by K. E. Radke
“You okay?” she asks.
No. I examine her face, waiting for it to reveal the secret to my former thought. Like so many others before her, I imagine her face decaying slowly, caving into her skull. The rest of her body follows until she’s a pile of bones.
My fist tightens at my side when the fleeting thought angers me. The thought of her gone…
Her sole purpose is to help me kill the hunter. A set up by the one he saved. The one he took away from me. The one he fell in love with.
Why don’t I want her to go?
The answer to my sudden interest in her well-being evades me.
Jenissa’s scent pulls me from my thoughts. I can sense her presence and realize I’m blocking the doorway. Amelia follows me into the hall and I lead her to the garage, holding the door open. Keys jingle in my hand to unlock the Porsche 911. She stares at them puzzled and turns her hard glare to me. “Those are your keys?”
The memory of how we met flashes through my head and I smile sheepishly. “Is it stupid to carry them around, hoping I’ll find the owner?”
But of course, she already knows they belong to my car.
Suspicion and anger roll off her, clouding the allure affect I have over her. It’s been keeping her calm and distracted from the roil of emotions bound to hit her sooner or later. The what ifs will haunt her, and she’ll always question what happened while she blacked out.
She will even question me. And in this story, I’m the hero.
The truth shall set you free.
I blurt out, “I lied. I saw you and tried very hard to get your number. But Rica made it impossible for me to talk to you. Turns out, fate gave me a second chance. It wasn’t under the nicest circumstances and that guy’s lucky I couldn’t chase him down.” There’s anger in the last sentence.
Silence sits between us while I wait for her reaction. Between the drugs, the allure, and her drastic change in emotions, it’s an unstable concoction. She’s trying to find a hole in my story. Another lie. A reason to keep her distance.
She drops the defensive posture and cocks her head to the left. “That was an awful day to pick.”
A barely audible scoff reaches my ears. Amelia doesn’t notice it and gets in the car while I push the garage door opener and put on my shoes.
In the sliver of the door, right before it closes, I glimpse Jenissa with an exasperated expression and a hand on her hip.
Her words are only meant for my ears. “Caught in a lie by a human. Disgraceful.”
“Grace is for angels,” I reply as I saunter to the driver’s side, taking my time.
Jenissa’s musical laughter filters through the door.
Completely oblivious to Jenissa’s presence, Amelia leans back in the front seat with her eyes closed while I familiarize myself with the Porsche again. Driving isn’t a particular skill a vampire needs unless we’re going long distances. Even then, sometimes our speed is still faster with all the traffic. If we’re behind the wheel, it’s because we’re trying to blend in, or it’s a vehicle too nice to pass up.
On the road, I can feel dawn approaching. It’s like an itch on the surface of my skin I can’t scratch.
It doesn’t take long to get to the parking lot her Corolla is in. The beach house is in an excellent location. Nerves keep her from making idle chitchat, and her mind is preoccupied with the events that led to her waking up in a stranger’s house.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she doesn’t immediately get out of the car and nervously thrusts her phone at me. “I need your number if you want that free coffee.”
I give her Jenissa’s number because I don’t have one. The dead don’t need phones. And that’s who I spend all my time with.
“Unless you want to grab one now?” she blurts out.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to take her up on the offer. But the itch won’t go away, it spreads like a rash. Dawn is less than an hour away.
And I don’t want to let her go.
Chapter 8
Amelia
M y heart flutters around in my chest. And it breaks in half when he uses work as an excuse to ditch me. I’m trying so hard not to watch him drive off, but I can’t help myself and look back. He waves like he knows I have to have one last glimpse of him. His gorgeous smile makes me want to throw myself in the front of the Porsche to stop him from leaving.
It’s pathetic that I have to wait till he’s out of sight to get in my car. Without Gabriel, I suddenly feel vulnerable and launch myself inside my junker. I check the doors twice to make sure they’re all locked and find my hands shaking.
What happened to me last night?
My hands shake so bad, I wrap them around me and lock them under my arms to make them stop.
Did he drug me? How long was I alone with him? Where was Lyle?
The last thing I remember is dancing. Sherry was on stage. I don’t remember leaving the bar. I don’t remember walking to the beach. I don’t remember Gabriel. Or getting into his car and going inside his house.
My eyes shut and I focus on the missing events, but it’s like my memory has been wiped clean. Maybe it’s better that I don’t know. Gabriel said he saw me fall on the beach, and he scared the guy away before anything happened. But there’s time missing. Time I can’t account for.
A piece of my life is gone. There are so many what ifs I can’t keep them all straight. Each scenario ending in the worst possible outcome. One after another, crushing me until I’m hyperventilating and my hand slaps against my chest to remind me it needs oxygen.
My phone rings and brings me back to the present. I’m back inside my car. Back to the here and now. A deep breath fills my lungs, and my mom’s picture is on my screen.
I need to go home. Focus on the facts. I woke up with my clothes on. I wasn’t kidnapped. Or tied to a bed. I have all my organs. Feeling myself up, I make sure nothing hurts and I didn’t receive any fresh scars in the last few hours. The band on my underwear pops when I pull on it.
The niggling feeling that something’s not right won’t disappear.
I still feel violated. A taint on my skin that needs to be disinfected. But I can’t do it because I don’t have the right cleanser. It’s so hot in the car, I have to turn it on and stick my face right in front of the vents. The facts are repeated over and over again until my phone rings again.
Everything scary is pushed to the back of my mind, and I’m thinking decently for the first time since Gabriel left me. Even his name leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach. I’ll probably never hear from him again. Everything about him screams too good to be true. The kind of guy every woman covets.
I bet he turns heads wherever he goes. And he’d expect that kind of attention from me all the time. The imaginary attention sounds exhausting in our imaginary relationship. What will he think about my house if he picks me up? My house probably fits in his living room.
Everything is getting complicated and we’re not even dating.
But he wants to stick around in the future.
It takes me a moment to realize I’ve been on autopilot and thinking about Gabriel got me on the road. Beans and Doughnuts is on the way home, and I hop in the drive-thru lane. When the cashier gives me the iced coffee, I make sure Nora’s name is on it. If I’m going to lie, at least this will make it more believable.
The second I pull up to the house, my father bursts out the door and doesn’t let me park. He jumps in the car and says, “Drive.”
I twirl the coffee in the drink holder so Nora’s name can clearly be read, but he’s looking at the front door and repeats the command in a dire voice. “Drive!”
“To where?”
“Somewhere your mother won’t find us.”
We end up at a Mexican American restaurant where the food is anything but authentic. My dad appears scared and dips in his seat. “She will kill us if she finds us here. You don’t eat here, do you?”
“No. I know she hates this place because I applied and when I got hired, s
he said to get a job somewhere else.”
“Where were you last night?” he asks, more concerned than angry. “Mija, what happened?”
I stare at him across the table, wondering how much I should tell him. There are privileges I get that most Mexican’s won’t give their daughters. A trust I have with my father that most kids don’t have with either parent. My mom says it’s because I’m his favorite. His only daughter. And if she dies first, he knows I’ll take care of him no matter who I marry.
A special bond. So strong, I can do no wrong in his eyes.
“A customer threw food at me. Hot food. And then her drink followed.” There’s resignation in my voice and I lean back in my seat, not daring to peek in his direction.
Spanish obscenities roll off his tongue until he turns bright red and runs out of oxygen. He stares at the bruise around my wrist and I hide my hands under the table.
“Nora got her information. She told me to press charges for assault,” I say when he has to catch his breath. “I felt stupid giving the police officer my statement.” A lot of people had videos. He has plenty of proof.
“And you were with Nora all night? Nothing else happened?” He knows something else happened, otherwise I would have called. It’s coded in my DNA to check in with my parents. And he waits patiently on the edge of his seat for my confession.
“I might have gone to a bar and got a little drunk and fell asleep,” I admit, staring at the ceiling.
“Ay Mija,” the words come out in a sigh. My father understands the need to unwind after a hard day. “Next time you need a drink after work, humor me and have a drink with me. We won’t tell your mother.”
“Dad, I cannot drink with you. You are so embarrassing. You start singing and dancing. Every person you come across has to like your favorite soccer teams or you try to fight them!”
He waves his hands in the air, brushing off everything I said. “Everybody loves me. Now take me to IHop. I want fluffy pancakes. Don’t tell your mother, but her pancakes are terrible.”
***
Ever since I started my shift, I’ve been counting the hours until I get off. I’ve also been trying to write out the perfect text message. Each one has been deleted. Another text from my mother interrupts my thoughts on the perfect way to say hi. It’s a GIF of Jesus in prayer. The message below it says he’s always watching over you.
A way to make me feel guilty after my dad, and I got home and he interfered with her interrogation. It’s bound to happen—he’ll be at work when it does. And now she’s threatening me with Jesus.
Or she’s really worried. If there’s a hidden message, it’ll have to wait for me to figure it out tomorrow. Between no sleep and all the missing pieces of my memory, I only have enough energy to focus on waitressing. Sundays are hit or miss, and today has been steady enough to keep me busy.
In between rolling silverware, and filling all the salt and pepper shakers in my section before my shift is over, I pull out my phone and stare at the open message app. The words are already written. All I need to do is press send. I delete the whole thing and put my phone in my pocket. My hand hesitates long enough for me to pull it back out.
Amelia: Do you think you can walk me to my car again?
My heart pounds and I stick my phone back in my pocket. If he doesn’t answer, it’s not a big deal. You tried. And that’s all you can do. My butt cheek vibrates. I almost rip my pocket trying to get to my phone and deflate immediately. It’s a text from Sipsys, reminding me to use their buy one get one free coupon.
Rowan: You okay?
I read the message twice to make sure it’s not a mirage and can’t help grinning ear to ear. He answered. And in a timely manner.
Amelia: Weird stuff has been happening and it felt safer to ask than not ask
Rowan: When do you get off?
Amelia: In an hour
Rowan: I might be late
Amelia: If youre busy I can figure it out
Rowan: Its too late you already invited me. Im coming
Amelia: Thank you
Guilt plagues me when I scroll past Gabriel’s name. Why didn’t I ask him to meet me? If I owe anyone some of my free time, it’s him. Plus, I promised to take him out for coffee. Something I looked forward to until I had to leave the safety of my house and face the world again. On my porch where I forgot how to breathe, my first thought was, I wish Rowan was here.
My breath hitches every time I receive a text. Only to feel disappointment when it’s not Rowan. Something about him makes me believe I’ll be okay.
Thinking about Gabriel instantly makes me wonder how he looks underneath his clothes. I don’t understand his interest in me. Half-naked women are all over the Boulevard. His attention will waver, and I’ll just be another girl in Miami. A mistake. Someone he gets tired of playing with.
After being attacked twice, there’s only one person I think of in damsel in distress mode. And he’s agreed to come to my rescue again.
Lyle brings me fresh napkins to roll around the silverware. He can’t look me in the eye because he’s so ashamed for losing track of me. It would be easy to blame him for everything. But we both know he wasn’t my babysitter. I’m an adult. Someone drugged me. The only person to blame is the stranger that thought it was okay to take advantage of me. Having fun after a hard day at work is allowed.
The salt shaker trembles and I set it down. I flex my fingers and ball them into a fist a few times to steady my hand.
Rowan arrives five minutes after my shift is supposed to be over. He sits by the entrance and I can’t help but check on him every few minutes to make sure he’s still there. I’m impatiently waiting for my last table to pay the check, and they’re determined to take their precious time.
The second I’m free, I gather my purse and take off my apron. Why didn’t I bring another shirt to change into? The sun is setting when we exit the restaurant.
“Which way?” Rowan asks, putting on sunglasses. He’s in plaid shorts and a white button-up. It looks like I interrupted him at the beach. Only the towel around his neck is missing.
I point in the opposite direction of my car toward Sipsys. The sun is still up as we meander down the sidewalk, and I feel stupid for making him come. He probably thinks I’m a wimp.
“You’re pretty quiet,” he prods.
“I’m positive I interrupted something. And I don’t know if you’re here because you feel sorry for me,” I admit out loud. Please think before you speak. That’s all I ask.
“It’s okay to be scared after what you went through.”
“In broad daylight?” I nod to the sun.
“The sun is scary!” he dramatically exclaims and shields his face from its rays.
“Oh really,” I deadpan. “And what’s so scary about it?”
“Skin cancer. Humidity. Heatstroke. Armpit stains from sweat. It makes you smell.”
“Half of those aren’t the sun’s fault.” I can’t help smiling.
“I mean—if you want to get technical. Maybe I wanted to see you again.” He’s not embarrassed to admit it. There’s an easy tilt to his mouth.
Stopping off to the side of the walkway, I shade my eyes from the sun with my hand and watch it say farewell with pink and orange streamers. Rowan follows my gaze.
Since he’s not looking at me anymore, I say abruptly, “I lied.”
The smile falls from his face and confusion spreads across it. His eyes are on me again, but I refuse to meet them. “Lied about being scared?”
“No, I am scared. Weird shit has been happening. I lied about where I parked.”
He hooks a thumb in his pocket and guesses, “Oh, so you don’t want me to walk you to your car?”
“No.”
He tenses the moment I say the word and scans the area. Almost bumping into people, he takes two steps away from me. What is he doing? The hand he hooked on his pocket is behind his back. Although I can’t see it, I know he has a gun. The easygoing demeanor has transformed in
to a man on the defense. Did he see something I didn’t?
Ask him now or you’ll lose your nerve. “Do you like coffee?”
The question startles him from surveying the Boulevard again. “What?”
I point to Sipsys behind me. “I thought if I dragged you here, you’d have coffee with me.”
“You’re asking me out for coffee?” His hand reappears at his side without the gun.
“And then you have to walk me to my car. Because by then, it’ll be dark.” There’s a lift to his mouth after my demand. I’m mentally crossing my fingers for luck.
He opens the door for me. “After you.”
Most of the people inside are on laptops, ignoring the world around them. At the register, the brunette cashier with eyelashes longer than a giraffe’s ignores me and makes goo-goo eyes at Rowan. “What’ll it be?”
“Uh.” He looks at the menu above her and nods to me. “What’ll it be?” I order a Frappuccino and he orders the same.
“What’s the name you want on that handsome?” the cashier flirts.
He looks her straight in the eyes and gives her a sweet grin. “You can put Amelia’s coffee date. It won’t get mixed up with anyone else’s because I know I’m the only one.” She tries hard not to roll her eyes after he winks at her.
Giraffe eyes doesn’t look at me when I show her my coupon for buy one get one free. As soon as we move away from the counter he teases, “Is it buying me a coffee if you get one free?”
I shrug. Using a coupon is the smartest thing I’ve done all weekend. “It expires today.”
“Are you using me to get a free drink?” he asks, feigning suspicion.
“No, I’m bribing you to hang out with me a little longer with the free drink.” We saunter over to the end of the counter to wait for our frappuccinos.
Standing closer without actually touching me, he clarifies politely, “For future reference, you don’t have to bribe me.”
I suck air between my teeth in exaggerated disappointment and glance at him sideways with an are-you-sure-about-that look. “You say that, but if I’d led you to my car. You’d be gone, and I’d be on my way home.”
