I went to his apartment with my heart in my throat and every worst-case scenario playing behind my eyes – Rhys at Richard's office, Rhys on the phone screaming, Rhys doing the thing he always did when the world pressed too hard, which was press back harder and worry about the wreckage later.
He opened the door before I knocked. Like he'd been standing there. Like he'd been waiting for me to show up ever since he'd hung up, knowing I would, because that's what we did – we crashed toward each other when everything else was falling apart, drawn together by the same gravity that was going to destroy us.
He looked calm. That was worse than anger. Rhys's calm was the eye of a hurricane – quiet at the centre, catastrophic at the edges.
"What else did he say."
"Rhys–"
"All of it, Naomi. What
