I pondered if the reason Jericho was having trouble sleeping had to do with me as I took my time in the shower. It might not have been super late, but the exhaustion clinging to my bones said otherwise. Whatever Jericho and I needed to talk about, I decided it would have to wait until morning.

Feeling refreshed, I stepped from the bathroom sometime later, wrapped in nothing but a towel, only to freeze in momentary terror when the shadows near my bedroom door moved. My heart didn’t stop trying to flee my chest until I finally recognized the tall, slim figure they belonged to.

“Jericho?”

I immediately tensed when those silver eyes seemed to look right through me. To add insult, he walked away without responding, and I frowned as I watched him go.

Something was wrong.

His slow steps were heavy as if he were in a trance. I called his name again when he reached the end of the hall and again received no response. As confusion and alarm battled each other, I debated alerting Houston or Loren.

Rich disappeared as he turned down another hallway, and the fear of leaving him alone decided for me.

I hurried after my drummer, closely trailing him down the long hallway until we reached the grand staircase leading to the first floor. Every so often, I’d call his name, but I never dared touch him, and I didn’t know why.

Still ignoring me, Jericho headed toward the arched doorway and the stairs that led to the tunnels underneath. I quietly followed him down, the stone steps rough and cold beneath my bare feet and my exposed skin chilled by the unrelenting draft. Together, we walked through one of the tunnels partially lit by sconces until we reached the practice room that doubled as their man cave. The rest of the tunnels led all over, but this was the sole entrance into the tower.

Wondering if he’d led me here purposely, I hesitated only a moment before following him inside. If he had, maybe it was to talk. I didn’t appreciate his creepy tactics, effective though they were. Words would have worked just fine.

Still so very confused, I stood warily by the door as Jericho walked deeper into the room.

He still hadn’t acknowledged me.

Instead, he stopped in the middle of the room, and I watched the back of his head turn as he looked around as if searching for something.

“Jericho,” I called, my tone firm and my patience gone.

Apprehension returned with the force of a Mack truck when he strode over to the side table next to the leather sofa, slid open the drawer, and pulled something out. I didn’t see what it was until he sat on the sofa with a pen in one hand and a set of papers that looked like they’d been folded and unfolded a hundred times clutched in the other.

His torpid gaze scanned them and the words printed on them. A moment later, Rich became agitated, gripping them hard enough to make them crinkle and ball up at one corner.

I forgot my unease as worry made my feet carry me closer to him. “Talk to me, Rich.”

My mind began to turn when he gave no reaction to my desperate plea. None. And then it all clicked into place.

He wasn’t ignoring me. He couldn’t hear me.

Because Jericho wasn’t even awake.

He was sleepwalking.

My suspicions were confirmed when, despite the anger he displayed only a moment ago, he calmly placed the papers on top of the black trunk they used as a coffee table, brought the pen to the material, and began writing. He made slow, lazy loops as he signed what I guessed was his name since he was done rather quickly.

Then…as if nothing had occurred…he stood from the sofa.

Jericho’s mind was still on autopilot when he ambled by me. Even though I was worried, I didn’t follow or call after him.

I watched him go.

The moment I was alone, my focus shifted to the papers, and I cautiously drifted closer.

One would think they were a bomb, and there were only ten seconds left to detonation. Quietly, I battled with the angel and the devil on my shoulders. I had no right to read what looked suspiciously like legal documents.

But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, the devil draped in red whispered in my ear.

I felt like I was on autopilot, too, when I lifted the papers from the table. The first thing I noticed was Jericho’s signature, messier than usual and crammed into the top corner of the page. But it wasn’t his name signed in the wrong place that had me frozen in horror and confusion. It was everything that came after.

It was the smell of roses.

It was the emotions that I should have felt but didn’t.

Because there was only sorrow.

The grief that gripped me wouldn’t allow me to feel anything else. It wouldn’t allow me denial or frustration as I read the words again.

I was already looking for a reason to forgive him.

So it didn’t allow me anger.

It didn’t allow me disgust or guilt or envy.

Because allowing those things would bring me hope that Jericho wasn’t lost to me forever and that…my rending heart could not do.

“Shit.” Groaning, I leaned over when my eyes opened on their own. I snatched my phone from the nightstand to check the time.

It was only nine thirty.

Why the fuck was I awake?

Tossing my phone back, I relaxed and tried to sleep again, but my mind wouldn’t stop sounding the alarm. I must have tried for ten minutes before giving up and rising out of bed. Thankfully, I’d worn pants to bed because I was on a mission when I stormed from my room.

I fully intended to ensure whichever of my friends chose to die at this ungodly hour went painfully. I didn’t slow my stride until I passed Rich’s room and saw him shuffling out with one eye open and his hair sticking up everywhere.

Houston then.

Tougher to maim, but I’d manage.

I heard Rich following me, only for us both to stop when we reached the stairs. Houston was walking down the short hallway that led to his bedroom, looking just as bewildered when he spotted us.

So…what the fuck?

I didn’t have an internal alarm for anyone else. There was no one I gave a shit about that much. No one else except—

I turned away from the stairs and started back the way I had come, back toward Braxton’s room, before my mind could even finish that thought. I felt Houston and Rich behind me as I knocked on her door for a minute straight with no answer. The entire time I was rationalizing that Braxton wasn’t a morning person either.

She’s probably sleeping.

I didn’t realize Houston had grown impatient and twisted the knob until my fist connected with air when the door swung open. The three of us stepped inside with matching frowns as we looked around. The bedding was rumpled but still made, which told me she hadn’t slept in it last night. The biggest clue that something was wrong, however, was all her missing shit.

Rich was the first to break free of the stupor Braxton had put us in, and I watched him walk over like a skittish kitten to the nightstand on the right side of the bed that Braxton preferred when we weren’t making her sleep in the middle.

I hadn’t even noticed one of our chef’s knives sticking out of the wooden surface handle up.

When Rich just stood there staring at the knife instead of telling us why Braxton murdered our furniture, I walked over with Houston on my heels.

“What’s up?” I asked him when I came to stand next to him. Rich was already pale as fuck, but right now, he looked like he’d either seen a ghost or was a ghost.

When he still didn’t say shit, I looked at the knife. And then I glanced at the papers pinned underneath, but it was my medallion she’d left as well and the words carved into the wood that held my attention.

Happy Anniversary.

“Happy anniversary?” I mused out loud. Reluctantly, I lifted my medallion from the table and slipped it inside my pocket rather than around my neck. I was annoyed at Braxton’s audacity to give it back like we were over, but I wasn’t entirely upset. The medallion wasn’t what I had in mind for her to wear for me anyway. Braxton deserved something that had meaning and she was going to get it.

“It’s September third,” Rich mumbled. They were his first words since waking up.

Why did that date sound so familiar?

He looked up, saw the question in my eyes, and said, “My wedding date.”

Shit.

My gaze was drawn back to the papers Braxton had skewered directly in the center with Rich’s signature in the top right corner for some reason. This time I paid attention long enough to notice what they were.

PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE

In the Matter of the Marriage or Registered Domestic Partnership of:

Jericho Noble (Petitioner)

and

Emily Noble (Respondent)

Date of marriage/domestic partnership: September 3, 2013

Place of marriage/domestic partnership: Multnomah County, Oregon

Date of petition for dissolution:

April 9, 2018

Irreconcilable differences between the parties have caused the irremediable breakdown of their marriage/domestic partnership.

I skipped over the rest of the legal jargon until I reached the part that painted a vivid picture of how thoroughly Rich had fucked us. It wasn’t enough for him to stick the knife into Braxton’s back, which she had categorically left behind to make her feelings clear.

No.

I blew out a breath.