“Breanne,” the receptionist calls to me.
“Hi. That’s me,” I say and walk up to the counter.
“I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Dr. Miller had an emergency C-section he had to perform this morning at the hospital and he’s still not back yet. We can either reschedule your appointment for another time, or Dr. Stevens has an opening and we can fit you in this morning.”
“Oh, I’m not familiar with Dr. Stevens.”
“Dr. Stevens is fairly new to the practice. She joined our other office about five months ago, and has been helping us out here this week. All the patients love her.”
“Her?” I ask, and she nods.
I can’t fight the smile that spreads across my face. “I’ll take it.”
“Good morning, Breanne. I’m Dr. Stevens.” She extends her hand in greeting, smiling brightly.
Dr. Stevens is tall and slender, with black hair, hot pink glasses and multiple ear piercings, and appears to be about my age. Compared to Dr. Miller’s old-fashioned formalities and image, her kind demeanor immediately has me relaxing and I wonder if maybe I should make a permanent change in physicians.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, shaking her hand.
“You as well,” she says, taking a seat on the stool. “Alright, I reviewed your chart and looked at the nurses notes. I see you’re here for your annual exam. Other than wanting to be sure that your IUD is still intact, do you have any concerns?”
“No, that was really it.”
My phone rings and from where it rests on top of my clothes in the chair next to the exam table, I can tell it’s not a not a number I recognize. Random people, mainly the media, have been calling me ever since I became associated with Drew. Now that he’s publicly announced our relationship and the press knows I was the only passenger aboard Innovation Airways that didn’t contribute to similar charities, the calls are coming more often. My new philosophy is to send everything to voicemail.
“You need to get that?” Dr. Stevens asks.
“No. I’m ready to get this over with.”
“Ok,” she snickers. “Why don’t you lie back and we can get started. I’ll start with the breast exam, so if you could slide your arms out of the gown and place your right arm above your head, I can begin.”
I lie back on the crunchy paper covering the table and do my best to get comfortable. As she does her thing, she reminds me of the importance of doing monthly breast examination myself, and I promise I’ll be better about it. She finishes up and takes a seat at the end of the table.
“Slide all the way to the edge and try to relax your knees.”
Christ, I hate this. Despite having three children, the process still leaves me squirming. Men have it so easy.
“This may be a little cold, just try to relax.”
She pokes and prods while I do my best not to jump out of my skin.
“Have you felt any discomfort recently?”
“Um, no?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but the way she asked has me thinking that I should have been in pain.
“Alright, you can relax for now,” she tells me, rolling her chair until she’s near my side.
For now?
“Your IUD’s become slightly dislodged and I can’t be sure it’s effective. As you’ve had it for about three years, I’d like to remove it now and once we’re done here I’ll order you a new one if that’s still your preferred method of birth control. They typically take a few weeks to come in, so if you’re sexually active you’ll need to use alternative protection in the meantime.”
I nod, trying to process this. “Is it going to hurt?”
“Hurt’s a relative term,” she laughs, rolling her chair back into place. “You’ll feel minor discomfort, but it’s way easier than giving birth. Are you ready?”
“Mmm hmm,” I hum.
“On the count of three I want you to cough, ok? One, two, three!”
Cough.
“You’re all set,” she says, removing her gloves and throwing them in the trash. “You can sit up now.” She grabs her iPad and stylus, writing notes in my chart. “Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll meet you at the desk.”
“Umm, one more thing. Should I be concerned if I’ve had unprotected sex recently?”
Dr. Stevens hides her surprise well, though I sense it. Does she read tabloids and know who I’ve been having sex with? Come to think of it, it’s probably his fault the IUD dislodged in the first place. “Let’s do a quick pregnancy test to be sure.”
Thirty minutes later I walk out to my car a little uncomfortable and a whole lot relieved. I shut the car door and send Drew a text. I don’t want to wake him up but I’m hoping to at least make him smile.
Breanne: You’ll be happy to know that my appointment this morning went well…
And that Dr. Miller was busy today so I had a new doctor…
And said doctor was a woman…
Just so we’re clear, you continue to be the only pervert who’s had his hands in my cookie jar.
Around 10am I arrive at a Stephanie’s on Newbury Street, finding that Vivian is already there and has gotten us a table. I’ve been avoiding getting together with her in the aftermath of the crash because I know she’s going to drill me for all the details—details that I can’t share with her. True to form, she doesn’t disappoint my expectations, peppering me with questions before I have a chance to take my coat off.
“I’m so glad to see you, darling. I’ve been worried sick about you. How are you? Where have you been hiding? Are you doing alright since you’ve been back?”
“Which question should I address first?” I muse, accepting her embrace before quickly settling into my chair.
“Sorry, it’s just been too long, and I’ve been concerned. I want to know everything,” she says, and then leans forward to whisper, “and you can start with that hunk you were rescued with.”
“He is a hunk isn’t he?” I reply, the corners of my mouth pulling up so high that my cheeks hurt. Vivian’s green eyes sparkle with delight at my admission and despite our connection being because of Mark, I’m not uncomfortable talking with her about Drew.
“He certainly is. From what I’ve read he’s quite the ladies man, though rumor had it that he was very taken with you. Is that true?”
“Actually, we’re together if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I knew that story was all lies,” she declares. “It must have been an old picture they repurposed.”
“Oh.” She must be referring to the picture of Drew and the woman from the bar following our fight. “That was from a few weeks ago. We had a misunderstanding and I broke things off. Everything’s fine now.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“He told me he loved me, and I wasn’t ready to hear it. I never thought I’d move on from Mark. I honestly had no interest in doing that, but…I have. I love him too, Vivian. Drew is…words can’t describe how he makes me feel.”
“Wow. I didn’t expect you to say that, though I’m happy for you.” Her face scrunches up and I can’t figure out if she’s appalled that I’ve moved on or can’t picture my relationship with Drew. Maybe it’s both. Drew is nothing like Mark and she had a very close relationship with him.
“Thank you.”
“So how’s the investigation going? Do they have any leads?”
“None that I’m aware of. They haven’t really given Drew and I any updates other than what’s in the paper, so you pretty much know what I know at this point.”
Her eyebrow raises and her smirk is calling bullshit.
“Vivian, I’m really not supposed to talk about it while the investigation is open.”
“Oh come on, you already gave tons of information away with that video you made. That was genius by the way.”
“Thanks, but I really can’t discuss this. Please let it go.”
“Ok, ok. I’m done pestering you.” Vivian holds her hands up in surrender. “I meant to ask
you if you liked the framed picture I brought you a few weeks back.”
I drop my gaze and take a sip from my water. Vivian had stopped by the morning Drew and I resolved our issues and I was still in purging mode. I’m not sure that I have the heart to tell her that the family picture she framed has earned a spot in one of the many boxes and is now tucked away in the basement.
“Of course. It’s beautiful.”
“Where did you put it? It would perfect on the table with all the other frames in the living room.”
Damn it. Now I have no choice but to fess up.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I reply, tenting my hands on the table. “I’ve spent a lot of time over these past few weeks going through Mark’s things and putting them away. I couldn’t do it anymore. Looking at his clothes, and the office. I needed a clean slate. It was a lovely gesture, but I put it with the rest of Mark’s things.”
Vivian tosses her long, red hair over her shoulder. “I wish I knew, Breanne. I had that frame specially made for you. Just replace the picture.” She leans forward, folding her arms in front of her. “I expect to see it displayed the next time I stop by.”
“Ok.”
“You can replace it with a photo of you and Mr. Big League. By the way, why didn’t you bring Drew with you today? I would love to meet him.”
“He’s actually in California.”
Vivian’s face contorts in what I think is confusion.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Suddenly she’s the one looking uncomfortable. Vivian is not the type to fidget and yet she’s spinning the ‘VIV’ charm on her bracelet to the point where I think it might break.
“Tell me Vivian. What is it?”
“Well, it’s just you said that the picture was an old one, but...”
“The one of him and the woman at a bar in the city.”
“No. The one of him and two women outside a bar that’s in today’s paper.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
Vivian purses her lips and looks away before she takes a sip of her drink. Assuming she’s not going to willingly give me more information, and growing increasingly anxious, I pull out my phone and type Drew’s name into the search engine.
I never should have gotten out of bed.
Tiny fissures spread through my heart. I’m fully aware that I’m gawking, open-mouthed at my phone, yet it’s as if I’m frozen. I feel Vivian’s stare as I read an online article about Drew’s bad boy ways that includes a picture of him, drunk and draped over two women outside a nightclub in San Francisco. He appears to be so wasted that he can’t even hold his head up. I enlarge the photo, and though it’s blurry, I can make out red lipstick marks on his neck.
I think I’m going to be sick. This must be why he didn’t call me last night.
The article is short and to the point, and the picture it paints is painfully clear. Not even two days after proclaiming his love for me publicly, he can’t help but be swayed by his playboy tendencies. How could he do this?
“Excuse me, Vivian. I’ve lost my appetite. I need to go.”
EIGHT
It's All a Blur
Rolling to my side, I force myself to sit up, my hand automatically shooting to my neck. Fuck, it hurts…in fact, my whole body hurts. Why does it feel like I’ve been hit by a train? It takes several seconds of blinking once I’ve opened my eyes to alleviate the blurriness, though even when my sight is clear, nothing about my surroundings is familiar.
Where am I?
Missing pieces of plastic from the vertical blinds allow too much sunlight in, illuminating the room. Squinting, the hair on my neck stands on end as it becomes obvious that I’m not in a good place. An aged and stained flowery comforter covers the twin-sized bed that I’m perched on. Pale walls that at one time must have been some shade of yellow, are now water damaged and smeared with either shit, blood, or both, boxing me into this 10’ x 10’ nightmare. A television circa 1980 with a shattered screen is front and center on a dresser with no drawers, and if I’m not mistaken there is a hand, which may or may not be attached to a body, dangling at the edge of the bed. Without looking out the window for confirmation, and never having been to a place like this before, I know for certain that I’m in some seedy motel in the bad part of town.
But the town I’m in and how I got here are unknown.
Ignoring the pain radiating out of every muscle in my body, I steadily make my way to the end of the bed, unsure of who or what I might find. I slowly peer over the edge and find Everett’s limp body folded in an unnatural way. Putting my discomfort aside, I push off the bed and kneel next to him.
“Everett. Everett.” I straighten him out and slowly lie him down, calling to him repeatedly as I shake him by his shoulders. “Everett.”
Damn it, why won’t you respond?
I check his pulse and am relieved when I feel it thudding against my fingers.
“Wake up Everett. I need you to get up.”
I shove my hands into my back pockets in search of my phone. Coming up empty handed, I stand and look around the room and check my front pockets. Jagged edges of something that’s both metal and hard plastic scrapes my hand. It catches on the inside of my pocket as I’m trying to remove it, so I yank harder, dislodging it from both my clothing and my grasp. Before I have a chance to see what it is, it bounces under the bed and at the moment I’m too disgusted by what else could be under there to bother looking. It wasn’t a phone so it can’t be that important.
There’s no bedside table, and apart from the TV, nothing occupies the dresser. I return to Everett and search his pockets, finding nothing on him either. Great. Neither of us have a phone or our wallets. Clenching my fists at my side, I drop my head back and groan. Were we mugged? The last thing I remember was leaving the photo shoot.
Everett moans and slowly rises to a sitting position, though his head remains slumped. Without warning his body begins convulsing and he vomits. Luckily, I step back just in time and narrowly escape being hit.
“Water,” Everett grumbles.
I hold my breath while helping him get on the bed, and then walk to the bathroom where I find a dirty cup. I turn the faucet on and cringe as brown liquid sputters out. We need to get out of here, fast.
“They’re all out. Do you have any idea where we are or how we ended up here?”
He shakes his head and I realize that our crew is one man short.
“Where’s O’Conner?” I question, getting no response.
Twenty-some minutes and an awkward confrontation with a group of hookers later, we at least learn our location. Tenderloin—aka, not the best area to wake up in without a phone or car. We find what’s quite possibly the last phone booth in all of society and actually place a collect call to Brett’s hotel room.
“Where the hell have you been, man?” Brett yells after accepting the call. The shouting is doing nothing to alleviate my headache.
“Good question. Listen, I need you to come get us.”
“Why are you calling collect? And what were you thinking?” he shouts, forcing me to hold the phone a few inches from my ear until there’s silence.
“Our phones are missing, and since I have no idea what you’re pissed about, I can’t answer you. Just come pick us up and make it quick. This is a rough area.”
We give Brett our location and wait. Leaning against the phone booth it occurs to me that while I feel like I’ve been in a brawl, Everett actually looks like it. His left eye is bruised and swollen and he has a gash on his forearm. I grab his arm and take a better look at it. It has a shiny, glue-like texture over the cut that I immediately recognize as liquid stitches. Muggers patched us up?
“How did you get this?” I ask.
Everett looks at his arm and runs his fingers over the wound. “No clue. It doesn’t hurt either.”
An eternity later Brett rolls up in a chauffeured, pimped out Escalade.
&nb
sp; “What’s with the driver?”
“You said it was a rough area. I thought it’d be a good idea to have someone who knew the area bring me so we can quickly get back to the hotel without another incident.”
Everett piles in behind me and shuts the door.
“Where’s O’Conner?” Brett asks.
“Not a fucking clue. Do me a favor and call his cell.”
Brett takes out his cellphone and calls O’Conner. After several seconds Brett shakes his head and ends the call. I grab his phone and call him again. When he doesn’t answer I leave a message telling him to call us as soon as he gets this.
“Should we drive around and look for him?” I ask Everett.
“No. I need your phone,” he tells Brett, who quickly hands it over. “When was the last time you saw us?” Everett asks.
Brett’s eyebrows furrow as his gaze travels between the two of us. “You seriously don’t remember?”
We both shake our heads.
“After the photo shoot you dropped me off at the hotel and went to Alexis’s house to pack.”
I slump further down into the seat. Why can’t I remember?
“Were you jumped?” he asks looking us over.
“The last thing I remember is being at the photo shoot.” I turn to look at Everett. “What about you?”
“I guess I remember being there, but even that’s a blur.”
“Were you roofied at The Make-Out Room?” Brett questions, and he’s dead serious.
“The what?”
“The bar you were at last night?”
I’m vaguely aware of Everett talking with someone about O’Conner in the background, though I try to block it out. I’m too busy trying to make sense of what Brett has said.
“Why do you think I was at a bar?”
“It was in the paper, man. What are you going to tell Breanne?”
“What was in the paper?” I ask sitting forward, unsure if I really want to know.
“You and two chicks outside the bar, presumably leaving to go do god knows what. Tell me you didn’t do what I’m sure Breanne and everyone else thinks you’ve done.”
Rundown (Curveball Book 2) Page 9