Tell Me When

by Stina Lindenblatt

  He chuckles. “I’m sure Chase and I can handle it.”

  “Just so we’ve got it straight, this isn’t a date.”

  “Just so we’ve got this straight,” he replies. “I don’t date.”

  A small part of me pouts at that news. The rest of me is relieved. “Good, then we’re on the same page.”

  Marcus leaves after telling me he and Chase will meet us at the dorm. Even though it’s not a date, he figured he would drive us to the movie then the bar where the band is playing. I argued against it but in the end I let him win.

  I text Jordan to tell her about the change of plan, and that we can cancel on the guys if she wants. I make it clear we’re going as friends and it’s not a date. Last thing I need is for her to think I’m setting her up with Chase, even though she has a boyfriend.

  As I walk back to the dorm, after stopping off at the library, Jordan texts me again: Sounds great

  To my surprise, Marcus and Chase are already waiting outside my residence building when I arrive, standing at the bottom of the steps to the main entrance. Chase gives me a goofy grin.

  “I just need to change,” I tell the guys. “Jordan should be here in a minute.”

  “There she is,” Chase says, looking over my shoulder.

  I turn to see my friend approach with what looks like a bouquet of flowers wrapped in striped paper.

  “You’re not gonna believe this.” The words rush from her mouth like a speeding train. “Garrett finally called. He’s been sick with the flu and forgot to charge his phone. That’s why he wasn’t responding to my texts and calls.” She rips the tape away from the paper and removes a dozen red roses from the wrapping.

  * * *

  I open my eyes and try to shake off the exhaustion smothering me.

  “Am-ber. I have a surprise for you.” The voice is soothing, but I know he’s trying to lull me into believing everything will be all right. That I’m safe. He always does that before the torture begins.

  I close my eyes, desperate for the exhaustion to knock me out again. Anything is better than what he has planned.

  A small meow next to me on the bed is a splash of cold water in the face. If I don’t do what I’m told, Smoky’ll be hurt. It’s all a game to Paul. A sadistic game.

  The sweet smell of roses taunts me. I must be dreaming. This prison doesn’t smell like roses. It usually smells like death waiting eagerly for its turn.

  I turn my head toward the smell and crack open my eyelids. The bed is covered with hundreds of red rose petals. It’s like a sea of blood.

  “Am-ber. It’s time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marcus

  It’s like last time. Amber’s standing in front of me one moment, gone the next. All that remains is her body. But unlike last time, she doesn’t curl in a ball. She stands in a trance, staring at the roses like they’re a five-headed monster, all blood drained from her face.

  “Amber,” Jordan says, gaping at her friend. “What’s wrong?”

  Amber doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring at those goddamn roses.

  “Jordan,” I say, a little too sharply. She turns to me, pale, either because of what’s happening to Amber or because of me. I have no idea which. “You need to get those roses away from her. Put them in your room.”

  She frowns. “B-but I can’t leave her. She’s my friend.”

  “I know, but something about those roses is scaring her.”

  The confusion on her face deepens. “I don’t get it.”

  I don’t have time for this. “Jordan,” I snap, “just take them upstairs, then come right back.”

  She looks at Chase, who nods even though he’s as clueless about what’s going on as she is. I will her to do what I said—and now. I need to deal with Amber, but I’m not sure if that’s possible as long as she’s lost in the roses.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Jordan sprints up the steps and disappears through the main doors.

  I return my attention to Amber. “Kitten, it’s okay. You’re safe.” I start to reach out to hold her, but then freeze. What if I make things worse by touching her? Fuck. “It’s me, Marcus. Can you come back to me? Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She sways unsteadily on her feet. Before I can reach her, she stumbles, smacking her head on the metal railing. I ease her to the ground.

  Blood gushes from above her right eye. “You’re going to be all right, Kitten.” I remove my jacket and slide it under her head, then whip off my T-shirt and press it against the cut. She nods but I’m not sure if she understands what’s going on. Her eyes are a little out of focus.

  Chase crouches next to us. “What the hell happened?” His gaze is locked on Amber but the question’s directed at me.

  “I’m not sure. Dave Williams thinks she has post-traumatic stress disorder.”

  I can tell Chase wants to ask more questions but is saving them for later.

  “Please don’t tell Jordan,” Amber whispers. “She doesn’t know. I don’t want anyone to know.”

  I have a feeling it’s not the PTSD she wants kept secret. It’s what led to it that she doesn’t want anyone to know. And it goes beyond being trapped in a burning building.

  My stomach churns as I think about my brother and the secrets he was forced to keep. That we were both forced to keep.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Chase and I won’t tell anyone if that’s what you want.”

  She gives a small nod and grimaces. Then she smiles. “I must have hit my head harder than I realized. You’re half-naked.”

  I laugh. Until she said it, I’d forgotten about that. I hadn’t even noticed the chill October air nipping at my skin. “Like what you see?”

  “Apparently I’m not the only one.” Her eyes move meaningfully to the side. I turn to see what she’s talking about.

  Four or five girls are giggling and watching me like I’m a Calvin Klein model in nothing but my boxers. Normally that wouldn’t bother me. Normally I’d make the most of the situation and get laid. This time irritation gnaws at me. Amber’s hurt and they don’t give a damn.

  I turn back to Amber and let her last words push away the irritation. At least she likes what she sees. For some reason, her opinion is the only one that matters.

  I lift my T-shirt from her wound. It’s still bleeding. “You need stitches. Can you stand or should I carry you?”

  She smiles softly. “I think I can stand.”

  She presses her hand on my T-shirt, keeping it in place, and with her free arm, pushes herself up so she’s sitting. I slip my arm around her back and help her stand. She leans into me, surrounding me with her strawberry scent. I envelope her in my arms while Chase watches, an amused smile on his face, my leather jacket in his hand.

  Chase has waited a long time to see me act like this around a girl, which is why he’s finding the situation so humorous.

  “Oh God!” Jordan gasps and rushes down the stairs. “Are you hurt?” Unlike the other girls, she doesn’t seem to notice I’m half-naked. She’s only concerned about her friend. My appreciation for her climbs several notches.

  Jordan starts rummaging through her purse. “I’ve got some Band-Aids in here somewhere.”

  “It won’t be enough,” Chase explains. “We need to take her to the hospital. She needs stitches and she could have a concussion.”

  “Can you drive?” I ask him.

  He nods. “I’ll meet you out back.” He tosses me my jacket after grabbing my keys from the pocket, and runs toward the parking lot to get my car, leaving Jordan with me and Amber. Though from the looks he’s been throwing Jordan, I doubt he’d have complained if she’d joined him. Too bad she has a boyfriend.

  A sudden urge to hit her boyfriend, or whoever sent her the roses, slams into me. If it
hadn’t been for him and his damn roses, Kitten wouldn’t be hurt. And I wouldn’t be standing here with her pressed against me. Trusting me when I don’t deserve her trust. So maybe I should send him roses to thank him, instead.

  “What happened?” Jordan asks as I slip on my jacket. The girls who were staring at me sigh and walk off.

  “I tripped,” Amber tells her.

  “No, before that.”

  Eyes wide, Amber looks at me for answers. I’m not sure she even knows what happened. “It was just one of my anxiety attacks.”

  Her body starts shaking in my arms. She might not remember what just happened, but she does remember a terrifying memory with roses. I tighten my hold on her, and not for the first time, wish I could do more. I did some research the other day on PTSD and found a book that I’m reading. But I’m still a long way from understanding how to help her, especially since I don’t know what happened to her to begin with.

  We don’t have to wait long before Chase drives up. I help Amber into the backseat and join her, forcing Jordan to sit up front. Amber closes her eyes and leans her head against the side window. Dark half moons shadow under her eyes, appearing even darker against her pale skin. She’s exhausted. Shit. How much sleep has she been getting lately?

  She doesn’t look too comfortable leaning against the window. I tap her thigh. She opens her eyes and I gesture at my lap. She hesitates for a heartbeat before lying down and using my legs as a pillow. Naturally, my junk gets the situation all wrong and jerks to life. Crap. I try to remember the look of horror on Amber’s face when she realized I was the one touching her the other night instead of her dead boyfriend.

  But that’s not the face I see in my head. It’s her reaction to my kiss and my touch, it’s her sexy moans, that find their way in.

  I bite my lip hard, willing my junk to get the message and stop reacting this way around Amber. It’s a huge mistake. Girls like her aren’t interested in guys like me. Girls like her deserve so much more than what I can give, beyond a great time in bed—and several other places.

  A few minutes later, her breathing is slow and even. My heart twists painfully at how fragile she looks, yet at the same time, she looks oddly at peace.

  At the hospital, we sit in the crowded waiting room for Amber’s name to be called. Kitten asks Jordan about her boyfriend while Chase and I discuss our engineering project. Around us the injured, the sick, the family members waiting for news of a loved one become a kaleidoscope of emotion.

  It feels like forever before Amber goes back to the examining room, with Jordan by her side. Long enough for Jordan and Chase to grab some pizza for us from the cafeteria, as well as chicken noodle soup for Amber and me. Though from the mischievous look on Amber’s face, I’m guessing the soup was her idea.

  “So, you wanna tell me what’s going on with Amber?” Chase asks the moment she disappears through the double doors.

  “Like I said, Dave thinks she has post-traumatic stress disorder. Something happened to her, but she won’t tell me what.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. If Amber had been any other girl, you’d have let someone else, mostly likely Jordan, deal with it. We wouldn’t be here. The Marcus I know doesn’t care about girls, other than for sex.” He chuckles. “It’s about time you stop treating girls like crap. Meg would be proud.”

  “I thought you hated Tammara.”

  “Tammara isn’t a girl. She’s a vampire out for blood.”

  I roll my eyes. I’ve never understood why those two don’t like each other. Not that I’ve bothered to ask.

  “I’ve know what you’ve been doing,” Chase says, apparently on a roll.

  “What?” I ask, having no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Just because your mom’s a bitch who doesn’t know what love is, doesn’t mean all girls are like that. Other than Tammara. She’s only capable of loving herself.”

  I frown. “When did you become such a girl?”

  “When I got sick of you beating yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Amber

  “How did you injure yourself?” the physician asks while stitching the cut in my forehead. The nurse asked me the same question, so I don’t know why he has to, too. Didn’t she write it down?

  I will him to move faster so I can get out of here. Even though I’m fully dressed, I feel exposed. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had tripped like I told the nurse.

  “I tripped. All the years of ballet I took as a kid didn’t exactly leave me graceful.” Shut up, Amber. Now he’s gonna think you’re lying. Which I am, but he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks casually, which sets off warning bells. It’d be one thing if he were much younger, but he must be a least fifty-five. He’s not asking because he wants to ask me out.

  “No,” I say at the same time Jordan answers, “Yes.” The physician looks between us, not sure who to believe.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Is there something I don’t know?” I ask Jordan, who’s sitting on a plastic chair next to the examining table.

  “You and Marcus? Isn’t that what tonight’s supposed to be about?”

  “It’s not a date. He wanted to help celebrate my math grade, and he and Chase already had plans to see the band perform.” I guess I wasn’t clear enough in my text when I told her it wasn’t a date. That, or she chose to ignore that part.

  The physician looks expectantly at Jordan, waiting for her next volley. She doesn’t say anything, but her disappointment is unmistakable. She really thought Marcus and I were going on a date. So what did that make her and Chase? Our chaperones?

  “So, there’s no boyfriend?” the physician asks.

  “That’s right,” I say.

  “Did someone hit you?”

  Huh? “No. Like I told the nurse, I felt dizzy and tripped.” Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, I silently plead to Jordan.

  He glances at Jordan for confirmation.

  “I was in my room.” Her gaze remains steady on me. “She was already hurt by the time I arrived. But a bunch of witnesses saw what happened.”

  Bunch? The only thing those girls witnessed was Marcus taking his shirt off. Godzilla could have walked across campus, and they wouldn’t have noticed anything beyond a half-naked Marcus. Not that I can blame them. A slight smile tugs at my lips at the memory of him shirtless.

  “Any idea why you were dizzy?”

  What is this? 20 Questions? “No idea, but I’m fine now.”

  He’s silent for another minute or two as he continues stitching my wound. “All right. I’m finished. You’ll have a slight scar, but nothing too bad.” He checks my chart. “Your blood pressure was normal. Do you often get dizzy or faint?”

  “No. Usually I’m fine.” If you don’t count the flashbacks.

  He goes over the signs of concussion, which Jordan listens to intently. She then promises wholeheartedly to keep an eye on me over the next few days.

  Marcus and Chase are sitting on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room when Jordan and I emerge from the treatment area. I can’t believe they’re still here, that they didn’t bail to do something more exciting. I can’t believe Marcus is watching me like nothing else exists. And most of all, I can’t believe I ruined everyone’s plans for tonight.

  It’s too late to catch the movie, but it’s not too late to watch the band perform. “You guys ready to head over to the bar to see the band?” It’s the least I can do considering everyone blew their evening sitting around the hospital waiting for me.

  All three gape at me like I’ve just walked into a glass door. Though from the way my head is aching, that pretty much describes how I feel.

  Jordan recovers first. “You can’t go anywhere
. You’re injured, plus Marcus’s T-shirt’s covered in blood.”

  “I’m sure the girls in the bar won’t mind if he goes shirtless.” I know I wouldn’t.

  Chase laughs.

  Marcus leans down and murmurs in my ear, “There’s only one girl I would consider going shirtless for.” His tone is flirtatious, but his eyes are watchful, as if he’s monitoring my reaction. Much like the physician did.

  My face heats up. Marcus chuckles.

  “Are you positive you want to go?” Jordan says it, but I can tell she really wants to see the band, too. Going to bars and watching live bands probably didn’t make it to her parents’ list of acceptable activities, along with partying, dancing, and everything else we’ve done so far.

  “Our place is on the way,” Marcus says. “I can change first. Are you sure about this?”

  I smile. “Positive.”

  At the guys’ apartment, Jordan and I stay in the car with Chase while Marcus goes inside to change. He returns a few minutes later and we drive to the bar, which isn’t far away.

  The parking lot is busy when we arrive, and at least twenty people are standing in a line at the door. Instead of joining the end of the line, Marcus walks us directly to the main entrance.

  The bouncer, a man who looks like he could play professional football, greets Marcus and Chase with a man hug and waves us in.

  Inside, the place is dimly lit and reminds me more of a pub than a nightclub. The dark wood floor, tables, and chairs, along with the dark green walls, give the place a warm, welcoming feeling. The aroma of french fries and hamburgers might have something to do with that, too.

  We make our way to a table large enough for the four of us on the far side of the room, close to the bar. It doesn’t take long before our waitress shows up, though from the way she consumes Marcus with her eyes, it’s obvious the rest of us don’t exist. The girl is in her early twenties, with a skirt that barely covers her butt. Her top isn’t much different. Or rather, her tight vest that leaves her pierced navel and ample cleavage exposed.