The man’s mouth falls open and his all-business exterior vanishes. He slumps back in his chair and suddenly looks years older.
“What are you really asking?” he asks, his voice wary.
“I… my sister…” Breathing through my nostrils, I force out the rest of the words. “My sister died in the shooting, sir. Britt saw my invitation to the anniversary. I mean, there was a ten-year anniversary Saturday, and—”
“I know. My wife and I went.” The man drags his hands down his face. When he makes eye contact with me, this time he looks less CEO and more human. Like a man worried about his daughter. “Yes, Britton was there. She was the only survivor.”
Even though I suspected as much, hearing it confirmed is like someone reaching into my chest and pulverizing my heart.
Gasping, I bend over, putting my head between my legs. Long-suppressed tears overflow, dripping all over the fancy Persian rug. “Fuck,” I whisper. Pain like I’ve never felt lances every inch of my body, like a hundred thousand stab wounds opening at once.
Britt was there. With Kinsey.
“She doesn’t remember it,” the man says. I wipe my face the best I can and sit up, still overcome with the agony of the truth. “Britton suffered a gunshot wound to her head.” Her father closes his eyes and swallows. “She lost all hearing in her left ear, and suffered cognitive trauma—forgetting how to do the simple things. She was quite the little fighter though, and figured most of it out pretty quick, eating, tying her shoes, stuff like that… but it took months of therapy for her to walk again.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. What Britt went through. It’s so horrific, I can’t even imagine. She’s not just strong, she’s stronger than anyone I know. “I can’t find her. She started screaming when she saw the invitation. She… she took off. She’s not at her apartment and neither is her car. I was hoping she’d be here.”
“She’s not here,” her father says, his voice mirroring the despair in mine.
“Could she be with a friend?” I ask, desperate for any lead I can get.
He shakes his head. “Britton isn’t the same girl she was before the incident.” I grimace, but he continues. “She doesn’t trust easily. She’s scared all the time. She doesn’t have any friends I know of.” Her father sighs and stares out the large window that overlooks the front drive. “I’m proud of how far she’s come. Most people would have given up a long time ago, but Britt still has a long way to go.”
“I should leave,” I say, pulling up to my feet. “Thank you, sir.” I extend my hand, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He clasps it firmly. “Thank you for coming here. For caring about my daughter.” I turn to leave, but he stops me, handing me a card with his cell phone on it. “Luke.” I stare at the man, not sure what he means. “My name is Lucas Reeves, but you can call me Luke.”
Unable to manage a smile, I nod. “Thank you for your time, Luke.”
Back behind the wheel of my car, my mind is going a mile a minute as I weave through light traffic on my way back to my condo. I probably shouldn’t be driving as distracted as I am. I hate feeling helpless. I hate knowing what Britt went through. I hate that I can’t see her, hold her, tell her I’m here for her no matter what. If I could take all of her demons and add them to my own, I’d do it in a heartbeat. No one as good and sweet as Britt should have to suffer so much.
I pull into the parking garage beneath my condo, lean over the steering wheel, and allow myself to feel. And fuck, does it hurt.
13
Britt
Even though I’m lying down, my head is spinning. I know what’s happening to me. There’s no clock but I know it’s been at least twenty-four hours since I’ve had my seizure medication, possibly longer. I’m going through withdrawal.
“Max, please?” I beg for the hundredth time, too tired to even feel a sense of panic. My voice is raspy and ragged, too soft for him to hear. Max locked me in his bedroom while he’s doing god knows what out there. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here or where “here” is.
Has it been one day? Two? A week? Whenever Max puts the rag over my face, which I’ve decided is some sort of chloroform or ether, I wake up wrapped in his arms wanting to scream. The daylight showing through the curtain is fading. Time means nothing anymore. Max just keeps telling me I’ll eventually love him. Right now, I’m grateful he hasn’t touched me, sexually that is. I’m pretty sure even if he knocked me out, I’d wake up and know if something happened. The thought sends a dark ripple of fear across my skin.