He laughs through his nose. “Smart-ass. Debbie Gibson. Is that better?”
“Much. Now, what’s this about? You’re not changing your mind, are you?”
One cheek rises up, showing off a dimple. “You see that there?” He points to the monitor. “That’s a successful business idea. This was a cowboy bar. A cowboy bar in the southeast corner of Ohio. What was I thinking? It was crazy then, but I kept it alive. I had a good run. Until I didn’t.”
He looks around at the pictures on the wall. It’s covered in photos of years of good times had in the bar. He had darker hair back then. Always a mustache. He was bit thinner, too, but I’d never mention that. The guy is still looking good for sixty-five.
Some of the more recent photos have me in them. I look up at one in particular. It’s Paulie and me behind the bar. We’re practicing our bottle-juggling moves from the movie Cocktail.
“When you interviewed to work here, I thought you’d last a few months. Man, did you surprise me. I never had a barback who worked as hard as you. You cleaned, and you restocked. You were here early and stayed late. You worked on through the summer.
“I thought, Eh, this kid just wants to get a few bucks. She’ll be gone in the fall.
“You stayed, and I’ll be honest. I was upset when you dropped out of community college. I told you that then, and I’ll say it again. It was a mistake. You’re too smart.”
This conversation is not going in the direction I thought it would go. My high from the Fire and Ice is drifting to a dismal smoke.
“Do you know why I’m selling the bar to you?” he asks. “Because you’re so smart.”
The compliment totally goes to my head because I laugh out of embarrassment. “I’m not that smart.”
“Leah, you’ve turned around a has-been country-themed bar that’s been in the same neighborhood for thirty-five years and breathed new life into it. You pack it every weekend. One of our best nights is Mondays. Do you know how hard that is?”
“Is that why you let me throw all these themed nights?”
“You’re getting a little carried away, but you’re finding yourself. What kind of bar is McConaughey’s going to be? With all the wild antics, what are you going to keep?”
“Well, the cowboy decor is going, especially the bull. I’m sorry.”
“I only kept it for you. Was happy to see you break that record. What else?”
“I’ll keep a few cowboy elements, like the Stetson. It works with the McConaughey essence and brings history to the place.
“The wrecking ball is never making an appearance again. That was a bust. Fire and Ice Night is a keeper. I might make it a weekly thing. I showed you my plans for the lounge. I want to have that where the bull is, overlooking the dance floor. I’m going to add a sound system. Nothing crazy, but I want to kick up the music a little bit.”
“That’s good. I’m proud of you, kid. You’re gonna be amazing.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“You’re hard not to believe in. Why else would I hand my prized possession over to a twenty-three-year-old kid who’s wearing a onesie?”
I look down at the red unitard I’m sporting tonight.
“Now, get back out there, and set this place on fire.”
I rush up and give him a huge hug.
“Thank you,” I say again. This time, it’s for more than selling me the bar; it’s for being my friend.
I get the rum that I originally set out for and bring it to the bar. Suzanne is now in the back of the bar with Rory, sucking face, as they did the first night they hooked up. I grab my phone and look at the series of texts from Adam. I missed a bunch.
I hope you were kidding or else I’ll have to kick someone’s ass. And, by someone, I mean, Matthew McConaughey. How long do you think the drive to Austin, Texas, is?
Looks like you’re working hard. Drive ’em crazy.
Not too crazy. I want all your crazy.
And, now, I’m texting you like a stalker. Can you reply and let me know you’re okay?
I would drop by for one of my interrogations at your bar that you love so much, but I just got a call. I’ll be by to watch you walk out. I love you.
I reply to his text.
I want to see you, and I don’t care what the consequences are. I’m coming over tonight. Leave the door open.
I look up at the clock. Only two more hours to go. The suspense of seeing him is quite surely going to kill me.
I do what I do best and get back to work. Beer is poured, and drinks are mixed—in this case, also lit on fire. We keep the crowd thick for longer than most nights. Juice and Ron have kept the place trouble-free, and the girls have been working hard tonight. I’ll leave all the tips for them to share. They’ve earned it.
When it’s time to close up, I gather my things and walk out the back door. Ron, as usual, walks me to my car. We look to the corner, and for the first time in forever, Adam’s car isn’t sitting there.
“He must be on a call,” I say, knowing that’s most likely true.
In the few days we’ve been together, I’ve learned that the only times Adam isn’t on Main Street when I get off my shift is because he was called in for an emergency response.
I say a silent prayer that he’s okay and get in my car.
I drive to his townhouse. While I want him to see me in my red spandex that leaves very little to the imagination, I also want to wash the grime of a long day’s work off of me. I might have to entice him to get in the shower with me.
When I pull up to his townhouse, the lights are off, and his truck isn’t in the driveway. I park my car in a guest spot far from his entrance just in case someone recognizes the Blue Whore. I walk across the pavement to his staircase. I punch in the code to his house and open the door.
I throw my bag on the table by the front door and take a step further inside. I’m about to close the door when a dark figure comes barreling at me, and with a violent thrash, I’m thrown down on the floor, my head slamming into the tiles.
chapter TWENTY-SIX
There’s a thick throbbing in my head. The room is completely dark, and all I can see are tiny white lights as my body adjusts to the blow I just took.
I ignore the faint ringing in my ears as I roll over and push myself up onto all fours when two hands grab my stomach and pull me back and up, almost into a standing position. My hands immediately reach for the hands to pry them off of me. My feet planted firmly on the floor, I thrash and pull, trying to break free of the grasp.
The figure pulls me in closer. The smell of menthol and stale sweat permeates my nose, making me want to vomit.
“There’s my feisty baby girl. Looks like you dressed up to play tonight,” Nico’s words breathe into my ear.
A swell of bile climbs up my throat.
“I thought you were in jail.” It’s more of a plea. There’s no way this is really happening.
“Sometimes, the bad guys get to run free, too.”
He turns me around, and I’m face-to-face with the sinister stare of the man who held me captive in a jail cell. Only, this time, Adam isn’t here to save me.
“Where’s Adam?”
He sneers. “He’s detained. Victoria put in a call of a drug bust down by the park. She thought it might be a good diversion.” His eyes roam over my heaving chest. “You’re gonna be so much fun to play with. Let’s hope he doesn’t come back for a long, long time.”
I gasp in disbelief. “Victoria is helping you?”
“I wanted revenge on Reingold. She wanted payback from you. I even gave her some Cupid’s Bow on the house for being such a good friend. Everybody wins.”
Nico’s hand skims over my ass, and I buck to get away, which only forces his front to rub against my chest. I gasp in disgust.
“He’s going to kill you.”
“Let’s hope I die a happy man then.” He moves his hand around and cups my crotch.
I scream at the highest pitch imaginable, pray
ing a neighbor will hear me. He throws a hand over my mouth. I jab him in the eyes with two fingers and start running. I make it to the living room, throwing dining room chairs onto the floor. I leap over the couch and try to make it to the back door when Nico jumps on top of me and pulls me down.
“You little bitch.” He slaps me in the face.
It’s forceful and powerful, and the wind is knocked out of my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut as the sting travels across my entire body.
He climbs on top of me, pinning my body and wrists with his full weight. I start to cry, the powerlessness overwhelming me. The harder I try to fight, the stronger his hold becomes.
He takes out a switchblade. The sound of the metal upon metal as the knife springs to life makes me stop my fight. My eyes widen, but I can barely see through them from the tears that are filling the insides.
“Keep your eyes open. I wouldn’t want you to miss this.”
He holds the knife to my throat. The cold, sharp tip pokes my skin.
He has both my wrists in one hand as he trails the knife down my throat, letting the edge dig into my skin. It travels down my breastbone, over my stomach, and rests in between my legs.
“It’s either me or the knife.” He pushes into the fabric. I can feel the steel on skin. “Which is it going to be?”
I start to cry. Billowing heavy tears fall down my face. I don’t want to say either.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I pray hard enough, this misery will just end. I pray to the only person I know who might actually hear my prayer.
I think of his dark hair and beautiful pictures. Of a boy who wrote gorgeous words on pieces of paper and how those words now reside over houses for people who deserve better than the life they were handed. I pray to the boy who sang rap songs in the mirror and who told me he loved me over a slice of pizza. I pray to the boy who took a bad batch of drugs and died before he had a chance to live.
“Please, Brad. Help me,” I breathe out.
“Praying to the dead? That just makes this all the more perfect.” He traces the knife over my face. “This mouth, it was the death of him.” The edge glides over the Cupid’s bow. “Right here, he couldn’t get it right. Wanted something to open his horizons. I gave it to him.” Nico laughs an evil, deep laugh that can only belong to the devil himself. “Sent him right over the horizon to the next world.”
“Just kill me,” I say, the taste of metallic on my tongue.
“You don’t mean it.”
I don’t, but the alternative is far worse. “I’d rather be mutilated and die than be raped by you.”
This is clearly not the answer Nico was looking for. His lip curls up, baring his teeth. He takes the knife and harshly runs it down the center of my jumpsuit, ripping the fabric.
He might choose to kill me later. First, he’s going to murder my soul.
I don’t care that he has a knife in his hand. I fight back. Kicking my knees up and pushing up on my hands. His grip is still too much, his body mass twice the size of mine. No amount of adrenaline is going to help me win, but I won’t quit. He has his hands on my clothes, tearing them off, when I hear the front door slam open, followed by heavy footsteps and the loud yell of Adam as he comes in, a man ready for vengeance.
Nico’s body is thrown off me, and Adam is quickly on top of him. His fists are flying in Nico’s face. I push back with my heels and back away, clenching my clothes back over my body. I crawl to the side table and grab the phone, dialing 911.
I listen as the operator answers, “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Adam is punching Nico in the face. His nose is gushing blood as Adam’s rage-filled fists collide with his cheek, his nose, his jaw, his ear.
I forgot about the knife and, when I remember, I become so shocked that I can’t say a word. Nico grabs for it.
I can’t speak to the operator because my brain is busy finding my voice, and when I do, all I can say is, “Knife.”
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
It’s too late. Nico’s hand pushes up, the knife driving deep into Adam’s stomach.
“No!” I cry.
“We have your address and are dispatching a team to you. Are you still there?”
Nico is bruised and bloodied, but he’s able-bodied. He pushes Adam off of him and takes off.
Adam looks down at the knife sticking out of his gut. He falls back to the floor. I run to him, my hands no longer caring about my decency. All I want to do is touch him.
He’s alive.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
He just got fucking stabbed, and he’s asking if I’m okay.
My hands jumble over his body. The knife is there, and I want to pull it out. “What can I do? I don’t know what to do.”
“Just stay with me.” He grabs my hand. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t. Never. I love you.” I kiss his mouth and then his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, everywhere on his face. “You’re gonna be okay,” I say the words though I don’t know if they’re true.
I pray again. This time, to every person and every saint and every star and every celestial being in the sky.
Please don’t let him die.
chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
The police are at the house within three minutes. The ambulance is right behind it. When the gurney comes in, I nearly convulse with the thought of Adam’s body going on it. The paramedics push me aside, needing to work.
When they see the blood on the couch and my torn clothes, they call for a second bus.
As I sit in the back of an ambulance, they tell me I have a concussion and that I have to go to the hospital for tests. I refuse. Not without Adam. It isn’t until I see him come out with an oxygen mask on his face that I finally sit back and allow them to whisk me away.
He is alive.
His ambulance arrives at the hospital before mine, and he is rushed inside. My case isn’t an emergency, so I am wheeled through the ER and given a bed in the corner. I don’t have my phone with me, so I ask to use one.
I call my parents. My mom freaks out and will probably say a novena on the way here. My dad will most likely drive in silence, keeping his nervous thoughts to himself.
The speaker above calls for a code red. I know it’s terrible of me to think, but I hope it’s someone else dying. I can’t lose Adam. Not now. Not for another sixty years.
When an officer comes to ask me questions, the first thing out of my mouth is, “How’s Adam?”
He doesn’t have any answers for me. He wants the details of the night. So, I give them. Every gruesome moment. A fifteen-minute scene stretched out into great detail over forty-five minutes. I feel like I’ve just lived it three more times.
My parents arrive just in time for a nurse to come in to take me away for tests. I promise them that I’m okay as I’m wheeled away. I’m sure my MRI is going to show abnormal activity, as my brain can’t seem to stop moving at a million miles a minute.
This is taking way too long. He should be out of surgery by now.
“Are you all right?” My mom grabs my hand when I’m back in the ER, clinging on to me like I’m going to drift away. “We were given only a few details. Did he…did he—”
“No, Mom,” I reassure her. “Nothing bad happened to me. Adam got there just in time. I need to know where he is.”
Dad steps up to my bed. “We’ve been asking, sweetheart. They won’t tell us anything.”
“I called his mother. She’s probably here already,” Mom says.
“What about Nico? He’s out there. He could be—”
My words are halted as my dad pats me on the shoulder and makes me a soft shushing sound.
“There are officers all over this hospital, waiting for Adam to get out of surgery. You’re safe here.”
I raise my hand to my head. I’ve suddenly become dizzy, the room rocking from side to side. I close my eyes to make it go away, but that only makes me very nauseous. My mom must notice
what is happening because she is immediately at my side with her hand on my back and a round pink pan in front of me. My dad holds my hair back as I lose my stomach.
“That’s a symptom of the concussion,” a doctor says.
She’s a pretty woman with curly brown hair and big doe eyes. She has on a Beauty and the Beast shirt under her open white doctor’s coat. Her name tag says, Dr. Grey Ditto.
“Are you a pediatrician?” I ask as she walks in.
My parents are still gathered around me, helping me as I heave.
Dr. Ditto looks down at her shirt and laughs. “No. Just a believer. I took my kids to Disney last week, and I’m not ready to let go of the magic.”
I am usually one to believe in magic, yet for some reason, I can’t shake this terrible feeling. I vomit again.
“We are going to admit you. Your scans are clean. No brain bleed, but based on your symptoms”—she points her pen toward me hovered over the pink pan—“you have a grade two concussion. We’re going to keep you overnight for observation.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just want to go home.”
She leans over and turns on the fluorescent lights over my bed. My head is a rush of pain—a burning, nagging fist pounding pain right through my frontal lobe. My eyes involuntarily squeeze shut. I pull my head away from the light and into my mom’s shoulder.
Dr. Ditto turns the light off. “Yeah, you’re staying overnight.”
I open an eye and look her way. She has a smile on her face, and she’s taking notes on a white notepad.
“You’re not going anywhere until those symptoms go away. We’ll get you some antinausea meds and some ibuprofen for the pain,” she says as she starts to walk out the door.
“Doctor,” I call out. “Do you have any information on the officer who came in with me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can.”
As she walks out the door, my head begins to throb.
My parents stay with me as a nurse comes over with a new bed. I crawl onto it and let her wheel me through the ER, down a long hallway, up an elevator, into another hallway with a nurses’ station, and into a patient room. I have a double, but the second bed is empty.
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