Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3)

by Anne Berkeley

“If she was so concerned, she shouldn’t have left you alone. Not for that long. Friends are supposed to look out for one another when you go out drinking.”

  Like I hadn’t heard that a million times from my brothers.

  “I don’t like her,” Jake voiced.

  “That’s judgmental.”

  “She used you to get inside, Shaw. Then she left you alone with Cade Mathers after you had a lot to drink. What kind of friend does that?”

  “I barely know her.” She was hardly responsible for me.

  “I rest my case. Here you are, concerned over her whereabouts. Meanwhile, she took a cab home five minutes after the police questioned her. She didn’t even come to the emergency room to see if you needed a ride home.”

  Wow. When he put it like that…

  Dropping his head to look me in the eyes, Jake pressed on. “Now why don’t you tell me why you went there.”

  My answer was a sniffle and a choking sob. My gaze dropped to the floor.

  “You wanted me to see you with Cade so I’d get jealous.”

  “No!” Yes. “I just wanted you to see that I moved on.”

  “I think I kind of got the idea when you refused to take my calls, Shaw. Were you going to fuck him to get back at me?”

  “No!” Humiliated, embarrassed, I wailed, none too quietly.

  “Did you lead him on?”

  “No!” It took a few attempts before I could catch enough breath to continue. Even then, I could barely annunciate more than two syllables at a time. “We danced—and he—asked me—to come—upstairs.”

  “He made a pass at you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was your answer?”

  “No! I told him no!” I hiccupped, choked, sobbed, a complete fucking mess. He was calling me out, and he’d hit the nail on the head. He knew me best. I’d slept with him to get over Henry, after all.

  “Then you know it’s not your fault, Shaw. You said no. What he did after that is not your fault. He put GHB in your drink because he knew it was the only way he was going to have you. He wanted you, willing or not.” Pulling me into his arms, he guided my head to his chest. Tears soaked his shirt. “It’s not your fault.”

  I let it out, all of it. Fear. Shame. Guilt. Humiliation. They bled from me like a confession, ridding myself of their poison. I had needed this. Sooner or later, I would have snapped. Jake helped it along, drawing it out with a few choice words.

  By the time I calmed, I felt physically and mentally exhausted. My nose was stuffed. My eyes were swollen. It felt like I’d opened my lip again. The pounding in my head returned full force. I pretty much felt like I’d been run over, backed over, and run over again.

  Backing me to arm’s length, Jake looked down at me. “Feel better?”

  I managed a weak smile. “Not at all.”

  “It feels contradictory, but you need some drugs.”

  “Aspirin. Water. Sleep. In that order.” Always a step ahead, he dug two aspirin from his pocket and handed me a tumbler of water from the sink top. I quirked a brow and took them from his hand. “You’re good.”

  “I’ve done my share of drugs and alcohol.”

  “No…you?”

  “Believe it or not.”

  The pills went down slow. I felt parched. My mouth was dry. I chugged the glass of water, hoping that it might head off the worst part of the hangover I’d feel come morning, or night, rather. It was already morning. The sun was starting to sneak between the blinds.

  “Good?” Jake asked, watching me.

  “Yeah. Can you give me a minute? I need to throw a shirt on.”

  “I can sleep on the sofa, Shaw.”

  “The sofa is torture to sleep on. There’s room in the bed. You might as well use it. I appreciate you being here.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  Holding my towel in a knot above my chest, I stepped out of the bathroom and paused. I appreciated him there for me, but I didn’t want to give him a false impression. “This doesn’t change anything between us, Jake.”

  “I’m not using this as an in. I would never do that. But I’m not giving up on us, either. We have something. It took me losing you to realize it. I lo—”

  “Don’t! Don’t say it!”

  “Why? It’s the truth.” Smiling crookedly, he shook his head. “I couldn’t understand it when Tate told Coop the first time. They barely knew each other. But they were in a similar situation, and he had explained that almost losing her put things into perspective. I know exactly what he meant now. Some things you shouldn’t let go unsaid. I love you, Paisley. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”

  Exhaling harshly, I stomped into the bedroom. Asshole. I was angry that he would say that at a time like this. His words were now marred by Cade Mather’s attempted rape. The two would always be correlated now in my mind.

  Tugging a shirt over my head, I cursed under my breath, muttering imprecations about his proclamation and what he could do with it. I stepped into a pair of boy-shorts and slid into my bed, yanking the covers up to my chin. A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door.

  “Shaw, can I come in now?”

  “No!” I shouted. “I think it’s better if you stay on the sofa.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.” A long pause elapsed. He was still standing at the door. I could see his shadow in the gap underneath. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” His shadow disappeared from beneath the door.

  While exhausted, I couldn’t sleep. Between Jake’s admission, and the night’s events, my mind was speeding a mile a minute. I tossed and turned, switching from lying on my back to my stomach, and returning to my back. From what I could tell, Jake was suffering along with me. From the other room, I could hear the ping and squeal of the springs in the sofa.

  Tossing the blankets back, I climbed out of bed, and unlocked the door. “You can sleep in the bed.”

  Jake was quick to accept my offer and climbed into bed beside me. While he slid into the center, I remained on the left most edge. “I’m not going to try anything, Shaw. In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a moral compass.”

  Sighing, I slid beside him until we were spooned. We lay there for a length of time, listening to the world come to life outside with the break of day.

  “Shaw?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I think your dickhead brother stole my cat while he was here.”

  Chapter 21

  “Hi Sean,” I said as I opened the door to my apartment. Sean was the delivery guy from the local florist. He’d delivered so many flowers to my apartment over the past week, that we knew each other by name. “What do we have this morning?” I say this morning, because Jake had them delivered twice a day. Every day. Once in the morning before I left for work, and every evening when I returned home.

  “Tea roses. Two dozen. They’re called, ‘deep secret.’ Special order, of course. He buys only the best.”

  They were deep red with an exceptional scent. I placed them up to my nose and drew a deep breath. “Lovely.”

  “You’re going to marry this guy, right? He pays a pretty penny to have these delivered this early in the morning."

  “We’re not even dating.” Sean looked me up and down, clearly wondering if I was worth the effort. “Thanks, Sean, bye bye, now.” I pushed the door closed and searched for a spot that wasn’t already covered in blooms. I settled on the sofa table because they smelled so divine.

  Plucking the card from the tiny pitchfork in the center, I tore the envelope open. Though, I already knew what was written inside. “P.S. I love you.” That’s what every one of them said; nothing less and nothing more. P.S. stood for Paisley Shaw, not post scriptum, I’d learned when I told him that P.S. usually came below the body of the letter and closing signature.

  The card, I placed in a small stationary box on my dresser for safekeeping. Also inside was a dried lavender rose, one
from the very first bouquet he sent me. He explained that he knew purple wasn’t my favorite color, but it reminded him most of me and my purple hair.

  After a quick shower, I dried my hair and applied some makeup to cover the last of my fading bruises. My brothers had told me to take some time off, but it was a new job and I couldn’t take the chance of being fired. Besides, I needed the money to pay for a new lock.

  I did get Alastair back. Pax told me it was a stupid name, but I thought it fit perfectly. Alastair meant ‘defender of mankind.’ He tended to hiss and spit a storm when he heard strangers in the hall, or when Peter visited. Where Pax was concerned, however, it was a lost cause. He tended to feed Alastair treats when he came over, and I’d lost his allegiance.

  I pulled into work with enough time to fix a cup of coffee before starting my duties. The few nurses already employing the breakroom left upon my entrance. I wasn’t surprised. Camilla had made sure to spread the story of my attack, and how I frequented with porn stars.

  I told myself I didn’t care. I was better off keeping to myself and concentrating on my work, but damn if it didn’t rankle to be the subject of everyone’s gossip once again. It put my panties in a downright twist. Why couldn’t I be the talk of the town because I was pretty or smart or a great nurse? No, I was the young, trashy one that got drugged and assaulted.

  My morning at work was nowhere as pleasant as my morning at home. My first patient, Mr. Harris, needed the wax cleaned from his ears. I got to hold the basin until a great ball of orange earwax dislodged, pulling with it a few gray hairs. I was supposed to be inured to this stuff, but lately, everything got to me. It took effort to hold my coffee down.

  My second patient, Mrs. Bailey, she swore she had a tapeworm from the chicken the dining room served the week before. We sent her home with a specimen container and instructions on how to collect her stool. Mr. Bailey got a good laugh out of her facial reaction, and advised us that she was watching too much of the Discovery Health channel.

  Mr. Medina was fairly simple. He fell a few weeks before and broke his hip. His visit was routine follow up. He was mobile, but still in a deal of pain so we refilled his pain script.

  And my week wouldn’t be complete without a visit from Mrs. O’Connor. What odd ailment was plaguing her, one could never be sure. I think she kept a hat filled with random illnesses written on tiny white papers, and every week she drew from them like some bizarre lottery. They were all excuses, however, for a lonely woman looking for attention.

  “Mrs. O’Connor,” I called over the murmur in the waiting room. Mr. Cohen helped her up from the chair. She smiled her thanks and headed toward me, cradling her hand against her chest.

  “My grandson’s on his way in. He's parking the car.”

  “Loraine will send him back when he comes in,” I assured, leading her to exam room four. “What did you do to your hand?”

  “I think I dislocated my finger.” Raising her hand, she cackled in amusement. It didn’t take long to discern the dislocation of her proximal interphalangeal joint, the joint in the center of her finger.

  “It sure looks like it. How did you manage that?”

  “The ground jumped out from under my feet. Tricky thing.”

  “You fell.”

  “You’d think after seventy years; gravity would lighten up.”

  It was really hard to keep a straight face, but it was better not to encourage her. “What were you doing when you fell, Mrs. O’Connor?”

  “Mr. Doyle.”

  I think my mouth popped open before I caught myself. “Mrs. O’Connor, were you under vigorous physical activity? Did you have loss of balance? Were you dizzy at all?”

  “All of the above.” Leaning in, she looked me in the eye and lowered her voice. “He was on Viagra.”

  I couldn’t keep a straight face any longer. A smile slipped through despite my effort. “Should I be worried about Mr. Doyle’s state of health?”

  “Oh, sweetie, he was smiling like a loon as I pushed him out the backdoor. I’d say he was in good spirits.”

  “Why the back door?”

  “My grandson was at the front door.”

  Hiding my face in my palms, I shook off the thought. “Dare I ask how you really dislocated your finger?” Knowing Mrs. O’Connor, she had a far more outlandish story.

  “Oh, it was daft of me. He came over to get a piece of jewelry from me. I keep all of my valuables in an old sock inside of my bowling bag and damn, I really shouldn’t have told you that. My secret’s out. Don’t you come burgling me, missy. I’ll know that it was you.”

  Laughing, I gave her the scout’s salute. “Scout’s honor.” The woman never ceased to amaze me. “So you dropped the bowling ball on it?”

  “No, we were going back and forth on whether I still had ‘it.’ I was a real pro back in the day. So I showed him a thing or two. When I went to swing my arm back, it took my finger and me along with it.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t dislocate your whole arm.”

  “Well, I was pretty limber after all that cardio.” Thoughtfully, Mrs. O’Connor stared back, relishing my amusement. I envied her outlook on life. If I had half her vitality, I’d die a happy person.

  “I’ll get the doctor for you, Mrs. O’Connor. We really should have that reduced as soon as possible. He might want x-rays first. Although it doesn’t sound like—” As I rose from my chair, she grasped my hand, cutting me short.

  “I wanted to ask you before you left, if you’re ok. That Camilla has loose lips. She’s not one to hold anything back. Neither are half the old farts in this place. Sometimes living here is like a game of pass it down the lane.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you to go out with her.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I would’ve went anyhow.”

  “It all comes around,” she continued, nodding malignantly. “She’ll get hers.”

  “I’m sure she will, Mrs. O’Connor, but I won’t have any part in it.” I narrowed my eyes into slivers. Along with her vitality, I imagine she also had one mean wicked streak.

  “Of course not.” She gave her best impression of looking befuddled and unassuming. Her performance was exceedingly good. “I would never suggest a thing.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “You can believe what you want, sweetheart. I only came in to get my finger fixed.” She held up her finger, backing her claim. “I certainly didn’t yank it out of whack so I’d have an excuse to drive here and see you.” Maybe not, but I didn’t put it past her to take advantage of her visit and stir up trouble. She was as crooked as the finger she was holding in the air.

  “I’ll get the doctor.”

  “If you see my grandson while you’re out there—”

  “I’ll show him the way back.” If he was anything like her, the world was in trouble. Two of them occupying the same space and time would be sheer insanity.

  As luck would have it Dr. Fisher was exiting exam room four. Flagging him down, I passed him her chart. “Dislocation of the proximal interphalangeal joint.”

  “Recent?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Take her down to radiology. I’ll need all angles. Have them email the pictures immediately. I’ll need to see them before I reduce.” Passing back the chart, the script fell loose and floated to the floor, right beneath an old metal desk at the nurses’ station. Dr. Fisher peered down dubiously. “I can rewrite it.”

  “That’s ok. I’ve got it.” Kneeling on the floor, I felt around for the slip of paper. My mind automatically began drawing up images of all the atrocities hiding underneath.

  “Mrs. O’Connor’s grandson is here,” announced another of the nurses. “Does anyone know what exam room she’s in?”

  “Four,” I answered, my face flattened against the cabinet. Finally, I caught the very edge of the slip between my fingers. My hand came out with a layer of dust bunnies clinging to it like a fluffy gray orgie of dea
d skin and cobwebs. Lovely.

  “Thanks, Patricia.”

  “Paisley,” I muttered under my breath. I suppose I should be glad she got the first letter right. I suppose I should be thankful she acknowledged me at all. Lately, most didn’t.

  Quickly, I brushed my hands off and gave them an antibacterial scrub. I grabbed the radiology slip from the counter on the way back to Mrs. O’Connor’s room.

  Inside, she and her grandson were speaking in a low murmur. When she saw me, her eyes brightened considerably. “There she is now—the one I was telling you about.”

  “If she’s making up tales of patient abuse, don’t believe her,” I said, walking into the room. “I was only taking her blood pr—” I stopped short, my mouth gaping like a fish out of water. It wasn’t possible. I mean, it was possible. I just couldn’t believe it.

  “Shaw.” Standing with his hands in his pockets, a slow smile spread across Jake’s face. Don’t get me wrong, he was as surprised as I was. He was simply quicker to recover.

  “You—you’re her grandson.” Disbelief laced my tone.

  “Do you two know each other?” Mrs. O’Connor asked with growing suspicion. Her eyes wavered between the two of us, taking everything in.

  “You could say that,” Jake answered. “This is my girlfriend, Gram.”

  “As in a friend that happens to be a girl.” I scowled, my brows pinched in the center, and looked at Mrs. O’Connor who was watching with rapt attention. “I need to walk you downstairs to have some x-rays done before the doctor can reduce the dislocation. If you’re ready, I can carry your bag for you.

  “I think I need to use the lavatory first, if you don’t mind.” Sliding awkwardly from the exam table, she suddenly aged fifty years. She’d walked in, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ten minutes earlier. Now she was a decrepit old woman. It was all a ploy, of course. “When you’re my age, things start failing you. The bladder is the first to go.”

  Unamused, I folded my arms across my chest. “The common misconception is your memory or your hearing.”

  “What?” said Mrs. O’Connor. She held her hand up to her ear, as if netting my voice like a school of fish.

  “Funny, ma’am.”