“And say what?”
“I don’t know. You’re a social worker, you have experience with this kind of thing. Maybe find out what happened. Find out…” Mat cleared his throat and looked away, no longer able to meet Bridget’s clear eyes. Because she was watching him too intently? Because he was afraid of what she might see? Hell if he knew. He cleared his throat again. “Can you just talk to her? Please?”
Sympathy and understanding flashed in her eyes but she didn’t move, not right away. A long minute went by, the silence agonizing. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze on Derek, then she let out her own sigh.
“I can’t force her to talk, Mat.”
“No. I know that. But maybe…I mean—” He didn’t know what he meant, not enough to put into words. But maybe she saw something in his eyes, or maybe she could just sense whatever he was trying to say, because she finally nodded and stepped away.
Then she stopped, fixing them both with a stern glare. “But you two knock it off. No more arguing. Go to the cafeteria and get something to eat, try to relax.”
“Bridget—”
“I mean it. Go.” She waved her hands in their direction, dismissing both of them. “Go talk about the wedding or training camp or something. I don’t care what, just not about this.”
She narrowed her eyes, giving them both one final warning, then headed down the hall to Nicole’s room. She knocked on the door, waited a few seconds, then walked in without another look in their direction.
Mat held his breath, waiting. Wondering if maybe she’d come back out and tell him Nicole wanted to see him. But the door remained closed.
Something tugged on Mat’s elbow and he turned to see Derek standing beside him, his brows lowered in a frown.
“You need your fucking head examined, you know that, right?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
Derek grunted, the sound full of impatience. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed Mat’s elbow again. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”
“But what if—”
“Let it go, man. Bridget’s in there. She’ll call if she needs us to come back. But you need a break because you look like shit. And yeah, we’re still going to talk.” Derek tugged on his arm again. Mat finally followed him, telling himself not to keep looking back at Nicole’s door. Bridget was with her, talking to her.
That was a good thing, right?
Chapter Sixteen
Nicole came awake with a start, the gasp catching in her throat. Her lids fluttered open, long enough for harsh light to sear her eyes, then closed again. The light was wrong, all wrong. Too bright. Too white and artificial. She wasn’t in her room, where the most light she ever got was a washed-out dreary gray filtering through the small dirty window.
Where was she?
Fragments of memory flashed through her mind. Just glimpses, like she would see if she was reviewing pictures on her camera. They whirled in front of her closed eyes, moving too fast for her to make sense of them.
A flash of heat rushed over her, searing, followed by an abrupt chill that pebbled her damp flesh. Her hands closed over something both soft and scratchy. A blanket? It must be, but it wasn’t hers. She didn’t care, just pulled it over her, trying to get warm. Five seconds later another blast of heat washed over her and she pushed the covers away. Her left arm throbbed, the pain dull and muted.
Her left arm.
Donnie, grabbing her, his nails digging into her flesh.
Fireworks and laughter.
Sweet kisses and sweaty sex, daring, exciting.
Green eyes, deeper than any she’d ever seen, watching her. Filled with concern. With worry and anxiety.
The images, the memories, came back to her, fast and slow at the same time. Nicole remembered now. At least, bits of it. A vague recollection of Mat’s concern, of him taking her…somewhere. Of being questioned, of being asked if Mat—
“No!” Nicole shot up, her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs freezing, unable to draw breath. She bent over, eyes closed as she gripped the railing, forcing air into her lungs.
“No, no, no.” She repeated the words, over and over like a chant, hoping that if she said them enough, her fears would fall away.
A cool hand grabbed her arm and Nicole gasped, shaking it off and trying to scramble away at the same time. Her gaze skipped around the room, the disorientation dizzying until she saw the clear green eyes watching her.
But no, there were the wrong shade of green. Not forest green, not the green of a deep woodland lake or a mystical dragon. Nicole closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the world would right itself, that the dizzying disorientation would disappear.
One more deep breath and she reopened her eyes, her gaze slowly sweeping across the room. A hospital room, small and sterile. Things were coming back to her now, the glimpses lasting longer, a little clearer. She turned, searching for those green eyes, and swallowed back the odd disappointment.
Not Mat’s eyes—Bridget’s.
The woman hovered near the bed, her feathered brows pulled down in a frown. Her thick red hair was pulled back in a careless ponytail. Several thick strands of curl had come loose and framed her face, the bright light catching in the red, turning the color to a deep vibrant flame. Her gaze met Nicole’s, cautious, curious, maybe a little hesitant.
Nicole blinked and looked away, searching. But there was no one else in the room, just Bridget.
“How are you feeling?”
Nicole shook her head, not sure how to answer. But the woman kept watching her with that steady gaze, silently coaxing her to answer. Nicole reached for the blanket and tugged it over her shoulders again, ignoring the pinch of pain in the back of her arm, the small pull of the IV line in her hand. She shook her head again then shrugged.
“Tired. A little woozy.”
Bridget nodded, like that made perfect sense. She stood there another few seconds, so still and watchful. Then she reached behind her for the lone chair in the room and slid it next to the bed, settling into it like she had no plans to leave.
“Is there anything you wanted to talk about?” Her voice was soft, not quite a whisper but not loud or intrusive. Relaxing, coaxing. Nicole opened her mouth, caught herself and snapped it shut again as memory came rushing back.
Bridget was a social worker. Or working on becoming one. Something like that, she couldn’t remember. That was how Nicole knew her, through the work she did at the hospital. Did she only work with children? Nicole didn’t know. She didn’t know Bridget that well at all, certainly not enough to open up to her.
Especially when there wasn’t anything to open up about.
“Not really, no.” Nicole waited, wondering if she was going to be asked more questions, if she was going to be subjected to a repeat of the interrogations she’d had to suffer through more than two years ago. But there was only silence. Not accusing, not demanding, just…quiet.
Nicole looked over, saw that Bridget was just watching her. The other woman met her eyes and gave her a small smile. A real smile. Like they were friends or something. Like she was actually concerned. Why would she do that? They didn’t know each other, not really. They were nothing more than friendly acquaintances and they certainly didn’t run in the same circles. The day of the picnic and fireworks had been the first time they’d actually spent any real time together, getting to know each other. It had been a fun day, leaving Nicole wondering if maybe they could actually be friends. But it certainly hadn’t been enough for Nicole to suddenly open up, not after—
She glanced down, frowning. Was she remembering right? No, she couldn’t be. Had that just been yesterday? She closed her eyes, trying to remember. The picnic. Frisbee throwing and fireworks and music. Not wanting the night to end, not wanting to go home. Going to Mat’s house instead.
Her face heated and she shifted as more memories came back, flooding her with warmth. No, she wasn’t likely to forget any o
f her time with Mat. But after that…what had happened?
Bits and pieces floated, just out of reach. She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting through the thick haze that clogged her brain. God, it had been just yesterday. How could that be, when it seemed so long ago?
“Did you have fun yesterday?”
Nicole moved her head to the side, her eyes widening at Bridget’s question. Was the woman reading her mind? But there was only curiosity in her face, in her eyes. Nothing sinister, nothing probing. Just an innocent question, like one friend talking to another.
“Uh, yeah.” She cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“Me, too. Derek grumbled the whole way there, convinced he was going to be bored out of his mind.” A broad smile lit the woman’s face and sparkled in her eyes. “But he had fun in spite of himself. He likes to pretend things like that aren’t his style. I think he gets that from where he grew up, just outside Boston. You could say he was a little spoiled growing up.” Bridget chuckled, the sound clear and light and warm. Nicole watched her, not sure what to say. Her mind was still fuzzy, exhaustion pulling at her as another chill shook her.
“I know Mat had fun. But he enjoys things like that, more than Derek usually does. He’s a great guy, by the way. He’d do anything for his friends. Someone you always want on your side, someone who always has your back.”
Nicole nodded, afraid to speak even though she agreed completely. That was part of what scared her. Mat was a great guy, from everything she’d seen so far. She’d known it that first night, in New Orleans. That’s why she went back to his room. If she was going to have a one-night stand, a night to celebrate her new freedom, a night to remember, she wanted it to be with someone nice.
She’d never meant to see him again, never even considered the possibility. Because why would such a nice guy want anything to do with someone like her? Things like that didn’t happen in real life. Not in the life she knew.
“Did you know they call him the Saint?”
“I’m—” Nicole shook her head, certain she had lost track of the conversation somewhere. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Who do they call that?”
“Mat. I think Derek’s actually the one who started the nickname, back when we first started dating. I still don’t know the whole story.”
“Oh. I, uh, didn’t know that.” And she would have never guessed it, not after their time together. A saint? Not from what she’d seen, not unless someone with the rugged beauty and sinful talent of a fallen angel could be called a saint.
“Yeah. Mat hates it so if you ever want to irritate him, just call him that.” Bridget chuckled again then shifted in the chair. She looked down, her hand smoothing the patterned material of her leggings, her fingers picking at some imaginary spot. A few minutes went by before she looked back at Nicole, her eyes serious beneath her lowered brows.
“You know the police questioned him, right? About your arm. They thought he was the one who assaulted you.”
Nicole’s heart thundered in her chest. Another chill shook her, one that had nothing to do with whatever was wrong with her and everything to do with fear. Assault. She shook her head, her mind screaming in denial. But her voice was barely more than a ragged whisper when she spoke.
“Mat didn’t hurt me. It was—” Her mouth snapped shut before she said anything else. Had she told the police? She had a hazy memory of them asking her questions, of clearly telling them it hadn’t been Mat, that he would never hurt her. But had she told them who? She thought maybe she had but she couldn’t remember. Not that it would have made a difference, not like anything would happen. It never had in the past, why would it now?
“Who was it, Nicole?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
Bridget watched her, her gaze clear, studying. Waiting. But not judging. Nicole didn’t understand. Why did this woman care? There was no reason for her to care.
“Was it your ex-husband?”
Nicole wanted to look away but the other woman’s gaze was too strong, holding hers, refusing to let go. Nicole chewed on her lower lip, her body shaking, her mind fighting each word that wanted to tumble from her mouth. Why? Why was she fighting so hard? What difference did it make? None. Not anymore, maybe not ever.
She dropped her gaze, no longer able to meet Bridget’s, and slowly nodded. “Yeah. He, uh, he showed up when I left the hospital the other day.”
She took a deep breath, each word a painful struggle as she told the other woman what had happened. Nicole ended with a short laugh, the sound brittle, almost desperate as she glanced at her arm. “Do you want to know what’s funny? This is mild compared to some of the things he used to do. And I think this time really was an accident, that he didn’t mean it. I don’t think he even realized what he did.”
“He grabbed you, Nicole. Put his hands on you. That’s never an accident.”
There was nothing Nicole could say, not with the thickness clogging her throat and the burning in her eyes. She ran a hand across her face then took a deep breath. There was no reason for her to act like this. It was over, done with.
She thought it had been over months ago. Years ago.
She took another deep breath, forced herself to sit up straighter. Swallowed once more and hoped her voice would come out stronger. But she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, her gaze on the scratched surface of the closed door. Hoping to hide her shame, her mortification. “Please don’t tell Mat.”
Silence greeted her but she couldn’t look over, couldn’t bring herself to see whatever expression might be on Bridget’s face. So she concentrated on the hushed noises floating under the door. Muted voices, louder as they passed by her room, fading as the speakers moved away. Mechanical blips, their noise softened by distance. A disembodied voice, almost robotic, paging someone’s name.
And closer, just off to her side, the gentle swish of material brushing together. The creak of a chair as Bridget shifted, followed by a heavy sigh.
“Nicole, he already knows.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nicole jerked awake, that awful disorientation causing her head to spin. She blinked, her gaze sliding around the darkened room, her pulse beating heavy in her throat as the disorientation slid away.
But the fear, the embarrassment and shame, stayed with her. She rested her head against the thin pillow and pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders. The terrible chills, the burning flashes of fever, seemed to be gone. But the sterile air brushing across her arms chilled her, raising bumps along her flesh.
Was she feeling better? Maybe. Or maybe she was just kidding herself. She was tired. Tired and drained. And thirsty.
She turned her head to the side, looking for a glass of water, and felt her pulse kick up even higher. Mat was in the room with her, his large body folded in the small plastic chair. His arm was stretched out along the mattress, his head resting against it. His hand was loosely curled, so close to hers. Like he had been holding her hand, or reaching for her.
Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them back. Why was he here? He should be home, sound asleep in his large bed, curled under the soft warmth of the downy comforter. Not folded into a hard plastic chair that was too small for him, too hard and uncomfortable.
Why was here?
Nicole moved her hand, tempted to reach out and run her fingers through the thick softness of his dark hair, to brush the hair off his forehead. She wanted to stroke his cheek and see if the thick stubble that covered his jaw would tickle her palm with softness, or if would be sharp and prickly instead.
But she couldn’t do any of that so she curled her fingers into a fist and moved her hand to her lap, away from temptation. No, she couldn’t touch him. But she could watch him.
She had heard men referred to as beautiful but she had never seen one who could be called that. Not until Mat. He was beautiful in the same way the ancient sculptures she’d seen pictures of were beautiful. Hard, rugged, all sharp lines and curves.
Chiseled. Yes, chiseled was the perfect word to describe him.
Her eyes drifted down to his hand, loosely curled near her leg. Such strong beautiful hands, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. A faint dusting of hair covered the backs of his hands, lighter than the hair on his head. Even his wrists and forearms strong, each line of muscle so clearly defined.
Strong hands, but gentle, too. So gentle, always careful. She couldn’t imagine that his hands would ever be raised in anger.
And God, now she was just being silly, placing importance on things she shouldn’t be, getting worked up over nothing. She shouldn’t be comparing, had no right to compare. Yes, she could appreciate them, marvel at their strength and photograph them—
Nicole sat up, her breath leaving in a rush. Mat jerked awake, his eyes immediately focused on her, concern flashing in his eyes and radiating from the stiff lines of his body. He reached out and took her hand in his, gently squeezed it.
“Nicole? Are you okay? What is it?”
“My camera. Oh my God, where’s my camera? The pictures—” She couldn’t even say it, couldn’t put her fear into words. Mat just looked at her, his concern turning to confusion.
“Nicole, it’s okay. Don’t worry. Your camera’s at my house. Nobody is going to touch it.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s not the camera. It’s the pictures. The pictures I took. From the other night. I didn’t erase them—”
“Shh. Nicole, it’s okay.” He stood from the chair and moved closer, resting his hip on the edge of the mattress next to hers. He leaned forward and brushed the hair from her face then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Nobody is going to touch your camera. It’s fine.”
“But—”
“It’s okay, baby. I promise. Nobody will see the pictures.”
Nicole watched him, not understanding how he could be so calm. She finally eased back against the pillow, chewing on her lower lip as she looked over his shoulder, not quite able to meet his gaze.
Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) Page 16