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Not finding it, I remembered it was in my back pocket. It wasn’t anymore. I searched the alley, finally finding it a few feet away with the screen cracked, but hopefully, it still worked. I grabbed my now-empty purse and phone, painfully making my way to the sidewalk. Leaning against a nearby building, I felt slightly safer. I could see other people.
I needed to call the police. I needed Colton. When his voice came over the speaker, strong and comforting, I rasped, “Colton. I need you.”
“What happened? Where are you?” The words came out clipped.
“The bank on Main, down from my store.” I couldn’t remember the name; my mind was foggy.
“Stay with me. I’m on my way.” I didn’t respond. “Remi?”
“Yeah?” My voice cracked.
“Stay with me.”
I slumped against the brick building. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Now that Colton’s voice was in my ear, I felt slightly more at ease, but I kept a watchful eye out in case the man came back.
I heard the sirens through the speaker on my phone. I pulled it away from my ear, the sound making the pain in my head worse. He was getting closer. I needed him, but at the same time, I was worried he’d be angry I’d gone to the bank so late. Upset that I hadn’t called him or someone else to walk with me.
My stomach was tight with tension and pain where my attacker had kicked me. I rubbed my side as the squad car flew around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of me. The door flew open, and Colton rushed to me.
“Are you okay?” He scanned me, looking for injuries.
My eyes filled with tears at the concern on his face.
He moved closer. “Are you hurt?”
He cradled the side of my face, turning me slightly to see the cut.
“What happened?” Dexter appeared by his side.
Colton looked pointedly at me, waiting for me to respond.
“Someone attacked me when I went to the bank. He took the deposit bag.”
“I got it,” Dexter called out as he took off down the alley.
I knew that’s what Colton should have done when he arrived. After a cursory check to see that I didn’t need immediate medical care, he should have secured the scene, checked the alley, and searched for the suspect. Instead, he’d stayed with me.
The realization warred with the other emotions swirling just beneath the surface, threatening to erupt.
“Tell me where you’re hurt.” This time, his words were a command, a mixture of cop authority and boyfriend concern.
“My head hit the ground, and he kicked me.” I covered my stomach where it hurt.
His fingers probed the area, and I sucked in a breath at the sharp pain.
“You might have a couple of broken ribs.”
I huffed out a laugh. “That would explain why it hurts to breathe.”
His face was a careful mask I couldn’t read.
“Are you upset?” I asked softly.
“At you? No.” His words were quick and short. Too short.
He was holding something back. I wasn’t sure what. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was frustrated with me. Or even angry. What I’d done was stupid. I hadn’t been paying close enough attention to my surroundings.
