Annoyed with our turn of conversation, I slashed my hand in the air. “Then don’t. Take it from me, the less you apologize, the better off you are in life.”
Hurt shines in her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She picks up a decorative pillow that somehow managed to make it through our multiple mutual-satisfaction sessions and hugs it to her chest, effectively obscuring my view.
“I have to go. After my weekly check-in, I have clients booked back to back today. Emmett and I really need you to get to work for us—we’re bleeding money.”
“I’ll be by later.”
“You can’t sleep in, princess.” As soon as that stupid nickname leaves my mouth, I want to take it back, but I can’t. I will have better luck trying to push toothpaste back inside the tube.
Motherfucker.
“That’s me—a lazy princess waiting for her knight in shining armor to rescue her,” she says with a false cheerfulness.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize. Life’s better that way.”
“Don’t use my words against me,” I snap as I shove my feet into my boots and lace the first one up.
“Don’t call me names that you promised not to call me anymore,” she says firmly.
“Didn’t realize you were so sensitive, Ms. Ross.”
She smashes her lips together and hugs the pillow tighter to her before saying, “Go to your appointment.”
I finish lacing the other boot and stand. “It’s not an appointment. It’s a fucking required meeting to make sure I’m being a very good boy, or I go back to prison.” Frustration building, I rub the back of my neck with my hand. “Damn it, I did not want this morning to end like this.”
“Neither did I.”
Piper
Princess.
I hate the nickname. It is not born out of a tender moment, not a spontaneous endearment…he mocks me. He mocks who I am.
My stomach roils, but I won’t back down from telling him what I think. I backed down my entire life and it got me absolutely nowhere.
“You know, the last time you called me princess, you were a huge jerk to me,” I say.
“I have no excuse for that…only seeing you reminded me of what I wanted and couldn’t have.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I say incredibly stupid things sometimes…and I honestly didn’t mean—
“Fuck it all.” He storms back to the bed and snatches the pillow out of my hands before he hauls me to him. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to call you that.”
“You don’t have to hurt me to make sure you don’t get hurt. I would never hurt you—at least not on purpose.”
His fingers follow the line of my spine, tracing each vertebra and giving me goosebumps as they travel lower and lower. “This isn’t easy for me. Most women…they don’t want this kind of thing from me. I’m a good fuck, and in the past, that was enough. Hell, Piper, four months ago, I would have said it was enough.”
“Did Giselle hurt you that bad?” I ask, and for the first time in my life I want to hurt someone. Though it is to my benefit that his ex-girlfriend finally became toxic enough for him to leave, I can’t stand the thought of him hurting in the first place.
“No.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t hurt me, not like you think…or at all, really. I didn’t expect her to sit with her legs closed while I rotted away—I could’ve been killed, never paroled…there were a thousand different reasons why we wouldn’t work out. I never asked her to wait for me.”
“I would have waited for you, and you wouldn’t have had to ask me, either.” I did wait for him. Foolishly or not, I waited for him to come home.
He tilts his head to one side, his ocean-blue gaze assessing. “You would have, wouldn’t you?”
I nod. “When you lo—care about someone, you wait as long as it takes.”
“Make a doctor’s appointment today, Piper. When you decide that you’re ready for the next step, I want to be prepared.”
My heart swells. “I promise,” I say, drawing an X over my heart.
“We good?” he asks, settling me back down in the bed and tucking the covers around me.
“Very good.”
“Text me the date and time.” He gives me one last kiss before leaving.
—
Contrary to what anyone believes about me, I am not a late riser. I’ve always been up with the sun. The only downside to that is I am a horrible date for late-night functions. Once, Rowan and I sneaked out to go to a Linkin Park concert and I fell asleep in the middle of their most popular song.
Mother blames my habit for getting up so early on my father. His hours made it nearly impossible to see him before bedtime, so I made sure to catch him before he left for the day. We would eat breakfast together while he would tell me about all the bad guys he caught to keep the world safe.
In those moments, my father was a hero, a man who took the time to spend some with me, but as I got older, he stopped showing up for breakfast. No matter how early I got up, I couldn’t manage to catch him. When I found out he’d taken to eating in his office—which was off-limits to me—I stopped waiting for him.
My heart aches. It shouldn’t still hurt over something that happened so long ago. I was twelve when he stopped and, most likely, he didn’t know what to say to a prepubescent girl. Unlike my mother, who couldn’t find enough things to talk to me about.
Sit up straight.
Legs crossed at the ankles.
Such a shame about the color of your hair.
You have the Ross family’s hips—that will never do for Cotillion.
Turning this way and that in the mirror, I suck in my gut and attempt to look as poised as Mother always does. It’s impossible. No one on this earth is as poised as she.
My phone rings just as I slip on a pair of kelly green slingback pumps. They perfectly match the cashmere cardigan I’m wearing. Although it’s August, Jase and Emmett keep their shop cold enough to hang meat in.
“Hello, this is Piper.”
“Piper! This is Ginger Davidson-Prattley.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ginger is one of the few women my mother is friends with that I actually like. Despite the fact that she’s richer than God from selling her share of a start-up company that went global, she’s down-to-earth and nice. Ginger’s late husband also left her a fortune and she’s made it her mission to spend every last dime on her favorite charities and causes. The North Charlotte Women’s Shelter is one of them.
“Please tell me you have time in your schedule to work for us,” she says.
“You want me to come work for you?” I’m in total shock. Yes, I applied for the job, but my chances of getting it were slim to none. I don’t have an advanced degree and social work positions aren’t exactly easy to come by, especially nonprofit ones. “You did read my application?”
“I am well aware of your lack of advanced degree, but we’re changing the job description to reflect your internship position. The salary won’t be the same, but the experience will be.”
“This is amazing. Thank you so much, Ms. Davidson-Prattley.”
“Ginger, darling. First names only at the center.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s one catch—you have to start today. In an hour actually. I know it’s last-minute but—”
“I’ll be there.”
“Really? I’d hoped you’d say yes, but I knew this was last-minute and you might already be committed to another place.”
“My schedule’s pretty flexible.” I did not want to admit to my mother’s friend that I most likely will be forced to cancel my classes.
“Wonderful. Thank you so much, Piper. When I spoke to your mother about this, she thought it would be perfect for you.”
“She did?”
“Yes, Whitley was practically giddy when I told her that one of my employees decided to become a stay-at-home mother.”
My mother has never been giddy over anything in her life, but people see what they
want. More likely, Mother is giddy that I’ll be working with Ginger, who has just the right kind of reputation and standing in the community to further whatever agenda my family has in mind.
Ginger gives me the address of the safe house, and I commit it to memory. It’s on a different street than the Queen Anne Avenue offices. “See you in a bit.”
After I hang up the phone, I do a little dance around the room. Two jobs in less than two weeks. That has to be a record. Finally, I can make some headway, and if I’m very careful with my money, I can pay for one or two classes next semester.
Unless my parents agree to pay for all my classes.
Our dinner next Friday night will hopefully go well. I hadn’t lied to Jase about that. I really do have dinner plans with my parents at The Oaks Country Club.
Maybe my luck will hold out.
—
After I leave Jase a voicemail about where I’ll be for the afternoon—without giving him the address—and secure an appointment for next Thursday with my doctor, I gather my things from the passenger-side seat and hurry across the parking lot.
The building is rather nondescript but kept up with extensive landscaping and a freshly paved parking lot. If I hadn’t known to look for it, I would not have noticed it at all while driving, which is probably what they want.
Ginger greets me at the door, dressed similarly in a simple sheath dress and blue cardigan. Her brown eyes are warm as she smiles. She punches in a number sequence into an inconspicuous keypad.
The door swings open. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I’m really happy to be here.”
“We have a code to get in, and we prefer that employees use the front door while guests use the rear entrance,” she explains as we walk inside. “We’re not ashamed to have them here, but we’d rather not draw unnecessary attention. Police cars, when they are involved, tend to do that.”
The door shuts behind us. There is an armed guard stationed in the hallway. She’s wearing a bulletproof vest and has a 9mm holstered on her hip. I give her a small smile and she nods in return.
“Officer Ramirez is here for our safety and our guests’. We haven’t had an incident, yet, but I’d rather be prepared.”
“I think that it’s good to plan ahead.” Not that she needs my approval.
“Wonderful.” She punches in another set of numbers into a keypad, then opens the door. “Let me give you the grand tour.”
This part of the building looks exactly like a house, with a living room, eat-in kitchen, and big windows that let in sunlight. Privacy glass ensures that no one can see inside. To my right is a hallway with multiple doors and to my left is a stairway that leads to the second floor.
Every so often I hear the squeal of a child or catch a bit of music coming from what I presume to be bedrooms.
“Women who come in with children are assigned rooms on the first floor. They’re larger. The second floor is for women who come alone. Our guests are allowed to stay as long as they like. While we do offer counseling services, we can’t force them to stay or even not to return to the spouse who’s been abusing them. In the case of children, the most we can do is report to DSS, so that they can do home visits and keep an eye on the kids…at least.”
I whip my phone out of my purse and open the notes app so that I won’t forget anything.
“Cellphones are not allowed in this part of the building,” she says, and I blush.
“Sorry. I wanted to take notes.”
“You can, but be sure to add that to your notes.” She winks at me.
Grateful for her easygoing attitude, I smile. “How many rooms total?”
“Fifteen. We have three that are vacant at the moment—two on the first floor and one on the second.”
I take another look around the room. “So today, we only have room for three people, or one single and two families.” Omigosh, I sound like such a newbie and this is not the place or time.
“Exactly.” Ginger pats me on the arm. “Don’t be so nervous. If you have any questions, please ask me. No matter how big or small.”
“I will. I probably will have a ton of them.”
“Let’s go back to the main building so I can give you security information and you can read over the paperwork. There’s also an entire series on language we would like for our employees to use when checking in guests.”
I follow her into an office with buttery-colored walls and a large desk made out of cherrywood. It’s warm and inviting, and puts me at ease. Hopefully, it will do the same for anyone who comes here.
“This is your office—I recently had it repainted to make it more welcoming. We don’t want any room to feel sterile—like a hospital or a police station. In any case, for the first couple of weeks, I’d like you to check our guests in and show them to their rooms.”
“Is there paperwork for me to read about the proper procedure for that?” I ask, licking my lips nervously.
Ginger nods. “First manila folder on your desk. Also, you can read them on the desktop. We have instructions for the computer-savvy as well as the Luddites like yours truly.”
I laugh, then slap my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be, honey. Laughter is good for the soul.” She hands me the folders and I begin to read through them. “I’ll get us some tea and if you have any questions, then we can chat.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I read the policy and procedure manual, Ginger makes iced tea and brings two glasses of it to my office. “Questions so far?” she asks, holding out a glass.
I shake my head and take the glass, drinking half of it down before I take another breath. “No. It seems very straightforward.”
Near my office, a door opens. “Man on the floor,” a male voice calls out.
Ginger takes a deep breath, as if she’s preparing herself, while I set my glass down. “Policy also dictates that any time a man enters our building, even if he is law enforcement, the security officer follows our two-tiered warning system. The first is to text our office that a man is on his way, and the second is to make that announcement you just heard after he arrives.”
Though simple, I like her explanation. It adds another layer of protection for everyone involved and is considerate of the women who live here. “Got it. Do you want me to go to him, or does he come to my office?”
Before Ginger can answer me, the police officer appears. The first thing I notice about him is how big he is—he’s built like a quarterback. He has dark, almost black hair, and vivid green eyes. At his side is a woman of average height. Her profile is to me and her head is bowed, so all I can make out is light brown hair and some rather nondescript clothing.
“We’re here to get Evangeline settled in,” he says in a gravelly voice.
Evangeline tips up her chin, and I struggle not to gasp. Pictures in textbooks are one thing, but to see…I swallow down the lump in my throat.
Her face is covered in bruises, one eye is swollen shut, and her bottom lip is split. There are bruises in the shape of fingers around her throat. Her injuries aren’t fresh. She’s had them for a while.
Her one good eye takes me in, but she doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. It’s like she doesn’t recognize we’re in the room with her.
“A squad car found her wandering down the beltway. I happened to be on that side of town and met up with the officer to transport her here.”
“Has she—have you been to the hospital?” I ask Evangeline.
In answer, the officer hands over a file. “This morning. Everything you need is in there.”
I hug the file to me, half afraid to read it. I have to read it. It’s a part of my job. Why spend years of my life training and studying for this if I want to remain a terrified little girl?
“Would you like to have a seat? Maybe some tea?” I ask Evangeline, but she doesn’t respond.
“She’s still high on her pain meds.”
I turn to the officer and hold out m
y hand. “I’m Piper.”
“Hunter.” He shakes my hand. “She’s been through hell. If you have a bed, let’s get her in it.”
Ginger steps forward. “I’ll take her.” She reaches for Evangeline, but the younger woman screams, grabbing on tight to Hunter’s arm.
I want to cry with Evangeline and hug her, but Hunter is all business. “It’s okay, Evangeline. These nice ladies are here to help you.”
“Promise?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
Tears leak out of the corner of her good eye. “Don’t tell my family.”
“We won’t, Evangeline,” I promise her. “We only want to help you heal.”
Hunter gives me a look but doesn’t say a word until Ginger and Evangeline are out of the room. “I like you,” he pronounces. “You spoke to her and not at her.”
I shrug a little, uncomfortable with his praise. “I know how it feels to be talked at and around, as if I’m not in the room at all.”
His gaze roams over me before giving a smart salute. “Thanks for your help.”
“Thank you, officer.”
As soon as he leaves, I slump against my desk, still clutching Evangeline’s file to my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever had a first day like this, and college most definitely did not prepare me for it.
Chapter 8
Piper
By the time I get to Jase and Emmett’s shop, I’m emotionally drained from the time I spent at the shelter.
A part of me worries that I’m not strong enough for the job, that I’ve been sheltered for far too long to be an effective counselor. Not to mention that my own life is in upheaval and has been for several months now. My problems are nothing compared to the problems of the women I helped today, but they are enough to possibly affect my work.
Fixing my hair, I give myself one last look in the rearview mirror before reapplying lip gloss. Satisfied that I’ve perked up enough to get past Jase’s knowing gaze, I get out of the car and go inside the tattoo shop.
One day, I hope they change the name. It’s literally Tattoo Shop. I guess Emmett’s dad wasn’t original when it came to naming his business.
When We Fall Page 8