Beneath This Mask

by Meghan March

  The roar of blood rushing in my ears drowned out whatever Yve said next. I exhaled, feeling like someone had punched me in the gut. Long-time friend? Pop the question? A fucking heiress? What the hell? So why the fuck was he naked in my backyard on Saturday night? And why am I so pissed?

  I pushed the anger and disappointment away. I told myself that now I knew I’d dodged a bullet. I didn’t screw around with guys who were taken. But if he were the cheating asshole I wanted to paint him as, why wouldn’t he have jumped at the opportunity to nail and bail? Nothing about Simon Duchesne added up.

  “Charlie.” My attention snapped back to Yve. “Calm the hell down. It’s all gossip from the society pages. Who knows the truth? I’d say actions speak louder than this trash.” She gestured to the monitor.

  “It doesn’t matter. I mean, whatever happened Saturday night was an anomaly. Not to be repeated. I’ll probably never see him again anyway.” Why had I felt the need to tack on that last sentence? Like I wanted to see him again? Ugh.

  The rest of my shift passed slowly, and I was gearing up to head out when we closed at five o’clock. Mondays weren’t busy, so we’d been able to get ready for closing while the store was still open. Huck was bouncing on his paws, eager to get outside when I clipped the leash to his collar. I was pretty excited too, because I had the rest of the night free. Cognizant of Huck’s excess energy, I decided to walk my bike rather than risk another encounter that would require first aid. We were seven blocks away from the store and three blocks away from home when all hell broke loose.

  I was distracted, thinking about everything Yve had read to me earlier. And then I turned my head and watched the whole scene unfold in slow motion: the carriage turning the corner, Huck tugging the leash from my negligent grip and darting into the street after it, the street sweeper careening down the narrow road.

  I screamed as the truck clipped Huck’s torso and rear legs, sending him spinning toward the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I dropped my bike and ran into the road, barely missing getting hit myself. His broken body was sprawled in the gutter, his chest heaving, and a pool of blood was forming and running into the street. I dropped to my knees beside him and held back my vomit as I saw one of his rear leg bones protruding from beneath the skin and a gash along his side. I flipped the fur back over the wound, not able to stomach looking inside him. The truck hadn’t stopped, nor had the car behind it. The carriage was gone. The streets of the Quarter were rarely empty, but of course now … when I desperately needed someone, it was deserted. Tears streamed down my face, and I fumbled with my bag, where it still hung across my body. I pulled out my phone and pressed buttons. I had four numbers. One of them had to answer. It rang. Once. Twice. And then someone picked up.

  “Charlie?”

  It was not a voice I’d expected to hear. But I didn’t fucking care. “Charlie? I can hear you breathing.”

  “I need you. Now. Please. Help me.” The words were disjointed syllables strangled by my sobs.

  I could almost feel a change in Simon’s demeanor through the phone.

  “Where are you? What happened? I’m getting in my car. Tell me where I’m going.”

  I looked up. “Corner of Toulouse and Dauphine. Huck got hit by a car. I need…” My words broke off when Huck’s eyes blinked open at his name. “Please. Hurry.”

  “I’m on my way. I’m not far. I’ll be there in five minutes. Just breathe, Charlie.”

  Huck yelped, and I dropped the phone back into my bag.

  I stroked Huck’s head and spoke to him in low, soothing tones. He tried to move his back legs and yelped again, and his panting breaths sped up. I tried to hold him steady. His big brown eyes stared into mine. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise. You’re going to be fine. I swear.”

  Simon lied. He was there in less than five minutes, but it still seemed like an eternity. My face was buried in Huck’s neck, trying to keep him still, listening to his pained whimpers. I heard the roar of an engine before a vehicle jerked to a stop on the street next to me. The door flew open, but I didn’t look up. I kept my eyes locked on Huck’s. A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my stupor.

  “Charlie, step back for a second.” Simon was holding a gray cargo blanket. “We need to get the blanket under him to lift him into the back. We’re going to do it together, okay?”

  I moved toward Huck’s head and Simon lay the blanket down. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Need to wrap up his wounds before we can move him.” Simon was all business, ripping off his suit coat and wrapping it around Huck. His dress shirt and tie became a tourniquet around Huck’s hindquarters. “Never done a field dressing on a dog, but this is the best I can do.” He worked the blanket under Huck’s body, trying to jostle him as little as possible. Huck whimpered and tried to move. “Hold still, buddy.”

  Simon stood and spun to hit a button in the car. The tailgate of his BMW X5 rose. Wearing only a white T-shirt and suit pants, Simon crouched next to me. He nodded toward Huck’s head. “You get his head. It’s going to be a tight fit, but the back seat is down. As soon as we’ve got him in, climb over the seat and try to keep him calm. I’ll get us there as fast as I can without bouncing him around too much. Got it?” When I didn’t reply, he grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “Charlie, you with me?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  We awkwardly maneuvered Huck into the SUV, and my heart clenched at every whimper and whine. Once he was settled, I scrambled onto the back of the seat so I could sit next to him. Simon put the car in drive and activated his Bluetooth system. I only half listened to his call, but it seemed he was relaying Huck’s condition to someone. He made another call, but I was deaf to everything but Huck’s whimpers. Long minutes later we pulled up to a large white and tan building, and three women and a man in scrubs scurried out, carrying a doggy stretcher. Simon popped the tailgate, and the man started calling out orders to the others. A strong arm wrapped around my middle as I tried to follow them as they maneuvered Huck out of the car.

  “Come on, let’s go,” he said, pulling me back and out the side door.

  When we entered the building, my eyes darted around, but Huck was already gone. I tugged at Simon’s arm, which was still wrapped around my waist, holding me upright.

  “Where is he? Where did they take him?”

  A woman at the reception desk responded. “They’ve taken him back to surgery. He’s in good hands, ma’am.” She slid a clipboard across the counter. “I’ll need you to fill out some forms for him and,” she hesitated, “I’ll need a credit card.”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t have a credit card.” I looked down at the forms. Shit. It was like going to the fucking emergency room. Something I’d been happy to avoid for a year because I worked too damn hard to stay off the radar.

  Simon shoved the clipboard away. “I’ve already instructed Jack—Dr. Richelieu—to add him to the Duchesne account.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh, of course, Mr. Duchesne. I apologize.”

  Simon nodded at her and led me to a bathroom where we both washed the blood from our hands. The gravity of the situation was further highlighted by the swirling red water running down the drain. My breathing accelerated, and I started to feel lightheaded. Simon once again wrapped an arm around me as he directed me into the waiting area and pushed me down into a chair. He crouched in front of me, pulling my hands into his. “Charlie, you need to breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate, and I don’t want to have to take you to the ER too.”

  I looked down at our joined hands. His were big, tanned, with little white scars on the knuckles. They didn’t look like a politician’s hands. Mine appeared childlike in his grasp. My nails were short ovals painted black. His thumbs brushed back and forth over my wrists, where the ink stopped and unmarked skin started.

  I matched my breathing to his, slow and rhythmic. He squeezed my hands, and I looked up to meet his eyes. I said the first thing that came
into my head.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I wasn’t even trying to call you. I mean—I don’t even know how I called you. I was—” He squeezed my hands again, and I went silent.

  “It’s okay. I get it. I wouldn’t have been your first call if you’d had your shit together.”

  “No—I didn’t mean … I just meant I shouldn’t have troubled you.” I gave him what I hoped was a heartfelt stare. “But I’m really glad you came. I … I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s just a baby.” A fresh wave of tears spilled over, and Simon released my hands to wipe them away with his thumbs.

  “Jack’s going to do everything he can for Huck. I promise. He’s one of the best; I wouldn’t have brought him here otherwise.” He paused, catching another tear on his thumb. “I’m glad you called me. You scared the hell out of me, but I’m glad it was me you called. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

  “I’ll pay you back for everything. I promise. I … don’t do credit cards, but I have cash. At my place. I’ll pay you back every dime, I swear.” I hoped I wasn’t lying. Because I knew this wasn’t going to be cheap. It’d probably wipe out my emergency fund. But I didn’t care. I’d do whatever I had to do to make sure Huck was okay.

  “Let’s not worry about it right now. Jack’s an old friend; we’ll work it out.” He stood, stretched, and sat in the chair beside me, threading his arm around my shoulders. “We’re going to be waiting a while, so why don’t you try to chill, okay?” It was so easy to let my head rest against his solid shoulder. I felt some of my tension drain away, but I couldn’t get the picture of Huck lying in the street out of my head.

  Two hours later I was pacing the waiting room. I’d already flipped through damn near every magazine without reading a single word. The door to the back of the clinic opened, and a man in black scrubs stepped out. He looked to be in his early thirties and was classically handsome—blond hair with striking green eyes. But I didn’t give a shit what he looked like—all I cared about was the name embroidered in red above his pocket. Dr. Richelieu.

  Simon rose and reached out a hand. The vet shook it. “How’s Huck?”

  I crossed the room, barreling into Simon’s side in an attempt to get closer to the vet. “Please. How is he?”

  “Why don’t you come in here for a moment.” He gestured to a small private room connected to the waiting room.

  “Why? What’s wrong? Please—” My words died, and dread spread through me as I followed Simon inside.

  “Just let Jack tell us. Okay, Charlie?”

  I refused to sit, so Simon stood beside me, and the vet leaned against the closed door. “He made it through the surgery. He’s in recovery.”

  Relief momentarily smothered the dread, but I needed more information. ‘Made it through surgery’ didn’t sound promising. “And?”

  “His leg was severely broken, and I had to screw a stainless steel plate directly into the bone. Because of his size, it was really the only option we had. The upside is he’ll be able to walk a little sooner than he would otherwise. He also had extensive internal bleeding, but we were able to stop it. I’d like to keep him here for at least a week so we can monitor the initial stage of his recovery. It was a hard hit. He’s very lucky.”

  I stumbled to a chair and dropped my head into my hands. I was thrilled he was going to be okay, but the hours of waiting had sapped my energy.

  “He’s really going to be okay?” I felt like I had to ask one more time, just to make sure I hadn’t superimposed the words I wanted to hear over his.

  The vet nodded. “He’s young, otherwise healthy, and a fighter. Barring any unforeseen complications, he should be just fine.”

  “Can I see him?” I asked.

  Dr. Richelieu nodded. “Just for a few minutes. We’re keeping him sedated so he doesn’t further injure himself.”

  He led us back through the clinic to a wide room containing what looked like horse stalls. Huck was laid out on his side on a thick stack of blankets covering the floor, an oxygen cannula in his nose. The vet opened the chain link gate, and I knelt and stroked Huck’s silky ear. I whispered nonsense to him for several minutes before kissing his furry forehead and standing.

  “Can I come back in the morning?”

  “Anytime you want. And if you have any questions, Simon has my cell number. Feel free to call me. If I’m in a procedure, I’ll call you as soon as I’m finished.”

  “And you’ll call us if anything changes?” Simon asked.

  “Absolutely, man. He’s in good hands. We’ll watch him all night and call you immediately if there’s any change in his condition.”

  I shuddered at the thought and hoped we were through the worst of it. I dejectedly thought about going home to my empty apartment. Harriet was still gone, so there’d be no crashing with her for company. As good as I’d gotten at being a loner, I really didn’t want to be alone tonight.

  My mind was whirling, trying to figure out who I was going to call and beg to sleep on their couch. Things were still awkward with Con, so that left Delilah or Yve. Delilah lived with her brother, and Yve lived alone. But for all I knew, Yve might still be with Con. Dammit. Simon helped me into his SUV before rounding the hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. I was still contemplating my limited possibilities when I realized we weren’t driving back toward the French Quarter.

  “I live that way.” I pointed toward the rear of the vehicle.

  “I know.” Simon didn’t turn the car around; he just continued to St. Charles Avenue.

  “Where are we going?”

  He didn’t answer. We headed down Third Street and slowed as we entered the heart of the Garden District. He hit a button on the rearview mirror and turned into a driveway where a section of elegant green fence topped with fleur de lis was sliding open.

  “Where the hell are we?” Simon hit the button again, and the fence closed behind us. He hit another button as we pulled up to a garage around the side of one of the most gorgeous homes I’d ever seen. It was easily as large as many of the homes in the Hamptons, and was built in a similar Neoclassical Italianate style, but that was beside the point.

  “My house. Well, to be fair, it’s my parents’ home. But I live here as well.”

  I didn’t know which fact to take issue with first, so I tackled them both. “You still live with your parents? Why didn’t you take me home?”

  He opened the driver’s door and exited the vehicle, ignoring both of my questions. I was still sputtering when he opened the passenger door and unbuckled my seat belt. I smacked his hands away. “What the hell, Simon?”

  He frowned, his features turning dark in the dim light of the garage. “You don’t need to be alone tonight. And for some inexplicable reason, I want to help you. So stop being so prickly and independent for a goddamn minute and let me.”

  I glared at him. “Don’t tell me what to do. And don’t freaking kidnap me without asking first.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Fine. I’ll take you home.” He walked back around the car and opened the driver’s door again. But I’d already gotten out. He was dead on; I didn’t want to be alone tonight.

  Simon slapped both hands on the roof of the car before peering through the cabin to where I stood outside the open passenger door. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t help it.” He slammed the driver’s door shut a second time and came around the hood and grabbed me by the hand.

  “Come on, woman.” He led me out of the garage, and when we didn’t go toward the main house, I looked up at him, confused.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I live in the guesthouse.”

  I smirked. “So you only sort of live with your parents? Aren’t you a little old for that?”

  He tugged on my hand. “Trust me, I was going to buy my own place when I got out of the Navy. You would have thought I told my parents I was taking a vow of silence. To say they were ho
rrified is putting it mildly. When I refused to move home, my father had the guesthouse renovated, and my mother guilted me into it. It would make them feel ‘so much better to have someone on the property when they’re traveling. And they’d missed out on so much time with me while I was in the service.’ It was easier just to give in.”

  “You’re a momma’s boy, aren’t you?”

  “As much as any good ole Southern boy. I like sports, huntin’, fishin’, fast cars, and faster women, but I love my momma.”

  I smiled slightly, but my heart wasn’t in it. His statement made me think about my relationship with my own mother, which was much too screwed up for such a pure sentiment.

  We walked through the front door of a house a fraction of the size of the mansion, and Simon turned to face me. “Hey, Huck’s going to be all right. Jack’s one of the best.”

  He’d mistaken my silence as concern for Huck, and guilt flooded me; I’d spent two minutes not worrying about my pup. I was a bad daughter and a bad dog mom.

  “Thank you. Again. For everything.” I looked away and took in the dark paneled interior of the foyer and the crystal chandelier hanging overhead. A wide, gleaming wooden staircase curved up to the second floor. I stood dumbly. I didn’t want to get the grime of my person on the pristine furnishings.

  “How about a shower?” Simon asked.

  “That would be great,” I started, but paused to look down at my blood-smeared shirt. “But I don’t have any other clothes.”

  “I’ll find something for you. Might be a little big, but they’ll work for tonight.”

  “Umm … okay. Thanks.”

  I followed as Simon led the way up the stairs, lost in my own thoughts. He seemed to understand that I needed the silence and didn’t fill it with inane chatter. He gestured to a bathroom and opened the glass enclosure to flip on the water and adjust the temperature.