Fall Into You

39

Anger flashes in her eyes. Her voice rises. “So what? You’re some kind of billionaire vigilante who crunches numbers during the day and fights crime by night?”

“I don’t fight crime. I solve problems.”

She throws her hands in the air. “Oh, for God’s sake, this is ridiculous.” She turns to Emiliano. “Are you listening to this lunatic?”

He turns in his chair and gazes at her, thoughtfully turning his gold crucifix over in his fingers. “Not everybody who does bad things looks like a bad person. Same as not everybody who looks good is good. Nothin’s black or white. Whole world’s just shades of gray, mami. We’re all on the spectrum.”

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 s**t 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 f**k. 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. “s**t. 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.