She says flatly, “Great. I’ve got a nutjob rich dude on one hand and a gangster philosopher on the other.”
“Former gangster. But look at you, for example. Eres muy bonita, like a Barbie doll, pretty smile and perfect hair. But you got some claws on you, don’t you? Under all that pretty there’s a savage little beast who’d slit a man’s throat for hurting her friend and sleep just fine at night after.”
She slowly turns and looks at Shay. A strange look crosses her face. “I might not sleep fine. But I’d sleep.”
Emiliano’s cell rings. He answers it, listens, then disconnects. “Doc’s here. Should I send him in?”
Chelsea and I look at each other.
“It’s up to you.”
“If I say no?”
“We take her to the hospital.”
She stares at me for a long time, then exhales and nods. “Okay, boss man. We’ll do this your way. But if her condition worsens, she goes straight to the ER.”
“Agreed.”
Sitting next to Shay on the sofa, she rubs her arm gently. I motion for Emiliano to bring the doctor in. He leaves the office, closing the door behind him.
Her attention still on Shay, Chelsea speaks in a low voice.
“My little sister had a Dylan once. In college. Mr. Popularity, everyone thought he was so great.” She pauses to brush a strand of hair off Shay’s pale cheek. “But she didn’t have someone like you to look after her. She woke up the next morning bleeding, covered in bruises, with only a vague memory of the night before. Thank God she couldn’t remember everything. With the condition she was in, he brutalized her in ways she didn’t want to know.”
Her voice drops even further. “Of course, no one believed it wasn’t consensual. She was the bookish little scholarship girl. He was the star athlete. He wouldn’t have to force himself on someone like her, right? He could have his choice of girls. But the thing with guys like him and Dylan is that they don’t like choice. They like force. They don’t give options, they take them away, and they get off on it. So whatever you plan on doing to that piece of shit Dylan…”
She turns to look at me. Her eyes glitter with unshed tears.
“Make it hurt.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
After a moment, I say, “How’s your sister now? Did she make a full recovery?”
“Ashley killed herself on the anniversary of the assault.”
“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. She was eighteen years old. A kid. He stole her innocence, he stole her reputation, then he stole her whole life. Her whole future. And he walked. He’s married now. Has two girls of his own.”
She turns back to Shay. She takes her limp hand and tenderly squeezes it. Her voice hardens. “I’ll wait until they’re grown to pay him a visit.”
Silent, watchful, and moved, I stay until the doctor arrives and says Shay will recover in a few hours.
Then I head back to the office to look up Dylan’s address.
Shay
I wake up in bed in my room with a throbbing headache and a vague sense of doom hanging over me like thunderclouds.
It’s morning. Sunlight streams through the windows. Birds chirp in the tree outside. My mouth tastes like the final resting place of a dead rodent.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
Chelsea sits in the overstuffed chair next to my dresser. Her feet are bare. Her legs are tucked up beneath her. She has dark circles under her eyes, her lids are heavy with fatigue, and her shirt is wrinkled.
“Hey. What are you doing in that chair?”
“I slept here.”
“Why?”
She studies me for a moment. “What do you remember about last night?”
“Last night?” I furrow my brow, trying to remember. “I left work around six, I think. Got in the car and drove…”
I wait for it to come, but there’s nothing. My mind is blank.
Panic sets in.
I sit up too fast, and the room starts to spin. “Shit. Oh God. I feel awful. Did we go out? Did I have too much to drink? I can’t remember anything.”
Chelsea unfolds her legs and crosses to the bed. She sits on the edge of the mattress and squeezes my hand. This is when I realize I’m still dressed in the clothes I was wearing yesterday at work, and my panic spikes.
“You’re okay,” she says, her voice soothing. “You’re safe now.”
“The way you say that makes me really nervous. What happened?”
A floorboard creaks.
Cole appears in my bedroom doorway, looking serious and disheveled. His jaw is shadowed with scruff, his shirt is stained, and his hair is a mess. He looks as if he’s been rolling around in the woods fighting bears.
He’s never looked more handsome.
My mouth goes dry from fear.
“Why are you here? Did I do something wrong? Was there an accident? Why can’t I remember anything?”
Chelsea stands, leans over and kisses me on the forehead, then straightens.
“Cole will explain. I’m going home to get some sleep. Call me if you need me. And remember that I love you, no matter what.”
She turns and walks away, stopping briefly to share a wordless look with Cole. He rests his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then she walks out, leaving me confused and hyperventilating.
He takes the chair Chelsea vacated. He leans over, rests his forearms on his knees, clasps his hands together, and gazes silently at me.
Terror makes my voice high. “Oh my God, did I kill somebody or what?”
“No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Relief floods me. My frantic heartbeat slows. Then I notice a few more details about Cole’s appearance, and it surges again. “Why are your knuckles all scraped up? Is that blood on your shirt?”
“Look at me.”
When I meet his gaze, his eyes are dark. So dark, they look more black than blue.
“You met Chelsea at a Mexican restaurant after work last night. You drank a margarita that had been spiked with drugs.”
“Drugs? Oh God.”
“Take some deep breaths. You’re hyperventilating.”
I do as he orders, sitting there with my head pounding and my heart throbbing and a sick feeling saturating every part of me. “Someone drugged me? Who would do that?”
“Dylan.”
I’m not sure I heard him right. “Dylan from the office Dylan?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Security cameras recorded it.”
When he doesn’t offer more, I go from feeling sick to feeling stabby. “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to tell me more than five words at a time. Tell me the whole story, start to finish, and don’t leave anything out.”
He doesn’t move a muscle or change his tone. He gazes straight at me as he speaks.
“All right. Keep breathing. I saw you get into your car when you were leaving the office and decided to follow you. I did that because I’ve been obsessing over you since the night we spent together, and it got worse this past week. Then you signed the memo with my last name instead of yours, and I lost my mind. I tailed you in my car, and when you went inside the restaurant, I followed you in there too. I know the owner. He’s an old friend. We work together sometimes. I asked him to let me watch you on his security cameras. I want you to know that he didn’t like that idea, he didn’t approve, and he was right, but I made him do it anyway. I wanted to see you. I needed to see you, to see what you were doing and who you were with.”
He pauses. “You’re not breathing, Shay. Deep breaths.”
Stunned, I suck air into my lungs until he’s satisfied I’m not going to faint. I’m not so sure about that myself, but he starts talking again, so I focus.
“I owe you an apology for my behavior. I know better. I am better, but last night, I wasn’t. Stalking, spying, it’s inexcusable. I can’t tell you how ashamed I am for that. And for raising my voice to you, slamming doors…”
He closes his eyes and draws a slow breath. “You have my word I won’t do any of that again.”