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Bristol held my hair back and shushed me. “You’re okay.” She stayed by my side as I expelled the contents of my stomach, which was nothing but champagne. And when I was done, I pressed my cheek to the tile floor and curled into a ball.
CHAPTER 8
Scotty
I sat on Paris’s couch, elbows on my thighs, legs bouncing at an uneven and hasty pace. Her cats wouldn’t leave me alone until I fed them, so now they were all either at my feet or lying next to me, except for Henry who was at the top of the cat tree glaring down with ointment in his eye.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Paris loved them so much, I’d have been annoyed, but the more I was around them, the more they grew on me. I was glad she had their companionship, but she needed more than cats. She needed people in her life who gave a shit, and it gut me to imagine what could have happened to her last night if I hadn’t found her when I did.
I found it odd that she didn’t call to check on Henry, and after a couple of hours, I grew impatient and easily tracked her down. When I noticed she was still at the shower venue, I assumed she was just busy or having fun, but a little while later, when she still hadn’t returned my calls, I knew something was wrong.
Good thing I did because nobody else would have even noticed she wasn’t home. When I found her in the state she was in, I called Beck on the way back to her place so he could come examine her. I thought she was just drunk, but I wanted to make sure she didn’t need medical attention.
And then that scream… The sound of her terrified cry changed who I was. It went in my ears and nestled into the crevices of my brain, leaked into my bloodstream, and down to my soul. For months, I already couldn’t get her out of my mind, but now she was embedded.
The parallel to how I’d seen my mom churned my stomach. I couldn’t do anything back then, and even though I could now, I didn’t know who I needed to make suffer. I thought the obvious answer was her father, but I was starting to think he wasn’t the only one who hurt her.
The frightened look on her beautiful face was unnerving, and coupled with the piercing sound of her terror had been playing on a loop, scratching like a broken record every time it began again. There was no denying her reaction to Beck touching her was because she was drunk, that was trauma… deep rooted, ugly, agonizing trauma.
I thought I was beginning to understand who she was, but it was obvious now more than ever that I had no clue, which was what she wanted. She was hiding the truth, and damn good at it. But no more. I wouldn’t allow it any longer.
Beck and Bristol left after I carried Paris from the bathroom floor to her bed, and Bristol made me promise to keep her updated. She didn’t ask about what was happening between us, but I knew Beck would share our conversation with her. Right now, the only person I gave a shit about was Paris.
I thought I was gone for her before, but her vulnerability woke up a part of me that had been dormant since Sal found my mom. I almost forgot what it was like to be defenseless, but getting a hint of that paralyzing feeling motivated me even more. Sure, I felt protective over Bristol, but what was going through my mind, my gut, and my soul when it came to Paris was almost unnerving.
Someone, or multiple someones, hurt her, and they hurt her bad. I would find out who, and then I would destroy them. I’d prove to her that she was safe with me not only because I wanted nothing in the way of pursuing her but mainly because she deserved so much more than what she had, and I couldn’t prove that to her until she stopped hiding from me.
I hadn’t slept a wink, but every time I checked on her, she was out. The sun had just risen and she appeared from her room in the same clothes as yesterday, her hair disheveled and eyes puffy. She did a double take but kept walking. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. How’re ya feelin’?”
“Like shit.”
“Come sit down.” I motioned to the couch as I got up. “I’ll get you water and—”
“Coffee, please.” She plopped down and cradled her head in her hands. “So much coffee.”
I dropped a pod in, grabbed some painkillers, and filled a glass with water. She drank the pills down, and then I brought her coffee and a piece of toast. She sipped the dark roast but gagged at the food, then sighed. “Thank you for everything you did, especially for Henry. I’m so sorry you had to see that last night.”
“Who hurt you?” I didn’t give a shit about her apology. I wanted to know why she needed to drown her sorrows in dozens of bottles of champagne.
Her hand trembled when she set the mug on the table. “Nobody. I just had too much to drink.”
“I’m not just talking about yesterday. Someone hurt you, bad, and I want to know who it is.”
She shrugged. “That’s a loaded question. You need to be more specific.”
“Why aren’t you planning weddings anymore?” I started with what I thought would be less invasive.
“I lost business because someone was telling the brides that I seduced their fiancés. After Bristol’s wedding, my clients began dropping like flies, and before I knew it, I had none. I tried to recover, but it was impossible.”
“Who?”
She leaned back and pulled her legs up to cross them. “Lots of people don’t like me. It could have been anyone.”
“I’ll find out.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Do you not understand what’s happening here?”
