“It’s complicated,” I whispered.
“It always is,” he replied kindly. “You’re fabulous out there, as usual. Keep it coming, Greta.”
“For you, always, Gemini.”
He gave me a small smile and ducked out.
I looked to the mirror.
Drew in a breath.
And then I went out to get a sparkling water and work the crowd.
Late the next morning, I hustled to the door as the doorbell sounded.
I opened it and stopped dead seeing a man standing there holding a huge vase filled with roses the extraordinary color of deep blue with creamy calla lilies and dreamy baby’s breath tucked tight amongst the azure petals.
“Greta Dare?” he asked.
“Uh . . . yeah,” I answered.
He shoved the flowers my way. “Delivery.”
I took them.
“Enjoy,” he muttered, turned and jogged to and down the steps of my porch.
I stared after him then slowly backed out of my door, closing it.
It felt like I wafted to the kitchen island where I set the flowers down, and it felt like it took a year for me to lift my hand to nab the small envelope poking out of the arrangement.
I slid my finger under the flap, holding my breath.
And I withdrew the card.
It was a plain white card that said two words and nothing else.
Dive under
I looked back at the arrangements and stared at it.
Those blue roses.
I’d never seen blue roses.
Dive under.
The lyrics to “Cold” hit me and I started trembling.
God, Hix could be hot and sweet and classy and . . . and a lot of things quoting two words of a song called “Cold.”
I snatched up my phone, engaged it, touched the screen until I got to where I was going.
Unblock this Caller.
“Shit, shit, damn, damn, shit, shit.”
He survived the surgery, but I’m sorry, Ms. Dare, he sustained significant head trauma during the accident. We’ve induced a coma until the swelling in his brain goes down and then we’ll have to see. However, it’s my sad duty to inform you that you should prepare. With the trauma he sustained, it’s my opinion that the young man you knew very well might not be the young man who wakes up.
I switched off my phone, it emitted its weird electronic click, and I threw it with a clatter on the island.
I walked out of the room.
But I did not throw away those flowers.
It was the next Saturday.
Which was, like it always was, the day after Friday.
It had been a home game for the Glossop Raiders.
A home game I did not take Andy to.
Also a home game I did not walk out of with Hix at my side.
I had not unblocked him.
I had also not received more flowers.
And he had not been sitting in the audience that night (or the night before) as I sang wearing a dress he’d seen on my laptop and had approved of with a look on his face that made me wish I’d had it right then so I could model it for him.
They had not found the drifter that killed Faith’s husband and things had settled in to the point that no one was even talking about that or Hope and Hixon anymore.
Now, Hixon and I were still a topic of conversation after I sang that song to him at the Dew (after which, for days, that was all anyone had to ask me about, except Lou, who just kept rolling her eyes at me, and I hadn’t even told her about the flowers).
I’d just arrived home from singing. It was late. I was tired. I loved my house but I was wishing for the first time since I got over Keith that I wasn’t coming home to it with it being dark and empty. And I was wondering for the seven-millionth time if I should not only unblock Hix but do it and text him that the flowers were beautiful and I had a hankering for chicken tenders from the Harlequin.
I let myself into my kitchen, automatically moving toward my island to throw my purse and keys there before I would go back to switch on the light and lock the door when someone grabbed me from behind.
My entire body went chill as I opened my mouth and screamed.
A hand clamped over it and then I was forced forward, fast and hard. The hand left my mouth and became a fist caught agonizingly in the back of my hair right before my face slammed into the edge of the counter of the island.
I grunted at the impact and blinked, shaking my head, feeling my limbs loosen as my brain struggled to stay conscious, and that fist in my hair pulled me up.
I felt the arm fixed around my middle and I heard a man say in my ear, “I just wanted to listen to you sing.”
I cried out as down I went. My face slamming full-frontal into the top of the island this time, I felt and heard a terrifying crunch, and I was yanked backed up.
“That’s all I wanted,” he ground into my ear. “I just wanted to listen to you sing. To tell you I like how you sing. To get close to the lips that make that sound. And who’re you? Who’re you to act like you mean something? Who’re you, but an aging lounge singer in a club in the middle of nowhere, acting like a diva? Acting like you matter.”
He started to take me down again but I twisted at the same time I brought my foot up and aimed as best I could.
I stomped it down. I was wearing high-heeled sandals, and it seemed my heel caught his toe because he made a high-pitched noise and his arm at my middle loosened.
I yanked viciously free of that hold, but he still had his fingers in my hair so I was reeled back when I tried to dash away. I whirled around, my neck bent to alleviate the pain of his hand still in my hair, but my eyes found him.
I clenched a fist, aiming up.
I planted it with everything I could muster in his throat. He made a foul gurgling noise and his fingers slipped out of my hair.
I was terrified out of my mind, acting on instinct that was a drive, its sole purpose being to incapacitate him, and I got close. I put my hands to his shadowy shoulders, seeing it was the creepy guy from the Dew Drop.
I lifted a knee with all my might and slammed it between his legs.
He emitted a tortured moan of agony and coasted down to his knees, falling to the side, and I vaguely heard a thunk that might have been his head hitting the leg of my island.
But just then I realized I still had my keys in my hand.
So I took off.
I bleeped the locks on my car as I flew across the kitchen to the door he’d left open and turned my ankle in my damned heels when my feet connected with the concrete of my driveway.
I didn’t go down and I didn’t waste time closing the door behind me. I kept right on sprinting so I hit the door of my car with too much momentum and the rest of my body collided with it.
I just pulled back, my hand slipped off the handle once, I caught it the next time, got it open, hauled myself in, closed the door, hit the locks, and then fumbled around turning on the car and putting it in reverse, actually hearing the tires squeal in the drive as I backed out.