by Annie Kelly
“Hey, stranger.”
I have to reach out and grasp the sides of the treadmill so that I don’t fall off. When I glance up, I see Carson grinning at me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, walking closer. “Why aren’t you working?”
I slow my stride and grab my towel, mopping the sweat that’s beginning to travel from my hairline to my neck.
“I just needed a mental health day.”
I don’t know why I don’t tell her the truth. Probably because I don’t think I’ve even processed the truth.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her. I notice then that she’s got a bag of stuff with her.
Carson drops her bag and steps up on the treadmill next to me. I increase my speed and watch her face in the mirror as she leans back against the safety bars.
“I’m moving some of my stuff over to Wyatt’s,” she says, looking down at her machine.
“Well, that’s nice,” I finally say between breaths. “That you’re taking more stuff over.”
Carson hasn’t looked away from my face in the mirror.
“So, you don’t mind?” she asks as I start to pick up my pace. I frown.
“Mind you taking stuff to your boyfriend’s house? Nah, dude. You’re fine.”
She sighs. “Yeah, I get that. But—I mean, what if this were more permanent?”
I arch a brow. “You can’t live with me forever, Carson. I don’t expect you to—especially if you and Wyatt are getting that serious.”
She chuckles, then shakes her head. “I’ve never felt this way before, Rain. He’s my whole world. I want to spend every moment with him.”
I imagine Owen’s face and I feel a surge of loneliness. An ache deep in my gut.
“So, you want to grab a drink tonight?” Carson asks.
I shrug. “Maybe—I’ll text you later on, okay?”
“Sure, sounds good.”
“Are you going upstairs after this?” she asks. “I can go unlock the door.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” I smile at her. “Go be with your guy. Enjoy every second of it.”
She reaches out for a fist bump as I continue to run, and I watch her walk out the door to her Jeep. I’m happy for her, I really am. It’s just hard to be happy for anyone when I feel so shitty.
Once I’ve made it to the five-mile mark, I slow to a walk, then stop completely. I take the stairs back up to my apartment, walking slowly enough to be considered a trudge. I just don’t feel the enthusiasm to do anything right now, even putting one foot forward in front of the other.
But when I get to my floor and come out onto the landing, I stop in my tracks. Owen is leaning against the doorjamb, and he looks somewhat panicked in the face. His eyes dart from one side to the other as he knocks.
“Owen,” I say softly. He whirls around.
“Fuck, Rainey! I’ve called you a thousand times. Are you okay?”
For a long moment, I just stare at Owen. Then, without another word, I motion for him to follow me into my apartment.
As he does, I take in his appearance—he’s wearing charcoal grey slacks and a button-up dress shirt with a loosened tie. His eyes look almost black in the dim light, and I swallow hard. Even now—despite the drama, despite the uncertainty—I want him to fuck me.
“Have I lost my job?” I finally ask.
Owen shoves his hands into his pockets and cocks his head, watching me.
“I didn’t know what was happening—what was going to happen—until after I’d texted you this morning. I had no idea about the cards or the money or anything.”
And then, before I can even blink, he rushes forward and takes me into his arms. It’s a tender embrace—the embrace of someone concerned with my welfare. The embrace of someone who cares about me.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I murmur against his chest. I inhale deeply, relishing the scent of his aftershave combined with fabric softener. Owen hugs me closer to him and presses his chin to the top of my head.
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”
He pulls back and gazes down at me, looking right into my eyes.
“I know I haven’t known you long, Rainey, but I can still tell what kind of person you are. You are more generous than anyone I know. You would never take money that wasn’t yours from the city. Not on purpose.”
“What do you mean, ‘not on purpose’?” I ask, brow furrowing. “The only times I ever used the credit card was when Remy told me to. Well, and one charge to help with Safe Spaces. But it was for a specific purpose—I was under the impression that was what the card was for.”
Owen clasps a hand at the back of his neck and closes his eyes.
“I know—I am so sorry. It’s all really complicated . . .”
He trails off and I stare at him. I feel the fury bubble up inside of me—all the fury I felt for Mr. Kensington, combined with this fury, froths and condenses deep inside me.
“You think it’s my fault, don’t you? That I fucked up?”
Owen looks down at me. His eyes widen and he shakes his head.
“Of course not. This has nothing to do with you—”
“It has everything to do with me!” I interrupt.
Tears fill my eyes and I start shaking my head rapidly. Owen approaches and places his hands on my shoulders. I allow him to draw me close. He leans down and kisses my forehead, then each of my eyes. Tears are now streaming down my face and I feel like an absolute idiot.
“This isn’t your fault, Rainey. Not even close.”
I slump a little more into him at his words. Turning around, I walk toward my purse on my dresser, reach in, and pull out the credit card. Once I’ve placed it in his palm, I pull back.
“Kensington didn’t ask for it. Now you can decide what to do with it.”
Owen stares down at the card, then back up at me.
“Look, I probably should have told you this before.” He shoves a hand through his hair, then exhales hard. “I knew that there were money concerns when I got the job at BYC. Part of the reason there was a shake-up in management at all was that the city wanted to be able to take a closer look at the BYC’s expenses.”
I frown. “You knew there was money missing from the beginning?”
“Not . . . exactly. I mean, I knew there were budget concerns. It wasn’t until later that things had to be . . . looked at.”
I feel a bolt of something like condensed fury fly up my spine and bloom over me.
“Things had to be looked at? Was I one of those things?”
Owen clears his throat.
“Yes.”
My stomach drops at that one little word. I stare at him.
“For how long?”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
I have to swallow back the bile in my throat and try to speak slowly.
“How long have you been watching me? Making sure I’m not some thief who steals money from kids?”
Owen shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that . . .”
“How. Long?”
He looks at his hands. “Since about two weeks after I got the job.”
I inhale deeply.
“You were fucking me, while you were trying to make sure I wasn’t embezzling money?”
Owen shakes his head. “Rainey, it wasn’t like that.”
I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself.”
Without another word, Owen strides forward and presses his hot and eager mouth to mine. I hold up both hands as though to prevent myself from putting my arms around him. I don’t want to want him, but, God, I do. I want him against me and with me and in me. I want him now.
“Rainey, please,” he murmurs against my mouth.
When I don’t respond, he deepens the kiss and wraps his arms tightly around me. Unable to hold
back any longer, I run my hands up over the muscles of his back and shoulders, then up into his hair.
I’m reminded of our night in the pool. Our night on the motorcycle. I’m reminded of every moment before this one—and then I’m reminded of this morning.
I’m reminded of now. And I push him away. Hard.
“You need to go,” I say, pulling my hands back down to rest at my sides.
Owen exhales hard, then nods.
“I get it—I do.”
He moves to press another soft, delicious kiss against my mouth, but I turn my head. With a sad last look, Owen walks toward the door.
“As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know, okay?”
I nod, not trusting my voice to say anything.
But once the door closes behind him, I’m already dialing Cyn’s number. I feel terribly for not confiding in Carson earlier, but whatever was blocking that impulse before is gone now. Now, I’m choking back tears as Cyn answers her phone.
“I think . . . I think I’ve been fired,” I manage to say. “Can you come pick me up? I can’t be alone right now.”
Cyn doesn’t ask anything, doesn’t beg for details, doesn’t demand an explanation. All she says is “Be there in ten.”
And then the phone goes silent.
Chapter Sixteen
Thank God for best friends.
Cyn refuses to let me stay alone. She drives me directly from my place to her apartment, where she gives me hot tea and tucks me into her bed, taking the couch instead.
“Smith’s working a forty-eight-hour shift, so I promise you won’t be disturbed,” she swears.
“You really don’t need to do this,” I protest weakly.
“I absolutely do. And I don’t want you getting out of this bed until noon tomorrow,” she practically threatens, wagging a finger at me. Then her scolding turns to sorrow as she rushes forward to hug me. I’m swallowed up in a cloud of her curls, but I squeeze her back, hard.
“Rainey,” she says quietly as she pulls back to look into my face, “I didn’t know Remy well, but are you sure he did what they’re saying he did? Embezzling money from the city is a really serious charge.”
I shrug. “I only ever got stuff for BYC on the card. Well, actually, that’s not entirely true. There were a few times Remy told me to use the card for meals out and stuff—that it was considered a work meal if it was with coworkers. But Remy . . . I mean, honestly, Cyn, I think I saw him use that card at the mall a few times. Maybe even at the bar.”
She nods. “I think that’s what you need to tell them, then, Rain. Tell them the truth—that you were doing what your boss told you to do, but that he may not have been steering you straight.”
I chew hard on my bottom lip and Cyn grabs my hand.
“Do you know when they’re going to interview you?”
I shake my head. “Mr. Kensington said a county official would call and that I’d probably have to talk to a detective assigned to the case.”
“Have you tried calling Remy?” Cyn asks gently.
“I can’t—not yet. I know I need to, but I’m so furious right now. We wouldn’t get anywhere with that. Me yelling and him crying. Doesn’t sound like much fun.”
She smiles then and pats my leg. “Okay—well, I adore you, but you smell like a bar and you need some sleep. I’m going to go make myself at home on the couch.”
I grin at her, shaking my head in disbelief and gratitude.
“Thanks, Cyn,” I say. “You’re the best. I love you.”
“I love you back. Get some rest. Don’t worry about anything.”
***
I did my best—I really did.
But I tossed and turned, despite my efforts. I kept waking up to nightmarish visions of getting fired and escorted off the BYC premises with all the kids watching me go. By the time the sun rises, I’ve barely slept an hour. Still, I pretend to be fast asleep when Cyn tiptoes in and grabs clothes for work. She showers in the hall bath and I have to smile at her desire to leave me undisturbed. Any normal time, I’d appreciate it. But today, I feel the furthest thing from normal.
When she’s gone, I hardly wait five minutes before throwing off the covers and taking a shower of my own. I know that I should stay away from the BYC today, that I should let Mr. Kensington handle things from here on out and wait for them to call me in. And yet . . . well, I just can’t help myself. BYC feels like my home and I want to be there—especially if my time there is limited.
Hell, the worst thing they can do is kick me out, right?
But as I walk through the BYC doors this morning? It’s as though the energy has completely left the building. Something has changed. Even the bricks and mortar know it. There’s a quiet, a silence that blankets the entire space.
When I enter the main office, I’m hit by how the space is both full of people and full of silence. Every employee at BYC is here and every single one is either frowning or furious, either weeping or ready to throw a punch. People looked pissed and hurt and maybe both and I can’t blame them for it. When Jenn sees me, she hops up from her seat near my office door and comes barreling across the room. She practically crashes into me, then hugs me hard.
“I’m so sorry, Rainey. This is total bullshit.”
Her voice breaks on that final word. I just nod and say, “I know. I’m so sorry.”
I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. Still, I feel the need to say what I’m feeling—and sorry is one of those feelings that is surging up inside me. I’m filled with it in an inexplicable way.
“Who’s next?”
I turn to see a woman I don’t recognize holding a cell phone in one hand and a folder in the other. She has icy blue eyes and hair so blond it’s almost white. Her hairstyle is a severe bun pulled back tightly from her face, creating a tenseness in her expression.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Derrick, who is leaning against a nearby wall.
“Detective from the Baltimore Police Department,” he mutters. “She’s interviewing all of us about Remy.”
“I’ll take the next person please,” the detective says, her voice cold and emotionless. She says “please” but I get the distinct impression that she isn’t asking.
I tip my chin up.
“Me,” I say, scooting past my coworkers and raising a hand at her. “I’ll go.”
“And you are?”
I narrow my eyes. Her tone is pissing me off. So is her damn face.
“Rainey Wallace.”
You could hear a pin drop at that moment. The detective motions for me to follow her back into Owen’s office. I stride forward, feigning confidence. Maybe even defiance. And they feel pretty natural, too.
At least until I see Owen sitting at his desk. When he realizes I’m the next interviewee, he seems incredibly uncomfortable. From that moment on, I refuse to look at him. I glance at the detective and nowhere else as she closes the door and comes to stand near me.
Detective Allison Parks has been an officer in Baltimore for five years, but has lived here all her life. I know this because it’s the first thing she says to me when we sit down at the conference room table.
“Born and raised in Roland Park,” she says, leaning backward in her chair. She says it like she’s bragging.
I nod sort of woodenly, staring at her and trying not to even consider Owen’s posture. He’s in my peripheral view and I desperately wish he’d excused himself while I was interviewed. I don’t know what to say or how to respond. Now, I’m beginning to regret that I came here today at all.
“I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Wallace,” Detective Parks says, folding her hands and placing them on the desk in front of her. “And I need you to be honest with me.”
“Of course.”
She smiles. Her teeth, like everything about her, are a little too perfect. A li
ttle too strategic.
“I’m not suggesting you’d be anything except forthcoming,” she says, giving me an ingratiating pat on the hand. “I’m just saying that some of the questions are . . . a bit uncomfortable.”
I steel myself and cross my arms. “I’m willing to answer any question you ask, Ms. Parks.”
“Detective.”
I meet her gaze and she arches a perfectly sculpted brow.
“Detective Parks,” she repeats.
“Of course.”
She pulls the chair out from across from me and sits down.
“So, tell me about your job here.”
I blink at her. “What about it?”
She crosses her legs. “Well, when did you start working here? Who hired you?”
“Oh—I started working here a year ago. Remy hired me—he was looking for an assistant director who was willing to run a tutoring program for the kids who were coming regularly. He’d come up with some great plans and needed help framing them in a way that would sound cool to teens who’d rather do anything else but study.”
“So, would you say you were partners? Was he your boss?”
I shrug. “I suppose both, but he always felt like my superior when it mattered most, like when there was payroll due to the county or when he had to go to required trainings or something.”
Detective Parks nods slowly.
“And his work—your work—it’s fairly high-stress, correct?”
“Um . . .” I frown. “I mean, I guess . . . it certainly can be.”
“So Remy was under a lot of pressure?”
“Sometimes, maybe. Yes.”
“Any signs of suicidal thoughts?”
I sit up a little straighter.
“No,” I protest. “No—I mean, sure, he was sometimes under a fair amount of stress, but he would never have hurt himself.”
“How about any other alarming behaviors? Self-destructive ones—like drinking or drugs?”
“I mean . . . sure, we’d go out every now and then. Blow off some steam. It was nothing unreasonable. Not a habit.”