“Aiden, please take Jules home,” Dax orders, extricating his hand from mine. Is it strange that we keep reaching for each other’s hands or stranger that my chest and eyes sting when he snatches his hand away as though disgusted by me?
I stand and grab for my things, shoving my books into the backpack along with my jacket. Busying myself with the task keeps my tired, embarrassed tears at bay, because that’s all it is, right? Embarrassment at being so easily dismissed? A reminder that I’m no different from the surgeon; someone who played their part in the game and needs to get off the damn board. The more I think about it, the angrier I become; slamming the books haphazardly into the cramped bag until I inevitably drop a few on the floor. Feeling five pairs of eyes judging every movement, I sink to my knees and scramble to gather the pile.
“What’s that?” Ben leans forward in his seat and reaches around behind me. His fingers trace the curve of my backside before I slap him away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“You’ve got something in your pocket that doesn’t belong toyou. It’s mine. Give me it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He reaches again, this time slightly above my waistband. He grips and pulls. I feel something sliding out of my pocket and slam my hand over it to stop him. I’d have forgotten it entirely if not for Ben’s greedy eyes, but now I remember exactly what it is and who it’s for—the envelope Tom made me take for Dax.
“It’s mine. My shopping list. You need to keep your eyes to yourself.”
“It’s got blood all over it. I think it’s mine and you stole it from Tom.”
“I think you’re talking shit. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m wearing a torn and bloody shirt, carrying a bloody jacket and have stains all down my jeans. It got everywhere, and before you go accusing me of stealing, you want to check your facts.” He pulls again. I press my hand to my backside, feeling the envelope give slightly.
“Enough.” Dax’s loud bark brings us both to a sharp stop. Ben pulls back, giving me the opportunity to turn away from him and stand. Dax holds out his hand to me. “There’s one way to solve this. Give it to me.”
I cross the room and lay the envelope in his outstretched palm. With my back to Ben, I pray Dax can read my face and understand that I need him to play along. Tom wanted Dax to have it but every bone in my body knows that giving him the envelope in front of Ben is a bad idea. I can’t risk telling him Tom’s warning without potentially warning the enemy at the same time. Sure, I don’t know if Ben is a danger or not; all I know is that boy has been throwing serious shade at me since I laid eyes on him. That’s enough for me to suspect him.
Dax’s eyes narrow as he inspects it, keeping the front side low and obscured from Ben’s view. He looks up and straight into my eyes. I flare them and quickly compose my face.
“Sometimes I feel like I forget things. Important things. So,I note them down to deal with them later.” I shrug but hope he catches my deliberate wording and the message within them.This is the thing I forgot. Please let’s talk later.
“No crime in lists, Jules. I have a few of those, too.” He speaks casually, folds the envelope in half to hide the fact it is blank, and hands it back to me.
“Shopping list, Ben, but your eager accusation has sparked my interest. What did you suspect it was? What did you give Tom, and why did he have it on him tonight?” Dax shoots the questions across the room. Ben’s sneer vanishes, along with the colour in his face.
I shove the envelope back into my pocket, then rush back to grab my bag, seizing the extra books and throwing them under my arm. “Ready,” I mumble.
Dax nods. “Thank you for your efforts. If I need anything more, I know where to find you.”
Aiden crosses the room and wraps his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the door, recognising a dismissal when I clearly can’t.
My jaw hangs wide until we hit the parking lot, my brain spinning.
“Are you okay?” Aiden asks, pulling open the rear passenger door and waiting for me patiently to notice that I need to climb in.
Am I okay? Loaded question but it deserves an answer, if only for myself. Am I? Nothing about this night is okay; not the attack, not the rescue. Not work, nor Carlo, nor the suits coming for me. Not Dax, nor the hospital, and certainly not Ben. I’d lost control more than once. I’d taken responsibility for things that were none of my business. I’d put myself in the middle of something that no doubt will come around to bite me in the arse.
No. I’m not okay. I doubt I’ll ever be okay, but I give the only response I know how to give, the one I say so many times a day. I almost believe it to be true.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m not sure you should come up,” I whisper. The apartment is in a state—I can’t remember the last time we decorated, and the woodwork hasn’t been cleaned in an age—the thought of bringing anyone into my home is mortifying.
“I think it might be a good idea if I explain why you’re home so late,” Aiden replies softly. He offers reassurance but doesn’t notice that his insistence terrifies me. He has no idea of what he’ll face, but I do, and the décor is the least offensive thing in my home. At this hour, Dad will be in a vile temper. There are two ways it might go. One risks me catching a fist to the gut and the other involves sleeping in the hallway outside the apartment door.
I turn my downcast eyes to look up at Aiden. The street lights flash golden across his face as the car draws ever nearer to the Tower. I feel the rumble strips that mark the entrance to the bridge. They rattle through my body as the wheels judder over them. I only have seconds to convince him to change his mind. There is no simple way out of this night, not for a while, and especially not if Aiden insists on getting inside my house in the early hours of themorning. How do I tell him that coming upstairs is a bad idea? The worst kind of idea.
It crosses my mind that he already expects the reception I’ll get. He watches me with interest as I fumble with my clothes, avoid eye contact, and open my mouth to say something, only to close it again. It doesn’t matter what I say, he will unravel any excuses I give him.
The car stops right outside the cracked glass doors of Olive Tower. He gets out and walks around the car to let me out as though I’m some kind of lady and not this dishevelled mess. It’s not like I wait for him to do it either; I simply can’t bring myself to move.
I’ve never felt more ashamed of where I live. We cross the foyer in uncomfortable silence, and I make my way straight for the stairs, but Aiden stops at the elevator and rattles the button.
