She looks at me, her eyes tired and scared. “I’ve moved fourteen times in eight years. I’d go out of state, but I still have family here. So no, it wasn’t enough.”
Hazel glances at me before going to Ana. “If you help us, we can make sure he can’t hurt you again. Do you still have the original video?”
Ana opens her mouth, but the words get stuck. She rubs her hands on her leggings and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry but I can’t.” Brown eyes shift to me. “I hope you bury the bastard, but I can’t help.”
“Ana,” Hazel tries but Ana stands up, cutting her off.
“This ismylife. My life which I have spent running and hiding and waking up screaming. Every day I watch Claren rise through the political ranks and all I keep wondering is when I’m going to become too much of a liability. Whether today will be the day he decides I’m better off under the ground because dead people can’t talk. So, I’m sorry and I know it’s cowardly, but I won’t break the NDA.”
Every trace of Ana’s pain and fear is etched into her face, and I watch the emotions tear at her. I may not be able to appreciate exactly how she’s feeling, but I can respect it. I won’t force any woman to do something they don’t want to do.
Beside me, Hazel shakes her head and I catch the scent of her shampoo, peach and vanilla. God, I could bathe in that scent. “It’s not cowardly, it’s smart,” Hazel says. “And you should never apologize for protecting yourself.” She points to a notepad on the desk. “May I?”
Ana nods and Hazel crosses to the desk. She scribbles something on the notepad and hands it to Ana. “My number, in case you need anything.”
“I’m going to kill him, Ana,” I say. “I promise you that.”
Hazel stares at me. “Maybe don’t go around announcing your murder plans to everyone?”
I rock back on my heels and lift my brows. “Are you sure? I was thinking I might call the police next, give them a heads up.”
Hazel rolls her eyes and snags my wrist, dragging me out into the hall, but not before I see Ana’s smirk.
Now, I just have to fix whatever is wrong with my Little Lilac. I can tell before we’ve even left the house that she’s upset. Her teeth are worrying her bottom lip and I can practically hear her thoughts. I’ve never been so in tune with someone’s emotions before, but whatever Hazel is feeling seems to echo in my chest.
When we reach my bike she turns to me, her shoulders drooped, her hands tucked in her pockets. “I’m sorry, I really thought she was going to help us. Maybe I shouldn’t have come and got you, but I could tell she was scared and I thought maybe seeing you would help.” Hazel screws up her face. “Because why wouldn’t meeting a serial killer make you feel safe? Ugh, I’m such an idiot.” She drops her forehead against my chest.
I scowl, not liking her talking bad about herself. “Hey,” I say, curling my fingers under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Ana was never going to break that NDA. She’s too scared.”
“But now we still have no evidence against Claren.” Hazel scrunches her fingers around my shirt. “Argh, I hate that everyone thinks he’s this perfect, philanthropic guy.”
I get the sense that Hazel’s version of hate is less controlled than mine. My hate is a blade, a weapon I can use to cut my enemies. Hazel’s hate is a ball of jagged edges that she doesn’tknow what to do with, so it just writhes in her chest, cutting her up.
“Come on,” I say, wanting to draw some of that pain away from her. “I want to take you somewhere.”
Hazel peers up at me, dark circles under her eyes. “Does is involve me getting back on the death machine?”
I do,eventually, persuade Hazel to get back on the motorcycle and she clings to me as we drive out of the suburbs and towards the waterfront. The salt from the sea sinks into my skin and a dozen memories of Hope flash through my mind. I take off my helmet and drink in the marine air, the smell of fish and fried dough as familiar to me as my own hands. Hope used to eat an entire bag of donuts by herself, cradling the paper bag to her chest if I tried to swipe one.
I brush the memory away and help Hazel off the bike, taking her hand as we stroll down the boardwalk. Up ahead the red and blue siding of Sailor’s Pier glints under the low sun, the Ferris wheel rising up behind it. I haven’t been here since Hope died and part of me expects the pressure in my head to return but it never does when I’m with Hazel.
“Hope and I used to come here almost every day of summer when we were kids,” I tell her as we walk down past the beach. “We’d play on the coin machines for hours.”
“You guys were close.”
I squeeze her hand. “Very.”
Hazel slows to a stop, and I turn to look at her.
“Flynn, we don’t have to come here if it’s too much.”
“I want to share this with you,” I say. I wouldn’t dare bring anyone else here, it would feel like an intrusion, but with Hazel it’s different.
She worries her bottom lip again. “You’re sure?”
I pull her back towards me. “I’m sure,” I whisper against her lips.
We weave between the teenagers and parents with young children, heading to the coin machines first. After getting some change, I lead Hazel to the fifth one in the circle.
