The pretty lawyer almost looks sad for me. She shakes her head once. “No. They didn’t.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVERY
There’s nothing to do but drift.
In and out. Away and back. I’m always coming back to the same place—this hospital bed. Nathan brings in a plush blanket, salvaged from somewhere in the corner of my closet, and puts it over the foot of the bed. He gives me a decisive nod. “Better,” he says.
It’s not better.
The only way it could be better is if Rome was next to me. If they’d roll a bed right up next to mine and let me see him whenever I wanted. That’s not going to happen, because everyone here thinks he’s a murderer. A rapist. Every terrible thing they could imagine. And nobody fucking believes me when I tell them he’s not. That he’s innocent in all of this. Or at least he was innocent down there. I can’t speak for the rest of his life. I wouldn’t know, because I took myself neatly out of it after that trial finished, and he went to prison.
I told Will I was fine, but the hours wear on, making cracks in my resolve, allowing the pain to seep back in. Even a small dose of opiate painkillers could fuck me up, so those are out of the question. My wrist throbs. My belly burns. I’m skewered from the inside out. The doctors do their best to manage it without opiates, jabbing me with local anesthetic on the worst of my painful spots. The silver lining is that the rape kit is over, and I don’t have to do that again.
A soft knock at the door pulls me out of a half-doze. It’s hard to fall asleep without meds, but it’s hard to stay awake, too. Who the hell would want to confront all this pain head-on? I don’t. But I have to wait for the evening to get the next round of medications pumped through my IV. Then I can float blissfully off for a few hours and momentarily forget that all this happened.
Next thing I know someone’s blocking out the afternoon light from the window. Must not have woken up fast enough. The light catches in his light-brown hair and my heart catches. I don’t know who I was before all this. I can remember feeling that hot, passionate love for Will, but now...I can’t access it, can’t hold it in my hands like a real thing. Now, he’s like a fond memory of something that once was, something long ago that’s been wrapped in paper and carefully placed in a box on a high shelf.
He’s still a welcome sight, though.
“Hey.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Will looks sheepish and keeps glancing at the door. The cops don’t want him in here, Elliot especially. I don’t get it. They won’t take my word about anything—not Rome, not Will, nobody. My pulse kicks up from the anger and it immediately shows on the monitor next to my bed. Keep it under control, Avery. Don’t lose your shit now.
“You didn’t.” I shift on the bed, trying to get myself into a semblance of a comfortable position. “Just resting my eyes.”
“That cop must be getting a fresh coffee or something. It’s easier to get in here when I don’t have to get interrogated at the door.”
“Is Nathan out there? My uncle?” It’s strange that nobody is in Will’s way. It’s as frustrating for him as it is for me. My aunt and uncle have been here constantly, making trips down the hall from the waiting room. Nathan is in and out. And none of them will tell me what I need to know.
“Nobody’s out there.” Will shrugs. He checks one more time, then drops into the chair closest to the bed. “Listen, Aves, I brought you something.”
“You know I can’t have drugs,” I scold, and he cracks a smile that’s gone before I can blink.
“Damn, there goes that idea,” he jokes. He leans back a little, a casual movement, and slips something out of his pocket. The hard corner of it presses against my leg under the sheets. It hurts to move my arm and put my hand out to meet it, but it’s worth it.
It’s a phone. More than that, it’s a lifeline to the outside world. For a moment, I’m dizzy on the first taste of freedom I’ve tasted in God knows how long.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Will.”
He takes my hand in his and moves it out onto the blanket, then rubs the pad of his thumb over my knuckles. And that’s when I remember. That’s when my heart bursts with the love that I have for Will. How can you love two people at the same time? I don’t understand, and yet, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve always loved another man for as long as I’ve loved Will. I never stopped loving Rome, not in all the years he was in prison, not in all the years I hid behind my family and my safe boyfriend and my scripted Capulet fate.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him.
He gives me a courtesy laugh. “They’re like buzzards, Aves. Circling. Waiting for me to...I don’t know. Admit that I’m behind all of this.” Anger crackles through his eyes like lightning. “I’m trying to find out as much as I can for you. And for me, let’s be honest.”
“This is good. This is enough.” With a phone, I can finally have access to the outside world. It makes no sense to me that my own family would want to cut me off, but they have. And now that’s over. I’ve got the tiniest shred of power back over my own life.
“Everything all right in here?” That booming voice makes me want to vomit again.
Joshua.
Will takes his hand from mine, quick as can be, and stands up. “She’s tired. I’m stopping her from resting.”
“You bastard,” Joshua says jovially, and to my utter shock, Will doesn’t lay him out flat. It would be tough, because Joshua’s bigger, but Will is a black belt in karate. Instead, Will just smirks at the joke.
“See you later, Avery.”
“Bye.” I make myself sound as weak as possible. I don’t want Joshua in here. I do not want him to take Will’s seat next to the bed and stroke my hand and pretend I mean anything to him other than the fattest paycheck of his life. Will tried to give me an out from Joshua. Please, please, let me take it. For good measure, I close my eyes and let out a long, distressed sigh. I wriggle my feet underneath the blanket Nathan brought me and stretch out, turning my head to the side. Believe this. If they won’t believe anything else I say, they can at least give me the benefit of the doubt on sleep.
Joshua clears his throat. I fight not to roll my eyes as I open them, fixing him with a blank stare. “What are you doing here?” I ask him. I think about the embryos on ice, my embryos, fathered by him, and I want to leap out of this bed and scratch his eyes out. He didn’t know? Bullshit. It was probably his fucking idea.
Joshua stands at the foot of my bed. He can’t touch me from there. Good. His smile is full of pity as he takes in my injuries. I must look fucking dreadful. I haven’t glimpsed at myself in a mirror yet; I’m still pissing into a catheter bag attached to the bed, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t even stood up since I got here.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, his baritone voice too much for my ears. He steps closer, reaching for my hand as he produces something sparkly out of his pocket. “And I wanted to get this back to you.”
I recoil violently before his fingers can brush mine, my eyes fixed on the ring in his grasp. My engagement ring. The one I was relieved of in those first hellish moments in that dungeon. My vision tunnels as my heart hammers in my chest. “Where did you get that?” I whisper, sucking in a panicked breath as everything floods back in. Waking up tied to a chair. Having my dress cut off me, then my underwear. The cut on my thigh–the first of many. The way my captor kissed me down there so intimately that for a split second, it actually felt shamefully good. And then, finally, the way he tugged my engagement ring off my finger, never to be seen again. Until now.
Joshua realizes immediately that he’s fucked up. He places the ring on the bedside table and holds his hands up as if surrendering. “The police returned it to me. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about what seeing it would do to you.”
I clamp down the panic rising in my chest like a doctor might clamp down a bleeding artery. The beeping of the heart monitor slows down. I fix my eyes on the end of the bed and breathe until I’m dead
inside again. Better.
“Take it home,” I say icily, refusing to make eye contact. “Don’t come back here.”
“Avery–”
“You didn’t come here to make sure I was okay,” I seethe. “You came here because it’s expected. You came here because you wanted to check on your investment.”
“I came here because you’re my fiancée,” Joshua says weakly. Truthfully, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him waver. I turn my ruined face toward him and let every ounce of bitter rage inside me show in my expression. I fix my glare on him, and he takes a step back, blinking suddenly as if he’s being blinded by the sun.
“You are nothing to me,” I say coldly. “You’re a strange man who showed up in my life as a business transaction. You’re one step away from a fucking pedophile grooming his victim. You’re the reason my sister drowned herself. You are the reason I will never be free to marry a man I actually love.”
His jaw drops slightly. Shock. I’ve managed to shock the smoothest salesman I’ve ever met. I would be lying if I said that some dark part of me wasn’t turned on by how easy it is to ruffle him. I smile cruelly, and I can only imagine how ugly I must appear to him at this moment.
“You came here to reassure yourself, Joshua,” I say, my every word dripping with poison. “But I’m not going to reassure you. I’m giving you an out. A full refund on these damaged goods. Take that ring and throw it off the Golden Gate Bridge for all I care. If you leave it here, that’s what I’ll be doing as soon as I get out of this bed.”
“Avery,” he says, concern etched on his expression. “You’re not yourself. You’ve been through a terrible thing. Bringing the ring was a mistake, I get that now.” He snatches it off the nightstand and pockets it hastily, running his hand through his immaculately-groomed hair as if the answers to this conversation are somewhere in his styling products. “I’ll let you get some rest. We can talk more when you come home.”
When you come home? That’s an odd way of saying it.
“Do you think–” I bite back a laugh, “–Do you think I’m coming home with you?”
The prick actually looks offended. “Avery, you’re going to be my wife soon. It’s my duty to look after you. I’ve made all the arrangements. Your things will be packed, and you’ll come home with me after they discharge you.”
I laugh. It hurts my broken ribs, my wounds, but fuck it, it’s worth it. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Get out before I call that cop in and have you thrown out on your ass,” I spit. “You are nothing to me, do you understand? Nothing. Don’t come back here.”
I haven’t noticed my rising voice, but by the time I finish my last sentence, I’m practically screaming. My throat aches from the tube they had down there, but I don’t care. The dull pain just joins the rest of the agony in my body. The door to my hospital room bursts open, Nathan appearing like some kind of dark avenging angel. Joshua is, for the first time I’ve ever seen, utterly dumbstruck. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again as Nathan pushes past him, creating a physical buffer with his body between me and Joshua. It offers immediate relief.
“Just go, man,” Nathan says. “Let her get some rest.”
I can’t see Joshua past Nathan’s towering presence, but I hear the soles of his leather shoes against the linoleum floor as he stalks out of the room. He closes the door so hard the door frame shudders, but I don’t care. He’s gone. I let my head drop back into the pillows, utterly boneless from exhaustion, tears flowing from my eyes and stinging my cheeks.
“Don’t let him back in here. I don’t want him here,” I beg. Nathan’s dark eyes cloud over with concern as he nods tightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course. They’ve got a cop posted outside your door 24/7. I’ll go tell him right now.”
I catch his arm as he turns to leave. “Don’t go,” I plead. “Please. I don’t want to be alone. It makes me feel like I could wake up back there again.” I gulp in a sharp breath, my words clumsy and stilted. “Can you stay awhile?”
Nathan nods, his frown transforming into a sad smile just for me. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
He pulls the chair up beside my bed, offering an outstretched palm tentatively. I take it, squeeze it to make sure he’s real, grateful for the warm familiarity.
“Try to get some sleep. You’re safe now,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand gently. A single tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t feel safe, I want to whisper. But I don’t. I don’t say anything. I just close my eyes and try my hardest not to sink back into the living nightmare of being in that room again. Nathan’s hand helps a little, anchoring me to the present. Reminding me that I am in a safe place, even if I don’t really feel safe yet.
There’s no sound from the door or the hall for so long that I almost drift off to the whir and beeps of all the machines. The sun sinks lower outside the window, bathing everything in a golden glow. It’s almost peaceful, the way it warms my face. When I finally open my eyes, Nathan is gone.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AVERY
After two weeks of bleach-stinking hospital sheets and too-mild painkillers, the doctors set me free. Not exactly free, I guess. They hand me over to the care and custody of my family. All the family that’s left. My aunt. My uncle. Nathan. I haven’t seen Jennifer again, not since the first time I woke up in the hospital, and she was out in the hall. I haven’t even spoken to her since the night my father was shot and everything went to hell. Her absence hurts, honestly. She’s my best friend. I need her. But aside from a few texts back and forth, it’s like she doesn’t exist. Or maybe it’s like I don’t exist. Every time I ask Nathan to bring her by the hospital, he shrugs and tries to make an excuse for her. Eventually I stop asking. Sometimes these things have a way of showing you who your real friends are.
Nathan assumes control of my wheelchair when it’s finally time to leave, and my doctor has signed the official discharge paperwork. Eliza fusses over me, making sure my hair is brushed, my large sunglasses are intact, before the three of them–and a bodyguard–accompany me from my hospital room into a waiting service elevator and down to a private entrance in the basement parking lot. I have to work to steady my breath as the elevator sinks down, down, down toward the basement. The last time I was in one of these, the doors opened to a clusterfuck of gunfire and two kidnappers shoving a bag over my head. Enzo puts a protective arm around me as I rise from my wheelchair on shaky legs, like a baby deer making its way into the wilderness for the very first time. He bundles me into the back of a limo, where my aunt scoots close and takes my hand. It’s too much. Too suffocating. The air is thick down here, and all I can smell is Eliza’s overpowering Chanel perfume and the rot of stagnant puddles in the parking lot. How did rain even get in here? I think to myself. It’s completely underground.
“Listen, Avery.” She’s using the same soothing voice I’ve heard her use on agitated party guests a thousand times, if not a million. It’s fake as hell, and I hate it. “You shouldn’t be alone during this time. Your father wouldn’t want it. We’re going to be here for you.”
“Oh, thanks.” The trip down to the parking lot and into the limo was more exhausting than it had any right to be. “I knew I could count on you guys.”
“She means literally here,” Nathan chimes in from the other side of the limo. He meets my eyes over the top of his phone. “We moved all our stuff in two days ago.”
I blink at him. “To my house?”
“That’s the one.” He flips his phone over and grins at me, and for a split second in time, none of this happened, and we’re just a couple of kids being dragged along in yet another limo by our parents. “It’ll be just like old times, Aves. Like a sleepover.”
I smile faintly, recalling simpler times when Nathan, Adeline and I would sneak out of the house during one of those “sleepovers” and generally cause mayhem. The last sleepover with Adeline and Nathan was the night she died. The thought of her limp body floating in our pool snaps me back to reality,
my smile vanishes, and there’s a bitter taste on my tongue all of a sudden.
“We’re a little old for sleepovers. But I appreciate the offer.”
“It’ll be like a sleepover, honey.” My aunt pats my hand. “But of course we don’t need to sleep in your room.”
She didn’t get the joke, if there’s a joke to get in this situation. The real joke is that she’s never figured out how often we did actually sneak out of the house under her watch. Pills and wine will do that to you.
My bed is a welcome relief. As soon as I get home, I melt into it. And for a while, my bed is enough. Can you even imagine what it’s like to lie in a real bed after you’ve been on a bare mattress in hell for weeks? If Rome were here, it would be actual heaven. Clean sheets. Soft blankets. They don’t smell like plastic or blood, and nobody comes in during the night with a knife.
But as soon as the sun goes down and the room gets dark, I’m frozen with fear, unable to move or call out for someone to help me. A part of me is embarrassed to be so damn needy. I don’t need anyone to come and rescue me from my own fucking bedroom, I tell myself, sitting up in my bed and letting my feet hit the hardwood floor. There is no monster under the bed, or in the closet, or down the hall. I don’t really believe it, but I grit my teeth and make my way slowly to my en suite bathroom. A shower under the bright heat lights will warm me up and make me feel better, I decide. I’ve showered a few times at the hospital, aided by a nurse, standing under a thin trickle of water with barely any pressure. My own shower, in comparison, is luxurious, even by Capulet standards, double rain shower heads and jets that spray water sideways from the tiled walls. I can’t even look at the clawfoot bathtub, and the memories it brings back of being pushed down under the water.
I turn the shower on, mesmerized as the water pounds down onto the stark tiles below. The lights overhead flood the room with brightness and warmth; the underfloor heating, barely used, is heaven on my bare feet. I tentatively unbutton my pajama top and let it fall to the ground. It’s not my usual style, but since it’s still hard to reach my hands over my head, button-down pajamas are much better than having a nurse assist me in getting dressed and undressed multiple times a day. I slide out of my pajama pants and step into the shower, letting the water wash away the darkness. It works, for a few moments, being warm in the bright room. I squeeze an obscene amount of shampoo into my palm and lather it through my hair, wincing as it stings some sores on my scalp I didn’t even know I had. Everything heals slowly after an ordeal like that, I tell myself. It’s okay. I open my eyes and look down at the water swirling down the drain. Dried flecks of blood are like rust from old pipes as I scrub them from my scalp. I’m horrified that even after this stretch of time out of that hellhole, I’m still washing away the remnants of what happened. The worst part is, I don’t even know whose blood it is. It could be mine, but through my many injuries, my scalp remained pretty much unscathed. No, I have a suspicion that this blood is the fallout from the girl who was shot at point-blank range right in front of us. Penny. The girl who Rome was forced to rape as she prayed to a God that surely doesn’t exist, because if he did, how could he have let those depravities happen to her? To any of us?
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