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“My name is Grace. I believe you know my son, Ethan.”
Warily, I keep my mouth shut as I watch her peel her black lace gloves off. At first, I don’t understand, but then I remember Ethan telling me the same thing happened to her. She holds up her ghastly, scarred palms. What she went through happened to her years ago, but the scars, no doubt, faded over time, are still visible, leaving me with no hope that mine will truly heal.
“Since hearing this happened to you because of my son, I’ve been feeling pain again, like it just happened. I know how you’re feeling.”
“You really don’t.”
“You’re angry, confused as to why this happened to you, in pain like you’ve never felt before. And you want to cry, but you know tears won’t change a thing.”
She’s pretty spot-on.
“I am so sorry you have to live with these scars now. It’s been over twenty years for me, and I still wear these gloves every time I leave the house,” she murmurs, placing the gloves back on.
“Most days, I wear them to stop people from staring. People are rude, and fascinated with things they rarely see in real life. But other days, I wear them because I can forget the bad that happened to me, and for a few hours, I can be me with two smooth hands.”
My lips remain sealed. I’m not interested in her sob story and how she lives with her scars. Everyone is different; I’m nothing like her.
“I don’t know you, and I mean no offence, but I don’t care what you’ve been through. It doesn’t help me in the slightest. All I know is that I hooked up with a guy wanting to have some fun, and now I’m stuck like a freak surrounded by guys who think I was working with your son to bring them down.”
“How do you feel about him?”
“I feel nothing.”
“I heard you two were together?”
“You heard wrong. We hung out a few times, but we both knew it was a summer thing. He can hurt as much as I am for all I care.”
Clasping her hands together, she holds them on her lap. I can see the resemblance she shares with Tal, which only reminds me of how he played me.
I’m still tired and confused when Leo walks in. Grace stands and frowns down at me.
“Can we talk later?”
I return her frown. My instincts are screaming at me not to bother, and I’m going to listen to them. Before I left for my first year at college, my dad drummed into me to always listen to my gut instincts, that they would keep me safe.
“I have nothing to say to you or your son, and there’s nothing I want to hear from you. As far as I’m concerned, I wish I never met your son.”
Sighing heavily, she walks past Leo and out the door. Closing it behind her, he crosses the room, holding out a glass of water and three pills.
“You’re sick because you have an infection in your left hand. The doc gave you a shot and told me to make sure you take this twice a day as well as the pain meds. He’ll be back tomorrow to check on your hands.”
That explains why I felt like I was dying. Opening my mouth, he places the pills on my tongue and tips the glass to my lips. His eyes watch me as I swallow them down and sit back, letting him know I’m done.
“Am I back at the club?”
“Yeah. You can stay here till you feel better.”
He turns, ready to leave, but I’m not done. I’m fed up with not getting the answers I want.
“I thought your dad didn’t trust me. He had me…” I stop, unable to bring myself to say I was treated like a prisoner.
“He’s willing to forget about you calling the fed because it worked to our advantage, and Zara stepped up in your defence that you weren’t mixed up in the rat’s business to take us down.” Stepping closer to the door, he adds, “You’ve been hurt enough. I stepped in with my dad on your behalf.”
Climbing out of the bed, I unsteadily make it to the door before he can open it and disappear.
“Why would you do that?”
His close proximity isn’t lost on me. Tipping my head back to look up at him, I hold his gaze, making it clear I want answers.
