Gage
I walk out of Chelsea’s office, completely wrung out.It’s as if my arms, legs, heart, and mind have all been taken apart, reassembled, and jammed back together.
The bad news is one therapy session does not a well mind make.
The good news is Chelsea believes I’m on the right track.She approves of how I’m taking smaller steps toward more intimacy with Leah.
I parallel parked on a quiet stretch of Caro Boulevard.As I get into my car, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket.I pull it out and see a name I don’t need to see or hear again.Seth Colton.
I debate tossing my phone into the street.
Instead, I answer the call.“What.”
“Jannik, look.I owe you an apology.I should’ve realized it was more serious for you two.”
“You could have talked to me before hitting on her.”
“Yeah, I could’ve.I should’ve.I made an ass of myself.She wouldn’t have anything to do with me—you know that, right?”
I take a deep breath, filled with that knowledge.“Yeah, I know it.”
“She’s special.”Colton is quiet for a second.“You’re a lucky man, Jannik.”
“I know that, too.”
* * *
Leah
“Oh my god, are you okay?”A woman kneels next to me and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.At the moment, all I can see is her artfully ripped jeans.
“Yeah.”I roll to my side to push myself up.But as soon as I put pressure on my wrist, agony stabs up my arm.I cry out in pain.
“Ooh, that’s probably a nasty sprain.”She braces a hand behind my shoulder and helps me sit.
I take stock of the area surrounding us.The woman at my side has long, black braids with purple and blue tips.A couple of people have their phones out—taking video, I assume.An older man appears to be speaking with emergency services—he’s giving them our location.
“Fuck you, slut!”My blond attacker spins on her heel and marches away.
A man tries to grab her, but she wrenches out of his grasp and starts running.
More people look like they will descend to help me, and I’m already feeling vulnerable and claustrophobic.
“No more video—the show’s over,” the helpful woman says in a forceful voice.
People actually listen to her, putting away their phones.Sometimes a strong, authoritative voice is all it takes.
She helps me stand up and dusts off her jeans.“I’m Beryl Crake.Full disclosure, I’m a reporter, but I won’t report on any of this without your permission.”
My mind whirls as I try to make sense of everything.“Okay, uh, thanks.”
“I would love to interview you.”She hands me a card, which I accept with my uninjured hand.“There’s still a lot of interest in your story, especially after Gage Hawthorne’s statement.If you want, we could duck into that café over there?”
Before I can respond, a car parks illegally at the curb and Ella jumps out of the passenger seat.“Leah!Are you okay?Kingston and I were passing and saw—what happened?”
“I’m—I’m okay.Sprained wrist, I think.Nothing a little ice can’t handle.”
“Ms.Crake.”Ella faces the journalist.“This isnotthe time for an interview.”