Page 82 of Romeo

I head back out into the bedroom and start checking through his drawers.Aside from normal notes he left for himself, there’s nothing.

The books loom ahead, so I move toward them, running my fingers over the leather originals he’d started collecting.He had one for every movie he acted in.They were his gift to himself each time a project was completed.

Maybe.

I open each and every one of them.One hundred and thirty-two of them to be precise, each one of them inscribed with the movie he’d made and the date it released.

But other than that—nothing.

Someone knocks on the door.“You can come in.”

It opens, and Riley steps in.“You okay?”

“Yeah.”Hands on my hips, I face him.“I thought that maybe, if he left something in the theater, he’d hidden something else in here.I know you looked, but I just thought that maybe you missed something.”

“I might have,” he says.“I was thorough, but it’s possible he left something in a place only you could find it.”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

Just the fact that he doesn’t dismiss me because he already checked the room means the world to me.“Care to help me look?”

“Absolutely.Where do we start?”

“I already looked in the closet.There’s nothing there.”I turn around the room.“I checked the drawers, and nothing.”

“Don’t think logically,” Riley says.“Focus on things that mean something to you.He hid the folder down in the theater room, under the chocolate.You said that movies were something you both enjoyed, just like you both loved the chocolate.”

“Right.”

“So that was hidden specifically foryou.If there’s something else, he likely would have done the same.”

I take a deep breath.“Okay.Well, we both loved books.”

“Then we start there.Any particular titles you loved?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” I reply with a soft smile.

Riley laughs.“Fair enough.Then let’s just start looking.”

“Did you check any of these?”I ask.“So we don’t double-check anything.”

“The leather-bound ones,” he says.“And the bottom half of the shelves.I meant to come back and check the rest but?—”

“Things got crazy.”

He chuckles.“Things got crazy.”Riley raises a hand to run through his hair, and my gaze catches on his scraped knuckles.Before I can think too much on it, I step forward and take his hand in mine.

“This looks like it hurts.”The broken skin has scabbed over, and he’s washed most of the fingerprint ink from his hands, though they’re likely going to be stained for a few days at least.

“I’ve had worse.”

I remember seeing the scars marring the muscled expanse of his hair-dusted chest.The bullet hole that nearly stole his life.Keeping his hand in mine, I raise my gaze to his.“Thank you, Riley.”

“For what?”All humor is gone from his expression, and it’s replaced with a tension I know is likely mirrored in mine.The air around us grows heavy, and my lungs struggle to draw breath.

“Fighting for me,” I reply softly.

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