BREATHE ME
PRESENT
I never toldanyone the specifics about what Mr. Easton said in his office, not even my dad or Blythe. They had already wanted me to sign the NDA before the photo even came out, so I knew disclosing the full details, like what he did to Charlotte Hinckley, would only further hurt my case. They didn’t want any blowback, and once the picture came out, letting them know that Roland Easton happily admitted to destroying an innocent woman’s life by dragging her name through the mud would have been the nail in my coffin. Hell, it didn’t matter anyway. The second word got back to them about my bare ass and skeletal frame being exposed for all to see, they demanded I go through with signing the NDA “or else.”
Unsurprisingly, nobody in the police department was particularly keen on looking into the matter either, not even after the photo leak. It was obviousIhadn’t uploaded it, but investigating child pornography wasn’t apparently high on RPD’s list of priorities. Well, at least until Deputy Lanski moved to town. And wouldn’t you know it? Some peculiar events began plaguing him, and he was all too happy to take up the job offer down south a month later.
So, I did as I was told, keeping everything to myself…
Until last night.
I had to. I had to tell Aria and the guys what she was in for if she pursued charges. I had to let her know that Mr. Easton would likely seek her out the way he had with me.
From there, it was just a matter of hashing things out, even after we brought Aria back home from the hospital. Surprise, surprise. Whatever she had been drugged with didn’t show up on the toxicology report, leaving us with some less-than-stellar legal options.
Considering the sleepless night we’ve all had, Maggie and I leave at eight o’clock to do a coffee run. The drive-thru is a mile long, so we opt to go inside. The short walk to the building is enough to leave my heart missing a beat, because the handful of people we pass all give us strange looks.
Maggie pulls out her compact and checks her reflection as I pull open the door, seeing what I see.
Nothing.
We’re both fresh-faced and wearing some clothes Aria lent us. We may not be dripping in designer labels like the other ladies here, but we don’t look like we just came rolling out of the bushes, either. Still, that doesn’t stop countless others from staring.
The café is divided into two sections: one for beverages and the other for baked goods. Wanting to get out of here as fast as possible, Maggie and I each take a line. Only then do we realize the stares are exclusively aimed at me. Nobody gives Mags a second look, unless you count the guy standing behind her in line now ogling her ass.
I’d happily switch places with her if it meant escaping the leers and whispers and—
Did that girl seriously just take a picture of me?
A nauseating sense of déjà vu hits, because the last time people looked at me like this was just after Trent and Siennareleased that photo of me in the locker room. Thankfully, there isn’t any new footage for them to use, and even if they released something old, no one would recognize me from the girl eighteen months ago.
But that begs the bigger question: why are they looking at me like this now?
Like a life raft in a sea of eyeballs, a much friendlier face approaches me. He looks to be in college, wearing a polo and khakis, and up until five seconds ago, he was sitting at a nearby table with a group of guys dressed similarly.
The smile he offers could melt butter. His words, however… “Hey, we were just curious. Do you do bachelor parties, or is it only a one-on-one thing?”
Huh?
Almost immediately, he starts snickering, along with the rest of his “bros.”
Thank God I’m next in line, because I get to ignore him in favor of the person behind the counter. I order and pay, but sadly, I have to go off to the side and wait for the food. On any other day, getting freshly baked croissants would be a godsend, but right about now, I’d take a donut that’s been sitting out for the last three days if it meant leaving here faster.
I’m stuck waiting for another five minutes when I see a genuinely friendly face.
Or, at least, that’s what he usually gives me…
Wes doesn’t appear to notice me at first, but when I give a subtle wave at him, I don’t get the response I was expecting. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, turning his attention towards the front door, as if contemplating running out.
Approaching him probably isn’t the best idea, but with the fifty eyeballs currently trained on me, I’ve reached my breaking point. If he has answers as to why, I’m getting them. Now.
Going over to him, I’m immediately leveled with another emotion I didn’t expect.
Anger.
Wes clenches his jaw so tight that the muscles in his cheeks visibly strain. When I try addressing him, he just runs a hand over his face and mutters that he “can’t do this right now.”
“You can’t dowhat?”
