I can’t reason with that fear. I haven’t been able to since it happened. When I saw him this summer at Declan’s house, of course I dropped my glass. And I ran—like I was running for my life. My therapist says it’s normal, and time will heal me, some, at least.
I don’t have too many nightmares anymore, and I usually never look over my shoulder. I don’t feel fear out here in Colorado. Or I didn’t, back when my family and the Parsons had settled, and I thought Bryce was probably just hoping to forget about me.
Now he’s angry.
Now he thinks I’m out for vengeance.
I know how Bryce is. He used to think everyone was out to get him. Out to ruin him. Even me, at times. I should have known, after what happened to him on the beach with Liam… Of course he’s paranoid and angry. He feels betrayed, even though it’s not my fault, what happened. Even though I didn’t tell.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I jump. “Oh shit.”
When I see an unfamiliar number on the screen, my insides turn into a block of ice. My eyes devour the words as my fingers grip the phone.
‘Hi Lucy. It’s Dec Carnegie. Saw the news today. Wanted to check on you and offer my support. If you need anything…’
I let my breath out. My head throbs.
My fingertips are sweaty on the iPhone’s screen. ‘Thanks so much, Dec. I’m doing okay.’ Pregnant and paranoid. Got knocked up at your party. I grimace to myself, then add: ‘Thank you for asking. I hope you’re doing well.’
‘Can’t complain. Give me a yell if you need me.’
I send him the little emoticon with the smilie face blowing a kiss and set my phone down. God, I’ve got to chill out. Xanax or alcohol might have been in my toolbox for a similar circumstance recently, but not anymore.
I pass the next few hours baking chocolate chip cookies, pacing around the first floor of the house, and running a bath I can’t bring myself to take, because I don’t want to take my clothes off and sit naked, just waiting for something to happen.
I remember, as I stand there by the claw-footed tub, that my little info sheet from the OBGYN said hot baths are off-limits anyway, so I tell myself that’s why I don’t take a soak.
I know from the months after that night that my bedroom will just make me feel worse—more inept, more afraid, less steady—but I’m not sure where else to try to go to sleep. Dressed in loose cutoff sweatpants and a UGA t-shirt, sans bra and panties, I slip into my bed, set my phone in easy reach atop the duvet, and fold my hands over my lower belly.
Hi there, baby…
I stare up at the ceiling: high, so if there ever was a wildfire that brought smoke into this area, it would drift up rather than irritate the lungs of the guests.
I try to list all the reasons that I’m safe right now, from the home’s alarm system to the .22 in my nightstand drawer to the fact that Bryce wouldn’t want to risk his reputation further by messing with me. Maybe he’s only suing because his pride is hurt, from having his ass kicked.
My eyelids are finally sagging when I see a light. A millisecond later, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
SHIT.
I let it ring and ring and ring. Then at the last second, for reasons I don’t understand, I answer.
EIGHT Lucy
“Hello?”
In the wake of the panted word, silence smothers the line.
“Lucy?” The voice is deep and soft. Male.
“Who is this?” I ask sharply.
“Liam. Of Gael,” he adds after a silence.
Heat starts in my head and spreads all through my body. “Liam?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“In bed,” I clutch the phone, “but not sleeping.”
Oh my fucking hell, does he somehow KNOW? I feel dizzy as I push myself up on my elbow, blinking in the darkness of my room.
“It’s late, yeah?”
His accent. It’s so fucking sexy. Not exactly Scottish, but there’s a lilt of that with some words. Soaking up the sound of it snaps me out of my panic—at least a little.
“How late is it where you are?” I manage in a fairly normal tone.
I hear his smile when he says, “Early.” There’s another pause, after which he says, “I need tell you something, Lucy.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” His voice is low and dark: almost a whisper. “Are you alone?”
My chest tightens. “Why?”
“I want to tell you something,” he says in a soft, rough voice.
“Tell me.”
I hear him exhale. “I did something…impulsively. Something that I had to do. I wanted to. But I’m worried now…it’s brought you trouble.”
“What do you mean?” My heart pounds, even though I know exactly what he will say next.
“I assaulted Parsons. Jumped him. On the beach…after— That’s where I went that night.”
His voice is low and gentle, as if he’s telling me he cares for me, not that he nearly killed my ex.
“Why?” A whisper. It’s been on my mind for weeks now. Why would he do that?
“Because he deserved it.”
So he knows what happened. Some of it, at least. I wrap my arm around my stomach. “How do you know?”
“That part’s not important.”
“It was private.” I don’t mean to say those words, they just roll out. Because I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed. A part of me is angry that he knows. Angry at Bryce. Angry at me. I’m still angry it happened at all.
“Safe with me,” he murmurs. “What I hate is that he thinks you told me. And for that I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure what to say back. It’s true Bryce has to think I told Prince Liam what happened.
“I still— I don’t know. I just don’t understand…why. Do you like to fight or something?”
“All men like to fight, Lucy. I only do it when I have to.”
“And…with this?”
“I heard that he was there, at Dec’s.”
He asked around. That’s what he’s not saying. Prince Liam asked someone what happened between Bryce and me. And after that, “I couldn’t not,” he says. “And Lucy? I wasn’t alone. Sometimes violence is just.”
“Spoken like a true royal,” I blurt, then laugh, because I didn’t mean to say that. My big mouth got ahead of me.
I hear him chuckle. “Maybe. Men have been avenging beautiful women for millennia.”
I can’t find anything to say to that. My throat is tight and full. I rub my lips together.
“Let me know if you need anything, Lucy. I can be there in eight hours. I can have you here in that same time.”
My stomach flutters at his words, at the sincerity behind them. It makes me feel unmasked. Exposed somehow.
“You don’t need to feel responsible for this.” I chew my lip and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I’m glad I did what I did. It’s mine to be responsible for.”
Again, I don’t know how to feel or what to think. The way he acts—like he’s…invested. Like he cares. It’s hard for me to comprehend. It’s overwhelming. Nice. But it makes me want to keep my distance.
Silence fills the line.
“Lucy?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Would you like to come to Gael?”
“Why?” I choke.
“Why not?”
My eyes shut. “It’s across the ocean?”
Compared to my high, shaky voice, his sounds extra low when he asks, “Are you afraid of flying?”
“No. Not really.”
“Are you afraid of me?” I think I hear a smile in his voice.