He’ll be fine. He has his boyfriend there to make him forget all about his asshole twin brother. That’s what I want for Noah. For him to be happy and forget about me. I know he’ll be able to do that with me gone for a while.
It’s nearing four a.m. two days later and I’m sitting outside the hospital parking lot. I’ve taken care of a few things in the last forty-eight hours. The main thing was getting to my apartment before the cops did. I grabbed all of the money I’d stashed away and shoved it inside a duffel bag. I’ve been staying at Willkie’s because he’s the only one I trust. He’s been telling me about Dro’s case and the fact that the judge hasn’t set a bail yet. But I give him a good chunk of the money I have, so he can post bail if need be. I can’t do it myself because I figure the cops are looking for my ass by now. Officer Timothy Dean Bennett’s death has been all over the news. And I’m a prime suspect. So I’ve been keeping a very low profile. But I know I need to get my ass in gear. It’s only a matter of time before they find me. Which is why I’m here. I’m about to do something very selfish.
***
Aylee
I come awake in a world where Tim is dead and I know I might go to hell for finding the greatest joy in that. Rachel is by my bedside, where she’s been since I woke up five hours ago. She’s been sobbing on and off since then. I haven’t shed one lonely tear. She’d described in very graphic detail the shape of Tim’s corpse when they’d found him broken in pieces on her pristine kitchen floor. When she said Sarah had been the one to find him first, my heart broke for my sister. That was going to scar her for a lifetime. But I don’t bother to ask how it happened, because deep down, I know.
Currently, she’s sitting to right. “Is Sarah still at Emily’s house?” I ask hoarsely; my throat still hurts. The painkillers they give me every few hours has practically numb all my pain except for the strain I put on my vocal cords.
Rachel sniffs and nods. Right now she’s not at all put together. Blotchy face, messy hair, and wrinkled clothes she’s slept in doesn’t really add up to the Stepford wife image she usually strives for. She looks normal this way. Human. Approachable. “Emily’s parents will take care of her for now. I think it’s best.”
“Yeah.”
We return to silence. “God, I can’t believe he’s gone,” she moans, running a shaky hand through her strawberry blond hair. “What am I going to do?” When she stares at me it’s as if she expects me to have the answers. Suddenly I feel more the adult than she’s supposed to be. It’s not a responsibility I want to bear.
I sigh. “You’ll get through it.” It comes out too harshly, and automatically I try to soften my tone. “We’llget through it.”
“Oh, God, Aylee.” And she reaches for my hand on the bed and squeezes it. “We’ll do this together.”
“Did you know?” I ask unexpectedly, catching myself and Rachel off guard.
She frowns. “Know what?”
“That your husband had been molesting me. I’ve never said anything to you but I need to know if you knew.”
She looks away, withdrawing her hand from mine. “Aylee, please.”
I swallow hard around the thick lump in my throat that feels like resentment and tastes like bitterness. My tone grows quiet and angry. “You knew and you didn’t do anything.”
“I couldn’t.” She weeps, almost silently, staring at me with void, blue eyes that beg me to understand.
“Youwouldn’t,” I correct.
“Aylee, sweetheart, I have no excuse. None. I knew. I knew what he was doing but I couldn’t stop him. I was a victim, too. He hurt me, too.”
I can’t argue that. Tim victimized her, too. And for that she has my sympathy. But what hurts the most, what makes me so sad and angry is that she knew what was happening and she did nothing. She’s the adult. She’smyparent. It’s her job to protect me, to keep me safe, and yet she’d failed so badly that I don’t even know if there is a way to come back from it all. How can I move on and heal when just looking at her now makes me ill? Tim is gone and yet when I look at Rachel I’m reminded of all the horrible things he did. Including my rape.
Closing my eyes, I shake my head to clear away the flashbacks and the tears stinging my lids. “Yeah, he did.” I agree only because I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with all of these emotions just yet. It’s just too much. I open my eyes and gaze over at her. “I’m tired.” And I don’t just say it to get some space from her. I’m extremely exhausted.
She sniffs, wipes the tears from her own cheeks, and nods. “You should get some sleep. Visiting hours are almost over, anyway.” She stands and fusses with my blankets, needlessly smoothing and tucking them around my legs and upper body. I let her do this because the more I look at her, the worse I feel. Her entire life has been flipped upside down. It must be jarring to face reality when she’d lived in denial for so long. She’s not a bad person. She’s just weak. We were both made to feel weak. She has no one now. There’s Sarah, but Sarah is just a child. A child who will probably grow up with her own demons. Rachel is alone. I think about her returning to that sad, lonely house filled with too many bad memories and now a crime scene, and I feel sad for her. Catching her hand when she reaches to fluff my pillows, I squeeze it.
“We’ll get through this. We’ll be okay.” My bruises are a quick and painful reminder that I can’t smile. We hug and she holds on too tight and for too long, but I say nothing. And then she’s gone and I’m left alone.
Letting out a long sigh, I raise my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear when my eyes land on the bracelet around my wrist. Maddox’s bracelet. Mindlessly, I trace it with the fingertips of my other hand. Has he come to see me? I can’t even imagine what I look like, but the thought of him seeing me this way is heartbreaking. I’m sure he was here. I remember hearing his voice from some distant part of my altering state of consciousness. Or maybe I imagined it?
I lie down and rest. Not really sleeping but somewhere in between slumber and wakefulness. My heart knows only the syllables of his name and so it beats longingly for him. And as if luck is finally on my side, he appears, conjured up by my sheer will alone. The tiniest of sounds calls my attention across the room. The lights in my room are dim, set low, so I can’t really see the features of the shadowy figure quietly closing the large wooden door of my hospital room. But I’ve spent an innumerable amount of time looking at this guy, studying not just the breathtaking aesthetics of his face, but his body as well. I know his features and his heart. I can pick him out blind in a crowded room. I’m the lock and he’s the key. Because in understanding him, I finally understandme. I accept all that is me. How could I not recognize the other half of my heart?
I squint my eyes. “Max?” I jolt forward in the bed, my hasty movements causing me pain, but I don’t care. I pull the blankets from my legs and just as I’m twisting to the side about to jump off, I realize the IV bag I’m attached to won’t let me go too far. But he’s there before I can miss him. He has me in his arms, my head on his chest, and his hand through my hair. Ecstasy isn’t simply a feeling, it’s this place right here, being so protectively enveloped in Maddox’s arms.
I hear his shuddering intake of breath. Feel the hard, long press of his kiss on the top of my head, and I know I’ll never get enough of this man. Never.
Pulling back, he takes my face between his hands in that way he loves to do, only this time it’s with infinite tenderness. His beautiful gray eyes are soft with emotion. “Do you trust me, Aylee?”
“With everything I am.” It’s an emphatic, unwavering avowal.
He presses his forehead to mine and kisses me softly as though my answer is something he’s waited on forever. “Run with me.”
