by Skye Warren
“Bye, hon.” She waved me away.
I walked through the hospital halls in the thin, short towel. My personal cop danced attendance behind me, making strangled sounds of protest at my state of undress.
Inside my room I paused, forcing myself to appear steady. A bag lay on the side table, one that hadn’t been there before. Rape Victim Advocates, it said. Gee, what rape victim wouldn’t want to carry this around? At least the puffy shape of the bag meant it contained clothes.
“Ask and you shall receive,” I said to him where he hovered at the open door. I held the bag up to show him.
His cheeks flaming red, he shut the door just before I let the towel drop.
I dressed in the oversize sweats from the bag, trying not to let the memories take me. My little therapy session with the good detective had helped, but it wasn’t magic.
After a meek knock, the cop outside my room, still looking a tad pink, informed me I was to be released. A credible witness had come forward and accounted for my whereabouts in the hours before the blast, though not directly during, which means I likely did not set up the explosion. I refrained from saying I’d already told them that, because it appeared that credible meant someone not affiliated with Philip.
Linda wrapped me in a big bear hug before I could even process her appearance. Her perfume gripped my lungs in a vise even as her arms squeezed my body, but I welcomed it all. When she finally pulled back, I gasped. And then coughed as I inhaled a fog of perfume.
She wore a wine-colored suit with a rose-blush blouse and matching heels. Her hair had been pulled back into some sort of updo and topped with a maroon cap. Between her clothes and her makeup, she exuded glamour, like some sort of old-fashioned movie star.
“You look fabulous,” I said. “Don’t tell me you got all dolled up for me.”
“Of course not,” she said as she ushered me down the hallway. She lowered her voice as if to impart a secret. “It’s the policemen, dear. I know it goes against all those liberation ideas you young girls have, but sometimes you have to work what you got.”
Linked arm in arm, we took the elevator down. “How did you know to come get me?”
“A little birdie called and told me to go down to the station and make a statement. He told me who to talk to, what to say, and he was very specific. After that I came here to bring you home.”
A little birdie named Detective Cameron was my guess.
The sliding doors opened, and we entered the parking lot. Her necklace glinted in the sunlight, almost blinding me. “Are those real diamonds?” I asked, gawking at the rocks the size of dimes.
“Of course,” she said. “I told you William did well doing elevator service. When he died, his company had contracts with all the big skyscraper buildings and just a whole bunch of employees. I sold it then, of course, but he did real well for himself, he did.”
I could only laugh at that. Done well, my ass. Maybe it was, like she’d said, a happy story after all.
On the ride home Linda said, “Let me tell you a story.”
I shot her a dubious look.
“Now, now,” she said. “Don’t you worry. This story does have a happy ending. It’s not even a real story, it’s made-up. Like a fairy tale, only shorter.”
“All right,” I fake grumbled.
“So one day there was this fox, see, and a scorpion,” she said.
I groaned. I knew this story already. And it did not have a happy ending.
“Hush, now,” she admonished. “Well, the scorpion, she wants to cross the river, but she can’t swim. So the fox, being a gentleman fox, offers to take her across. But he’s worried, you know, because she stings. But she says, now, you’ll be doing me a favor by taking me across, so why would I sting you?”
She paused the story to accelerate through a yellow-red light. I gripped the leather seats, probably leaving permanent nail marks.
“So the scorpion gets on the fox’s back,” she continued. “And they’re going across the river, when the scorpion stings the fox! And the fox says, why did you do that? And she says, because I’m a scorpion. And every day after that the fox knew what to expect from the scorpion.”
I stared at her.
She smiled.
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” I said, “but that’s not how the story goes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The fox dies, Linda. And the scorpion. They both drown—that’s the ending.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “If they drowned, then how could the fox ask the scorpion a question?”
“Well.” I considered. “I suppose it’s as they’re drowning.”
“As they’re drowning,” she repeated indignantly. “How long could it take? And why is the fox using his energy chatting when he’s about to drown? Besides, if he died, how could the fox learn his lesson?”
“It was just right then, in those moments, that’s when he—you know what? Never mind. I’m sorry. I think you had it right.”
“Damn straight,” she said as she gunned the accelerator.
It had taken me a minute to catch on, but I hadn’t been lying. I thought Linda had the right of it. It wasn’t the original version. It was better.
Chapter Eight
Linda barely pulled into her driveway when I jettisoned from the car, raced across the lawn, and into Colin’s house. Bailey shrieked, and I cried as I scooped her up into a bear hug of my own. It had only been sixteen hours since we’d parted, but they’d been a hellish sixteen hours, and I never wanted to repeat it.
I breathed in her baby scent and didn’t complain one bit as she ran her sticky hands all over my face. Linda came in for one last group hug before she patted both our heads and left. I collapsed on the couch with Bailey and smothered her with kisses. One for every hour I’d been away seemed reasonable to me.
In my rush to find Bailey, to hold her, I’d barely registered that Colin was in the room. Now I looked over at him, to find him watching us intently. He didn’t look away—which was good, right?—but he didn’t say anything. I couldn’t read him. I usually could, at least a little, but now his eyes were frozen over, so cold, so remote, like they’d been on that very first night in the club. He’d been a stranger, then. He looked like a stranger now.
“Colin?” I asked.
Only the slightest twitch of his eyebrow as acknowledgment.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re freaking me out. I know you’re angry. That’s okay—you can be angry. But I’m home, and that’s…that’s good, right?”
A long pause, then he said, “Yes.”
I hadn’t necessarily been expecting a parade or anything, but what a welcome.
“Okay,” I said. “So how was Bailey for you? I mean, I know it’s only been a few hours. What time did she wake up?”
“She’s been fine. She woke up at eight and had watermelon for breakfast.”
My face fell. He was so distant. “Colin, talk to me.”
He shook his head, though it wasn’t quite a refusal. His throat worked. Oh no, he wasn’t uncaring. He was upset. I set Bailey, who’d recovered from my absence with somewhat insulting speed, down and went over to him.
“Hey,” I said, touching his cheek. “I know things were bad last night. But we’ll get through this, right?”
“You shouldn’t be standing,” he said gruffly.
It wasn’t the reassurance I’d been hoping for, but at least he cared. I let him maneuver me onto the couch. I also let him serve me the lunch he’d had delivered from his restaurant, without helping clean up afterward. Then I lay down for Bailey’s nap with her. He tucked us both into his bed, settling the blanket around us before shutting off the light and closing the door. Throughout it all, he barely said a word to me.
No, things weren’t great between us, but they would get better.
After the nap Colin insisted I lie down on the sofa while Bailey played in front of me. Since I was, in fact, tired, I allowed
him to coddle me. Besides, about the only time he talked to me was to tell me to eat or sit or lie down, so I figured I might as well encourage him with my obedience. I wished he’d open up to me, but that wouldn’t be Colin.
Oh, I figured he’d crack one of these days. I’d learned that much, at least, from our drama about Rick. He kept quiet, but if I waited long enough, he’d be the one to bring it up. That’s what I told myself.
Like that night I’d been sick in my apartment, he even put Bailey down for bed.
I lay across the hall, listening to him read Goodnight Moon. There was murmuring back and forth and a song. Then he trekked down the stairs and back up, for a glass of water was my guess. And so forth.
Late, past Bailey’s normal bedtime routine, Colin came into our bedroom.
“Ready to shower?” he asked.
I raised my eyebrows, amused. “Are you telling me I stink?”
“You’ll need help,” he said as he walked into his closet.
Hmm, help in the shower. I did need one, and bonus—we’d be naked. I desperately needed to reconnect with Colin, and sex was the one way that had always worked. My head kind of hurt, and my body rather ached, but I could do this. It would be worth it, not to have Colin holding himself so still and tense whenever I was near.
He came out of the closet wearing only boxers. He pulled me off the bed and undressed me, reminding me of that night in my apartment. That night he had kissed every bruise. Would he now? I had plenty of bruises in all kinds of interesting places. And if I didn’t, I’d fake it.
Colin held my hand as I stepped into the shower; then he came in after me. He didn’t take off his boxers, though. He just walked right in and soaked them through.
He gently soaped me, starting at my neck and working down my back, down my legs and then up my front. His blunt fingers ran the soap between my legs and then up to my breasts, reminiscent of our last time in the shower together. My body remembered, getting hot and wet. That had been good, if a little too acrobatic for my current physical state. We would just have to move slower, maybe find a nice position that involved sitting completely still.
I slid my hand down to the wet fabric of his boxers and gripped his cock. He moved my hand away.
“You don’t want me?” I pouted. It was a game.
He shook his head. “Not now.”
And then it wasn’t. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t always have to want sex.”
I narrowed my gaze to his erection, covered in wet cloth but obvious. “I think you do.”
“I said I don’t.”
“Then why did you come in here with me?” I asked, honestly confused.
“You had a concussion. You might be unsteady and slip.”
“Fine,” I said. “So this isn’t about sex. You’re mad at me. I know you’re mad. Can we just talk about it?”
He turned off the water. Cold air sucked into the stall, pebbling my skin. “Christ,” I said.
Colin stepped from the shower and helped me out. Then he tossed a towel in my arms and stalked out, still dripping water, his wet boxers sagging from his hips.
Okay, I supposed we were done talking. I dried off and put on one of my oversize sleep shirts. The bed was plush and warm and wonderful. I’d wanted to wait for him, I’d wanted to fix this, but I fell asleep.
We slept in the same bed, as usual. Side by side, though, not touching.
The next morning was the same, or maybe even worse. Colin made breakfast. He cleared the table. He even took Bailey for a walk. Anything but talk to me.
And the next day Colin catered to my every need, still managing to maintain his silent treatment. The day after, Colin went to the restaurant for a few hours, but only while Bailey and I were napping. The rest of the time was spent covering me with blankets or handing me new things to read, but he seemed to be talking less as the days went by.
Somehow he’d managed to punish and care for me at the same time. The more I pushed him to talk, the quieter and the more helpful he would become. It would be impressive if it weren’t so frustrating.
Chapter Nine
“So let me get this straight,” Shelly said. “He’s making you meals, doing all the housework, and not even asking for sex, and you’re complaining.”
“I actually like sex with him,” I said. “But okay, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”
I pulled out a vase from the box and held it up. “This definitely isn’t yours.”
She shrugged. “Just stick it on the mantel.”
“You’re in a downtown loft. There’s no fireplace.”
“Whatever.”
I set it down on the dining table, next to the growing collection of rich-ass things Philip had packed in Shelly’s boxes. So far I’d found a heavy crystal clock, a figurine of a dolphin, and an oriental fan folded accordion-style. Leave it to Philip to do the breakup box backward, putting in extra stuff rather than leaving a few things out. I was surprised he’d even packed them himself, but I figured if anyone was giving away hundreds of dollars’ worth of junk from Philip’s place, it was Philip. No one else would dare.
Shelly had been released from the hospital yesterday. I’d picked her up with Bailey. Colin hadn’t wanted me out of the house yet, hadn’t thought I was ready, but I insisted. Poor Rose had suffered the position of in-between as we’d had Shelly’s belongings brought to Colin’s house and then forwarded on to her new condo.
No way was she going back to the mansion, not being suicidal and all. Philip had helped her after she’d been shot, sure. She had saved his life, after all. But since then, he’d had time to think, maybe about how she’d betrayed him while living under his roof and on his dime. There was no reason to press her luck.
It had surprised me, though, that she hadn’t moved in with her cop. Sure, I had only just found out about them, but they’d seemed…intimate. But no, she told me when I asked, they weren’t a couple. They’d never even had sex, paid or otherwise. There was something there, of course, but it wasn’t enough.
We stood in the fancy furnished apartment, boxes piled high in the large foyer.
“Bailey, no!” I grabbed the painting, but she’d already torn the corner.
I shoved the canvas back into place. It curled up. I stared at the ruined painting of geometrical shapes.
“Please tell me Philip likes to paint. Or he’s one of those guys who likes to support local college kids by buying cheap art.”
“Nope,” Shelly said, sounding almost pleased. “He’s got an art dealer. All famous stuff.”
“Damn,” I said.
Bailey toddled over to Shelly, who handed her a golf-ball-sized rock that looked suspiciously like an emerald.
“Tell me again why we aren’t taking this stuff back,” I said.
“It’s part of the game,” she explained. “That’s why he likes me, because I know how to play.”
“Only rich people would throw away expensive shit for fun,” I grumbled.
“Don’t judge, Allie baby. We’re all mad here.”
There she went again, quoting Alice in Wonderland. Using silly to cover up the serious. I moved to the kitchen and packed the plates in the cabinets.
“You know what I think?” she called from the sofa. “I think he’s sulking.”
I almost thought for a minute that she was talking about Philip, and then I would have agreed that yes, maybe he was. But her voice was way too contented, and that meant she wasn’t talking about her man problems, but mine. I poked my head through the bar to look at her. “Colin doesn’t sulk. He’s angry at me. You know, for not telling him about the cops and Andrew and all that.”
She looked puzzled. “But his brother tried to kill you. Doesn’t that mean he loses his right to be mad at you anymore?”
Hmph. That’s exactly what I thought, but apparently not.
I folded up the box I’d emptied and plopped down on the armchair beside Shelly. “This chair is harder than the floor,” I said
.
“Rich people,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’re a rich person.”
She laughed softly. “I know.”
“Just how much money did Philip give you?”
“Way more than I’m worth.”
My curiosity sparked—what did she do to him?—but no. This was Philip, who I both knew and disliked, and I didn’t need the mental images.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked.
“I think you should make him talk to you,” Shelly said.
“Yeah?”
“Or maybe give him time to come around,” she said.
“That’s the exact opposite advice.”
She shrugged. “What the hell do I know about relationships?”
Point taken.
It had been a week. In only a couple of days it had been clear I was physically recovered, but we still hadn’t really talked. We still hadn’t had sex. He barely even acknowledged me.
He’d frozen me out for one week. Surely he couldn’t last much longer.
Chapter Ten
When I woke, it was dark and still, but something prickled at my awareness. I turned my head on the pillow to see Colin standing beside the window, staring between the slit in the curtains, all big and solid and beautiful. I loved him. Well, clearly I’d hit my head. I’d turned into a sap.
But I did love him. I’d proved myself to him, when I hadn’t given the cop information. And he’d proved himself to me, when he’d trusted me about it. It didn’t fix everything, but it was enough. It should be.
I slipped from the bed and padded across the wood floor. He didn’t move, even when I laid my head against his back.
“You never said if you liked them,” I said.
There was a short pause. “Like what?”
“The curtains. I made them, so they’re kinda wonky in places, but they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than what they were trying to sell. If you don’t like them, I can—”
“I like them fine.”
I ran my hands up the smooth muscles of his back to his bunched shoulders. “You’re so tense.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t move away, so I kneaded gently. I hated that he was so upset. If he’d just open up, I could fix it, surely I could. Maybe it was just a high, but after facing the cops, both dirty and clean, and coming out on the other end intact, I felt invincible. I could be normal. We could be together.
