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“Leave me alone. Go away,” I choke out, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m not leavin’.”
For a second, I allow myself to believe him. Allow myself to pretend he means it and that I actually have someone willing to fight for me. Protect me. Love me. Then his rejection and the back-and-forth games come crashing back. Twisting in his arms, I plant my palms against his chest and thrust him back.
“I said leave. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to be cold and heartless one minute and this way the next.”
“Mindy—”
“No. You made your choice. Stop confusing me. Stop letting me feel things that aren’t there. I can’t right now… with any of this.” Unable to look at him, I brace my hands on the counter and drop my head. Focusing on my breathing, I tune out everything around me, willing the heaving in my chest to calm.
When I lift my head, he’s gone.
***
I’d been roaming the streets of New York for almost a year, lost and alone, before I showed up at Bev’s.
Harry wasn’t exactly the fathering type, but for some reason, he opened his bar and offered me solace. Gave me a place to stay and a job doing little tasks until I was trained to bartend. He always said if I didn’t like something, to change it. At that point in my life, I’d felt more lost than I’d ever been. I wanted to make something of myself, but a measly bar wage wasn’t cutting it. He gave me all he could, so I had to figure out how to get what I wanted. The disapproval in his eyes when I told him about the studio gig was clear, but he never voiced his opinion or tried to talk me out of it. He simply shook his head and barked that it better not affect my livelihood at the bar. But I knew it bothered him.
He wasn’t big on people playing the victim. Whenever I felt down or he caught me sulking, his advice was always the same: tough and never sugar-coated. He told me to own the person I’d become, and if I didn’t like who that was, that was on me. I was the only person holding me back. And he was right.
Pulling myself together, I shower and get dressed by myself, my shoulder feeling almost normal again. When I finish the final touches of my makeup, I glance at my reflection. “Today, you take control of your future, you hot little bitch.”
I head downstairs to make peace with Tate so he can drive me somewhere, finding him in the living room. He’s not alone, though. “Detective Rochel?”
“Afternoon, Miss Parks.”
I glance at Tate as he watches me approach, his blank stare in place.
“Did something happen?”
“Chad’s alibi checks out. It isn’t him.” Detective Rochel steps forward, handing me a photo. “But I do have something. Do you recognize this man?”
I peer down at the side profile of a man, trying to make out anything through the blurriness of the image and shake my head. “It’s hard to tell, but he isn’t ringing any bells.” I meet the detective’s gaze. “Why?”
He takes the photo back. “We think this may be the man who assaulted you.”
My eyes widen, and I glance at Tate. “How?”
“All cameras in the vicinity had been tampered with. We assumed whoever it was had a device that reroutes Wi-Fi signals, scrambling any feed using those signals to record. Fortunately, a ma-and-pa shop a few blocks down from the studio still has its systems hardwired to an old-school router. Their cameras caught this man walking past shortly before your attack.”
“So, what does this mean?”
“It means this might be the person who attacked you. We have a partial face. Now, we just need to figure out who he is. My logistics team is running the picture. If he’s in the system, we’ll find a match. Just thought I’d chance seeing if you recognized him to speed up the process.”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“It’s okay. We’ll catch him. Sorry to bother you two. I’ll let you get on with your day.” He shakes my hand, then Tate’s, and sees himself out.
“I don’t know—”
“Don’t overthink it.”
“But—”
“Mindy, they have his face. That’s good. The motherfucker is done.”
“Okay.” I nod. He doesn’t approach me or console me any other way but with words. “Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier.”
