthcoming. Not from this man.
And honestly, Josephine didn’t really need one. The way he was holding her like he was on the verge of breaking said more than words ever could. That was Wells, wasn’t it?
No sweet nothings. Only actions.
Josephine stared over his shoulder at the brutalized door, piling more and more facts together. “Did you drive all the way here from Miami?”