by Trisha Wolfe
I nod again, slowly processing this. As he moves toward the hospital bed to check on the ventilator, I say, “My brother will come live with me. When he’s released.”
Doctor Taylor turns to face me, his severe frown disheartening. “My advice, Alexis, is to get him into a program.”
“AA, NA, counseling…of course.”
“I’m suggesting involuntary commitment,” he says.
My mouth pops open. “But I’ve tried that. I was denied. Everyone makes it sound so easy…and maybe it is. For some people.” People with money. People with status. “So what? Now that he’s caused himself harm…almost died…he’s a candidate? What if he had died?”
He releases a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, the system can be trying and long. Jake needs immediate treatment, and he needs to be on medication, according to his records.” He pauses. “I’ve recommended a private facility. It’s within five miles of here. With my referral, they will accept him upon his release.”
Private facility. He might as well have said Mars. I hate the words that are about to leave my mouth. I loathe them, because they make me seem pathetic. Selfish. “I can’t afford private treatment. Believe me, if I could, I would’ve gotten Jake help sooner.”
His tight smile doesn’t ease my pain. “It’s already in the process of being arranged. All that’s needed is your signature.” He grabs his clipboard from the cart and hands it to me. “You can read over the information before you sign, but I strongly suggest you do, Alexis. As his sister, as his only immediate family, it’s within your power to get him the help he needs.”
My power. Suddenly, after years of struggle, everyone is so keen to tell me about all this power I have. I press the ache between my eyes. “Doctor Taylor, I’m sorry, but I can’t afford—”
“His treatment will be covered by your insurance. All of his expenses, in fact.”
My eyes snap to his face. “What?”
“Your employer called, providing your insurance information. I have to be honest, not many bosses care enough about their employees to take care of the details. But, he didn’t want you to worry about the technicalities while you were distraught over your brother.” His eyes search me. “Mister Larkin said he’ll have the court order processed by a judge tomorrow to expedite the process. Then once Jake is released from my care, he’ll be taken directly to the facility.”
I’m sure the shock on my face doesn’t escape him. “Okay. Thank you,” I say, as if a “thank you” somehow conveys what I’m feeling. I can’t even process what I’m feeling yet.
His smile seems more sincere now. “So it’s already been handled, Alexis. You can breathe. Jake is going to get the best treatment. All that’s required is your signature.”
It erupts from me all at once. A painful sob breaks free, wracking my body. I bury my face in my hands, allowing the fear and relief to dissolve into each other as the cry wrings my body.
When I’m able to take a breath without stuttering into tears, I read the information for Jake’s care, then sign my name as his appointed guardian. Chase knew the only way for my insurance to cover Jake was if I’m legally his guardian again. In the sixteen minutes it took me to arrive—where my life was falling apart, where my brother had no chance—Chase changed everything.
As I hand the documents to the doctor, he says, “I’m moving Jake to his own room now.”
“Oh,” I say, looking at Jake, feeling like I haven’t had enough time. “Will he wake up tonight?”
That grim expression tugs at the doctor’s face again. I hate that look. “No. And I’m going to keep him under for at least a few more days. He needs to heal. His body not only needs to recover, but we have to monitor him closely through detox.”
Because he’s on heroin. Because if he has to go through detox, he’s been on heroin for a while. At least six months. I want to believe I would’ve seen the signs. If he was using heroin before he disappeared from my life, I would’ve known.
I want to believe that I was helping him at all…but I was just as lost as he was. All I did was patch the wounds as they reopened. Treat the scrapes but not fade the scars. I wasn’t offering any real remedy to heal the cause of the damage. That’s what Jake needed—what he needs.
I watch the nurses lift the sides of the bed, bracketing my brother in a cradle of shiny metal. I follow behind them as he’s taken to a private room, reciting a promise in my heart that I’ll be here when he wakes.
As Jefferson drives us over the bridge to Arlington, I run my fingers over the jotted visiting hours on the back of the paperwork. I don’t care if Jake’s unaware of my presence, if I was allowed to be there every day and night, I would be.
I fold the documents and slip them into my purse, drained. I am suddenly so drained, but I know I won’t sleep. “Jefferson?”
“Yes, ma’am?” His gaze catches mine in the review mirror.
“Would it be terribly inconvenient for you to take me by the office?”
“No, ma’am. Not at all.”
“You can call me Alexis. I think we know each other well enough.” That’s not true. I know very little about the man who chauffeurs Chase around, but right now, the silence is killing me.
“I’m sorry about your brother, Alexis.”
A tight smile rims my mouth. “Thank you. I think he’s going to be okay…in time.” How much time, is the question. And whether or not he’ll disown me all over again once he realizes I’m the reason for his commitment.
I can’t worry about that right now, though. Jake just escaped death, and he’s not completely out of the woods yet. So for now, I just need to do this one thing at a time.
Before the news of Jake’s overdose tilted the world off axis, Chase and I were making headway on the case. I almost reach for my phone to text him. Or call him—to hear his voice. I don’t, though. I want his explanation, his reasoning, for why he kept Jake’s whereabouts from me—but I want it when I can mentally comprehend my feelings.
That’s not this moment.
However, with all Chase has done for me tonight, I doubt he’s been able to work further on the case and come to a clear decision about Malcolm Bates.
I reach into my purse and bring out the skylark necklace. As Jefferson pulls up to the front of the building, I link it around my neck. “I might be a while,” I say. “You can go ahead and leave. I’ll be all right.”
He swivels in the seat to face me. “Mister Larkin gave me implicit instructions, Alexis. I’m to take you directly home before I’m relieved of my duties tonight.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” I give him a warm smile. “I’m sure you have much better things to do than wait on me. I don’t know how long I’ll be”—I glance up at the sixth floor—“I live just a few blocks away.”
His handsome face twists in uncertainty. He glances at the time on the dashboard, then exhales heavily. “Do you know the code to disable the alarm?”
I didn’t even think about that. My brain still feels foggy. Jefferson realizes this with a smile before he exits the car and walks around to my door.
He escorts me to the front of the building, where he unlocks the door and shows me how to disable and enable the alarm. “Here’s my personal number,” he says, handing me a card. “I’d prefer if you called for a ride to your apartment.”
Deciding I don’t want to get him in trouble—or worse, fired—I nod. “All right. A compromise. I’ll call you when I’m done. I’ll try not to be too long.”
He tips his head. “Take your time. I have no life.” He grins, revealing a more relaxed side. “That’s why the boss hired me.”
A small laugh escapes me, and I’m relieved I’m still capable—that I’m able to express emotions other than grief. Maybe I’m exhausted. Or just so out of sorts that I’m operating below my usual level of awkward disconnect with people. Regardless, once he leaves and I’m inside the elevator, I ride the car up to the offices of Lark and Gannet with a little less pressure constricting my ches
t.
I’ve never been here alone before. Without Chase, the floor is more imposing, making me regret my initial decision and almost turn around and walk home.
Only the thought of Chase sacrificing his time for me spurs me on, and I unlock my office and go inside. All the files are just how Julia and I left them. A mess.
I claw my unruly hair into a ponytail and sigh out the rest of the tightness from my lungs. There’s a heavy sleep feel to my eyelids. I blink hard, giving my head a shake. The thought of curling up on Chase’s couch is tempting. It might be the only way I’ll sleep tonight, being able to inhale his scent that lingers in his office.
Pushing the thought aside, I open my laptop and dive into the files. If Chase did have the victim’s revised statement picked up, he left the original here. I tweak it from the folder and try to pick up where we left off.
It’s mostly the same as her first statement. All but the amended sheet to the back. I flip there and widen my eyes, eradicating the thought of sleep from my mind. My eyes start to close, the words bleeding into each other. I have to reread each line, and as I read a sentence for the third time, my skin prickles, startling me fully awake.
I read aloud so I can register what I’m seeing. “He took his glove off and forced his fingers inside my mouth. He told me to ‘take what I give you’ and ‘your mouth wants it’.”
My office is too small, too quiet. The pounding of my heart pulses in my ears as I push away from the desk. It could be a coincidence—her statement reads like she’s revealing the actions of any sick individual—but the quoted words of her attacker are too specific for me to ignore.
In the stark quiet, I hear his voice, feel his fingers shove inside my mouth: Your mouth wants me, whore. You’re going to take what I give you.
There is another suspect.
Mason.
In the penthouse of the Skylark, inside the corner alcove of The Firm, Caleb Mason whispered those words to me and I felt it then—that gut feeling. Only how was I supposed to decipher the difference between his actions and any other there?
I did sense it, though. That same vile aura that lingered around my own rapist.
Malcolm Bates may be innocent, because one of his lawyers is framing him.
I pump my hand a couple of times to stop the trembling before I grab the victim’s statement and my purse. I’m pulling out my phone to call Chase as I enter the hallway.
“Seems we both had the same idea.”
A splash of cold fear freezes me in place. I clutch my phone, my only lifeline.
“Working late, that is,” Mason says. “I just can’t seem to get this case out of my head. Keeps me up at night.”
“I forgot something in my office,” I say, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice. “I’m leaving now.”
Mason’s heavy footfalls echo through the hallway. “Rather late to be working. Must have forgotten something quite important.”
I tuck my phone against my chest and start toward the bank of elevators. “Just my purse,” I say, quickly formulating the distance to my escape. “See you tomorrow.”
“Alexis, stop.”
I don’t. I pick up my pace.
“I told you to stop—” His voice is closer, and as the panic reaches my heart, I break into a run.
His growl wraps around me the same moment his arms seize my waist. Mason lifts my feet from the floor. I’m kicking and wriggling. “Let me go!”
“You’re so fucking disobedient,” he hisses in my ear.
I struggle against him, but that only helps strengthen his grip. My scream is cut short as he tightens his arms. He shoves my body against the wall, my face mashed against it.
“I obey my Master,” I say, my breathing painful due to his vise-like hold. “Not you.”
His deep chuckle crawls over my skin. “I’m going to enjoy teaching you differently.”
“Chase is going to—”
“What?” He hauls me away from the wall and plucks the statement from my hand. “I hardly think Chase is going to be able to do much, considering how distressed he’ll be once he discovers you’re gone.”
My arms wrapped around my stomach, I slow my breathing, trying to control the adrenaline coursing through my body.
“I was all for letting you be, Alexis.” His eyes skim the statement and then pin me with a narrowed glare. “I mean, hell. Do you know how many whores I say that to? How many nasty little tidbits I whisper in their ears when I’m fucking their brains out?”
I can’t quell the tremors racking my body.
He laughs again, shaking his head. “But damn if you’re not the smart little whore. I heard it in your voice the moment you made the connection.” He moves closer. “You’re very transparent, Alexis. Now give me your damn phone.”
Within seconds, his hand is clamped around my throat. My hands latch on to his as I gasp past the constriction. He holds me there a moment longer, his teeth bared in a mocking grin, before he releases me and scoops my phone from the floor.
I fill my lungs as I hold my neck, coughing around my restricted airway.
“So fucking defiant,” he says, looking through my phone. “I don’t know what’s so special about you, why Chase just can’t seem to help himself.” His gaze pins me. “But I’m going to have a fucking fun time figuring it out.”
With more courage than I feel, I say, “There’s DNA.” I lift my chin. “The prosecution has your DNA.”
All humor vanishes from his expression. “If that’s true, what will they compare it to? I’m not in the system. And with no one to point a finger at me, Bates is still the main suspect.” He cocks his head. “And as one of his lawyers, I can easily state any foreign DNA was bad handling on the techs’ part.” He shrugs. “I’ve done so before. It always gets thrown out. Besides, it’s not my DNA that’s crucial. It’s the victim’s DNA that was discovered on Malcolm’s car.”
“You planted it there.”
He doesn’t deny it, and as the depth of his actions sinks in, I realize I’m the only one who knows the truth. “Then why do I matter?” I ask, my voice less unsteady. “All I have is some circumstantial claim that a judge or anyone else won’t take seriously.”
“Alexis, Alexis,” he says, grabbing my ponytail and pulling my head back, forcing me to stare into his stone-gray eyes. “You have Chase. Wrapped around your fucking little finger. That’s why you matter. That’s why you have to disappear. Because he will listen to you, and I can’t have that.”
He drags me forward, and my feet follow despite the urge to struggle.
This can’t be happening—how is this happening? My thoughts cycle like a vortex, funneling every detail that has led to this point in time. Every word, every step, every action intricately woven along the walls of my downward spiral—the distorted pattern formed to display my demise at the hands of a rapist.
As Mason shoves me over my desk, I don’t scream. As he tears my clothes from my body, I don’t cry. As he strikes me across my face, I don’t blackout.
I hold on to the light at the top of the axis. My actions may have been fated for me, but they were also fated for those I care for. My brother will get help. I believe he’ll recover. Chase has loved me. He’ll love again.
There’s only one thing left to fight for.
Me.
20
Abase
Chase
I’m not equipped to be a wreck.
Rumpled dress shirt. Hair disheveled from the continuous running of my hand through it. Sitting in a dark room, brooding. The damn ache in my chest is torture. And the worst part: the loss of control.
You can’t control someone else’s pain.
I swore to guard Alexis against hers. I promised I’d protect her. Instead, I caused her additional pain. When your pride gives up the battle and you admit to that failure, their pain becomes your own.
The simple fact of the matter is that I’m not built to be this wreck of a man. It doesn’t suit me—but that’s exactl
y what I am. Wrecked. I’m a fucking cliché.
And a wrecked man can only stare at his phone so long, his thoughts battering his brain, before he has to take action. I’m not above accepting my defeat—but I’m damn sure going to do everything to fix her pain.
To an outsider, it might look like the text I’ve been writing for the past hour is riddled with tired excuses—and likely, as Alexis has effectively turned me into her whipping boy, it is—but it’s also necessary.
I’d rather not put into a text what should be expressed in person, but I can’t let another second pass, putting even more distance between us, that she considers herself severed from me irrevocably.
I won’t accept that.
She’s asked for time. I’ll give her as much time as she needs, but she’ll take that time along with my reasons. With anyone else, there’d be no explaining myself. For Alexis, I’m making an attempt, even though I’ve backspaced and growled at the fucking phone the entire time I’ve been contemplating just how to explain those reasons.
I’m not built to bow under another, either. It’s not within my makeup to submit to another’s needs. Hell, it’s not within my makeup to submit. Period.
I toss my phone aside, then tug my necktie loose. By now, Alexis knows what I’ve done. My invasion into her life did have some benefit. I’m damn good at maneuvering the law, which made it easy enough to give her what she wants most: help for her brother.
That course was already in action before tonight, and maybe she’ll despise me for it—but she’ll despise me while accepting the help, because her love for her brother trumps her anger toward me. My betrayal was precisely that: a betrayal. Regardless if it was a betrayal I wasn’t aware of.
How you validate a conundrum like that, however, is the fucking question.
Uttering a curse, I grab my phone and add another line, to which I will finally send this damn text and be done with it. When her brother is healthy, and Alexis has had a reasonable amount of time to mend from the upheaval of her life, if I need to, I’ll bend her little ass over my knee and spank her until she concedes that she’s still in love with me.
