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COLTON
Ipicked up Remi’s prescription and took her to her apartment. At home, I helped her change, and as soon as she lay down, she fell asleep quickly. With a mild concussion, I didn’t need to wake her, but I wanted to be nearby in case she needed me.
Sitting in the bed while she slept, I couldn’t help but think what happened to her was on me. The chief suspected the man who robbed Remi might have been the same guy who broke into Max’s and Remi’s businesses. I was too quick to assume the store crimes were related to the graffiti. That Corey admitting he’d been inside Hailey’s meant he was also responsible for the break-ins.
I still thought it was unlikely he broke into Max’s. The back door was locked and took significantly more effort to break into. Each time we spoke with Corey, our impression was he wanted to cause enough trouble to get his father’s attention, but he didn’t need money. Not that he couldn’t steal for the sake of stealing, but Chief was leaning toward someone else being responsible for Max’s and Remi’s break-ins.
Instead of believing the worst, I was trying to lead more with my gut.
With nothing to distract me from my thoughts, I felt responsible for what happened to Remi. If I’d been more focused on the investigation and not so eager to blame Corey for everything to close the case, maybe we would have found this guy before he attacked her.
It was my fault. It brought everything back. Austin. That ambush in Madagascar. One thing was the same. I lost focus, and someone who relied on me got hurt.
The familiar panic and guilt washed over me, weighing me down and pulling me under. I was drowning in it. I felt hot and sweaty; my stomach churned.
People around me got hurt. It was best to pull back and not have any entanglements. No one should rely on me because I couldn’t be there for them. I couldn’t protect them. I tried to tell Remi that, but with her optimistic personality and sunny disposition, she believed there was good in me. That I was worthy of her love. She was wrong.
I needed to be alone. Away from anyone who was important to me. I knew I was spiraling. That I should stop it, but I couldn’t. A part of me felt like I deserved the pain I was in. I reveled in it. I needed to remember this feeling so it didn’t happen again.
I stroked Remi’s hair away from her face. She was so peaceful sleeping. She was safe here. For now. When she was better, I needed to keep my distance. Push her away, no matter how much it would hurt.
I dozed on and off, reluctant to get into a deep sleep when I needed to ensure Remi was okay. Sometime toward dawn, I fell into a deeper sleep. But when Remi moved, I startled awake, rubbing my eyes against the bright light.
I felt like I’d been up all night, drinking. My throat was parched, my eyes itchy and dry. I rubbed at a sharp pain in my forehead.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Remi as she winced in pain.
“Everything hurts,” she croaked.
“Because you fell.”
“And he kicked me.” Her hand rested over her injured ribs, and I felt immense hatred for the man who attacked her and frustration that I hadn’t figured things out sooner.
We still didn’t have any leads on who it was, but it didn’t stop me from blaming myself. If I’d done a better job, she wouldn’t be lying in bed hurting.
I stood next to the bed. “Let me get you pain medication.”
“I don’t want that stuff that makes you sleepy.”
“Tylenol?”
She nodded.
I helped her to sit propped up on pillows before I grabbed her a fresh glass of water and the pills. Handing them to her, I asked, “What would you like to eat? Pancakes?”
“I’d love pancakes. Can you add chocolate chips?” A spark of life came into her eyes.
“Stay here. I’ll bring them to you.” I made sure she had her phone next to her in case she was bored.
As I mixed the batter and pouring it onto the hot pan, my mind was swirling with everything I’d been feeling over the last twelve hours. Panic when she’d called me, her voice shaking with fear. I knew immediately something had happened. Something bad. I panicked because I couldn’t get there fast enough. Then, when I saw her leaning against that wall with blood trickling down her face, I felt immense shame and guilt. I hadn’t been able to protect her.
Each emotion weighed heavily on me until my movements felt slow and clumsy.
I’d just flipped the first batch of pancakes when Remi came into the room, wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else.
“You shouldn’t be up.” My tone was harsher than I meant it to be. Softening it, I added, “I could have helped you.”
“I’m okay”—she grimaced, and her hand covered her ribs—“it’s painful, but I’ll be all right.”
