by S. L. Scott
“Very well. And more than that, I trust him.”
He wraps his arm around me and we start walking again. “Love is blind. At least when it comes to headlines. As for Ethan Everest, he’s gorgeous.”
“Love sees through the bullshit.”
“That should be on a T-shirt.”
I elbow him in the ribs playfully. “By the way, I have no money on me, so you’re buying.”
“I’d planned to—” A man who appears homeless by the dirt covered clothes and lengths of his matted hair approaches and tries to barge between us. Chip gripes, “Hey! Watch where you’re going.”
Acrid breath coats my ear as he whispers something, but the scent of him distracts me just as I’m pushed.
My world blurs as I spin, falling to my knees at the edge of the curb. I hear a horn and I flip my head back right as it whizzes by. My hair is blown wildly to the side and dirt pierces my neck and face, scaring the life from me.
“Stop that man.” Chip’s voice cuts through my fear, and I’m yanked back from the street. Chip is on his knees, looking in my eyes. “Are you okay? Singer, are you all right?”
The sounds of the city come blaring back all at once as I gasp deeply and tears prick my eyes. “Help me.”
“It’s okay, Singer. You’re okay.” Chip helps me to my feet, but one of my heels is broken, so my ankle wobbles.
Looking down, blood streams lightly from my knees, gravel and dirt from the street digging into my broken skin. The impact of what just happened and what could have been the end of my life if I had fallen two inches farther hits me, and my chest shakes along with my hands.
Onlookers stop to see what’s going on, and I lower my gaze to the sidewalk. “Get me out here, Chip. Please.”
Scanning the crowd, he says, “The man got away.”
“Please. Please. Let’s just go.”
“Are you sure? We should call the cops. You could have been killed.”
People are staring at me. “I know. I kno—I need to go.”
“Come on.” He helps me up and, with his arm wrapped around my waist, gets me back to the safety of our building.
Sitting in Chip’s corner office, I’m lost in the view of the cityscape. It’s amazing, yet right now it’s also a blur of buildings. My makeup has been wiped away with my tears, but the stains of my ordeal now color my cheeks and the front of my shirt. My knees are bandaged, but the fact that the man meant to hurt me still burns. I can’t seem to process what happened. “He kept walking.”
From the other side of the desk, Chip sits forward, angry. “Fucking New Yorkers. City of heartless assholes.”
Pivoting the chair around, I whisper, “He said something to me.”
“What? When he forced his way between us like he owned the fucking sidewalk?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“Are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes meet his. “He shoved me. He pushed me and said something under his breath.” My body shivers as I struggle to keep the memory alive so I can figure out this mystery. “It was all so fast.”
“Are you sure? Like you said, it was fast. I’m sure you’re just shaken.”
“No.” I spin to face the window again. “He meant to hurt me. I know it.”
“What you went through today was traumatic. You should go home and get some rest. Take some Advil or even better, take a Xanax and go to bed.”
I’m probably just imagining it, but I can’t push down this fear. “It’s probably my mind playing tricks on me. That cab could have killed me and came close. I’m just . . . yeah, shaken.”
He sets two pills down. “Saint X. The only saint I pray to. Take them with water and go straight to bed.” He stands and helps me up. Shoving the pills in my pocket, he helps me to the door. “Take tomorrow off. I’m sure you’ll be sore.”
“No, I’ll be here. I can’t afford the time off.”
“At least call before coming in.”
“Okay.”
With my purse on my shoulder, I go downstairs and cut through the lobby. Standing on the sidewalk, my hands start to tremor. I can do this. Just throw my hand and call a cab. I’ll be home in no time.
I dread taking a cab, but I dread Aaron finding out about today more. If Aaron knows, Ethan will know, and I don’t want him upset. As soon as the door closes, the ripped vinyl of the seat scraps the back of my knees and memories from earlier haunt me. I shake my head, refusing to let the attacker win. Pulling out my phone, I text Ethan: I’m not feeling well. Going home to sleep. Will call tomorrow. Love you.
I know he’s in meetings all day, so I don’t expect to hear from him until tonight. That gives me some room to breathe and come to terms with what really happened on that sidewalk. Was I pushed? Or did I fall?
Did he say something to me? Or was he just mumbling?
When I get home, I grab a glass of water and take one of the pills, hoping to quell the questions that plague me. Stripping my clothes off, I slip on a top and boxer shorts and climb into bed. The pill takes over fast. Thank God.
Right before I find comfort in the darkness of sleep, my phone buzzes. Rolling to my side, I’m too weak to reach for it and fall asleep.
I swear my soul claws its way out from my chest. I jump from my bed only to be met by a hand covering my mouth in the dark of my room. Still lost in a sleepy daze of confusion, I fight and scream for dear life. With both elbows, I swing back and punch my attacker. I’m freed and run for the front door amongst moans and a whine, “Singer!”
Landing with a thud on the floor at the end of my bed, I look back, recognizing that voice. “Ethan?”
“Yes,” he groans again.
“Ethan.” I wrap my arms around my body as my eyes adjust to the darkness. “What are you doing?”
“Damn, Singer. You can throw a punch.”
When I flick on the overhead light, I see him holding his arms across his ribs in pain. “Fuck, that hurt.”
I rush to his aide. “I’m so sorry. You scared me. What are doing sneaking around my room?”
“I’m not. I’m here to take care of you.”
Oh man. “Now I feel bad. You can’t sneak around a girl’s apartment and not expect to get injured.”
A smile grows and he shakes his head. “It’s good to know you can take care of yourself if you’re burglarized. Shit,” he adds, “that hurt.”
I think he groans a little extra to get some sympathy when I reach the bed. “I’m sorry.” Normally I’d make him forget all about his ribs, but my heart is pounding in my chest, so I lie on my stomach still feeling a little woozy.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.” Ethan rubs his hand over my back. His warmth is welcome. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Can I get you some tea? I have some water heated in the kettle on the stove.”
My eyes find him and I giggle. “Tea? Why are you offering me tea?”
“Because that’s what women are always offered in books and movies. Tea.”
I begin to laugh harder. “You know, you’re right.” Rolling onto my back, my body aches from earlier, reminding me of what happened this morning. “Tea would be great.”
When he heads toward the kitchen, I move up and fluff my pillow before sitting against it. He asks, “Sugar? Milk?”
“A little milk please.”
He comes back with a mug, handing it to me, and sits down next to me. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“This is a good look on you.” I take a sip while admiring him in his undershirt and boxer briefs.
Making a face, he rubs my leg gently. “I came from the office.”
“In your underwear?”
Chuckling, he replies, “No. A suit, but I took it off out there. Can’t crawl into bed with my girlfriend wearing a suit.”
“Especially not one of your fancy-pants suits.”
“Your sense of humor is still intact, but how is the rest of you?”
<
br /> “I’m okay. How did you know?”
He sits next to me. “Chip called me.”
Surprised, my lips part. “Really? What did he say?” I set the tea down on the nightstand.
“Not enough to keep me away.” His fingers touch the bandage on my left knee. “Tell me what happened.”
The memory strikes me like a lightning bolt. “Ethan.”
“Yeah?”
“The man said Ethan.”
His brow crumples and the dark centers of his eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
“Just before he pushed me.”
“He pushed you?” Jolting back, he asks, “Who pushed you?”
“Some man.”
He’s off the bed, pacing beside it until he goes into the living room and returns just as quickly. With his phone in his hand, he stares at me, the intensity making me shrink down a little under the covers. “What the fuck are you talking about, Singer?” The soothing tones of his voice are gone. The distinct fury builds in his words. “Tell me what happened?”
The grip on his phone tightens by how white his knuckles become. Managing to calm my clamoring heart minutes before, it’s now heavy in my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me. Some guy pushes you after saying my name. Fill in the blanks for me.”
Licking my lips, I try to clear the fuzziness from sleep and the pill I took. “Chip and I went for coffee down the street from the office. We were almost at the crosswalk when a man forced his way between us. He looked and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in a long time.”
“Homeless?”
“Most likely.”
“Go on.” His arms are crossed as he continues to pace the small room.
When I take too long to pick up where I left off, he stops. Harsh eyes and an expression I’ve never seen on him hit me. “Can you remember?”
“I’m trying, but you’re scaring me.”
The hard lines of his brow ease, and he sits down next to me again. Touching my arm, he says, “This is important, but you’re more important. Take a minute, but I need you to try to remember the details.”
Grabbing the other pillow, I pull it to my chest and hug it tightly to me. “He pushed me. He pushed me hard. I think he was trying to push me into the traffic.”
“What the fuck?” He stands again as if his body can’t be still. “Singer, focus and tell me all of it.”
“I’m trying,” I reply, tears filling my eyes. My legs curl beneath me, my knees aching from the wounds being stretched. “He breathed on me and said your name, then pushed me toward the traffic.” I stop when his phone goes to his ear.
Ethan marches out of the room as if he’s been given orders to do so. I stay put, listening as best I can, but he keeps his voice low. I think he’s trying to hide the conversation from me. I catch parts of it—Lars, investigate, Chip, homeless, report—then it goes quiet in the living room.
I lean forward to listen, but he appears in the doorway startling me. “Shoot,” I say. “Stop doing that.”
“Don’t eavesdrop then.”
“That conversation involves me. Were you talking to Lars?”
“I was.” The bed dips when he sits at the end of the mattress. “Listen, Singer. A man saying my name and then pushing you toward the traffic . . .” He sighs. “Doesn’t sound like an accident.”
“It happened so fast. I could be wrong.”
“But what if you’re right? I don’t want you staying here. Not until we get more details and know it’s safe.”
“Where’s Melanie?” I ask, getting to my feet.
Taking me by the wrist, he says, “She had a wedding. She told me she didn’t want to go, but I insisted since I was here. Anyway, what was she going to do? Stare at you?”
“Yes, one creeper staring at me is enough,” I tease, moving onto his lap. I wrap my arm around his neck and kiss his head. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming over.”
“Funny girl. Along with your humor, your sarcasm seems to be intact.” He lifts me into his arms and stands. It’s a new favorite thing of his that he does. I feel protected in his arms and love the feel of his strong heartbeat. “I’ve been texting with her, keeping her updated. But I did promise her you’d text her if you woke before she got home.”
My feet touch the ground, but I stay pressed against him. “Okay, I should do that.”
“Text her and then pack a bag. You’re coming with me.” His kiss is soft and lingering. Comfort. I find peace and comfort when his lips touch mine. Pushing my hair away from my face, he says, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll talk more in the car.” Before he leaves, he adds, “I had Aaron drive Mike and Melanie to the wedding. He’ll be back here in ten minutes to pick us up.” He steals a kiss and returns to the living room, giving me space and time to myself. I think he knows I need a minute to sort through not just my thoughts, but to sail the rough waters of my emotions.
“So bossy.” And I like it, though I don’t tell him. I smile. Ethan is an impressive man as a general rule, but the way cares for me? It’s hard not to want to pinch myself to make sure it’s real. How did I get so lucky?
I text Melanie. I hope her evening hasn’t been ruined. Hope you’re having fun. I’m fine. I’m going to sleep at Ethan’s tonight. Are you going to Mike’s or will I see you here in the morning?
She texts back immediately: PHEW! I’m so glad you’re okay. You were passed out cold. I checked twice to make sure you were breathing. I’ll be home tonight. Mike flies out for work at some ungodly hour, so I’m staying at our place. I’ll see you in the morning. Tell Ethan thanks for the ride tonight. We made it just in time for the I Do’s.
A selfie of her in the bathroom pops up.
Me: OMG! You look amazing.
Melanie: This dress is amazing. When Mike saw me he said he couldn’t take his eyes off me and talked about marriage for the first time. I think he might propose soon.
Me: It’s not the dress. It’s my beautiful friend. The dress does look amazing on you though.
Melanie: Thank you. I’m glad you’re fine. I didn’t want to leave, but Ethan insisted he would take care of you.
Me: He made me tea.
Melanie: Whoa. That’s love right there. He’s a keeper. I have to run. Love you like a sis. XOX
Me: Love you like a sis. XOX
I grab an overnight bag and stick with the basics. I can come back tomorrow for more. I don’t think my place is unsafe, but I do want to be with Ethan tonight. As soon as I’m done, Ethan’s there in a heartbeat. “I’ve got this. All ready to go?”
“I’m ready.”
He walks out ahead of me, and I’m about to shut the door, but look inside one last time feeling like I’m forgetting something. Am I just spooked from earlier? Nothing immediately comes to mind, so I lock up, and follow him to the car.
28
Ethan
Aaron is quiet, understanding the severity of the situation. On the flip side, Singer doesn’t seem to get it at all. She’s smiling like we’re on a fucking adventure to Disneyland. I’m stewing in my anger, hoping not to take it out on the innocent. But I want to break something. I want to rip someone’s head off. I need to protect her.
I’ve failed her.
Watching her out of the corners of my eyes, she checks her social media then looks out the window. I might be misreading her. The light that usually shines in her eyes is dull. Maybe she’s putting that smile on for me. Reaching over, I take her hand.
When she looks my way, she says, “If it’s not safe for me, the apartment isn’t safe for Melanie.”
“She should stay with Mike tonight.”
“He has an early flight so she can’t. She doesn’t have clothes with her.”
“Tell her to get her stuff, and I’ll send the car for her tonight. Give her Aaron’s number. She can text him when she’s heading home so he’ll be there when she’s ready.”
This time the smile I see is sincere. There’s my kindhearted girl
. She was assaulted today, but she’s more concerned about her friend’s needs. God, this girl. Touching my cheek, she asks, “You’d do that for her?”
“For her. For you. Yes, of course. I have three other bedrooms that are never used.”
“You have three other bedrooms? Why have I not been given the full tour?”
“Because the only room that matters is the one where I make love to you.”
Leaning her head on my shoulder, her fingers intertwine with mine. “I love you.”
With my free hand, I reach my arm over the front of her and hold her to me. “I love you, too, Singer.” This is the first time we’ve said it when I felt something else twisting inside, something that threatens my relationship with her, my love for her.
Once we’re in the penthouse, I settle her on the couch. Along with a sleeping pill she brought, I give her warm tea and ice-cold water. I want her to have everything she needs, but I don’t know what that is. She’s so content with the littlest of things and hates to trouble anyone. She doesn’t realize she’s no trouble to me.
While she’s distracted by a home decorating show, I stand near the kitchen, leaning against a wall and watch her. I love her, but I’m clouding her sunny days and raining on her parade. This is unsettling on a deeper level than my well-being.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Lars: I’m assigning detail to Davis until we know more.
He’s not one to make rash decisions. Snap, yes, which is why he’s the head of my security, but not rash. He would only do this if he needs more time to investigate the situation or he believed there was a threat to Singer or myself. I can take it. I can handle someone coming after me. But Singer? If someone’s threatening Singer to get to me, that I won’t accept or risk. My fingers fly across the screen: I want her safe at any cost.
Wanting to check on her, I join her on the couch. “Are you hungry? I have soup or fresh fruit. I can order anything you like. Craving anything?”
She points at me, a smile on her sweet face. Scrunching her lips, she narrows her eyes. “You’re cute. You know that?”
I take hold of her hand and bring it to my lap, tracing her slender fingers. “Have you eaten today?”
“Have you eaten today?” she volleys back.