“I hope you’re feeling better now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I can tell he wants to kiss me by the way he settles his cheek against the top of my head and the way he takes a long, slow breath in. But he holds back, as he’s been doing since he arrived. The little courtyard at the library isn’t exactly crowded—the students in the summer group finished their lunches and headed back inside maybe about ten minutes ago—but there are several others sitting on the grass reading books, including a couple of families with small children.
It’s quiet and peaceful. And that, along with Alex being here, has really helped curb the anxiety I’ve been feeling all morning.
It’s Friday.
The week passed quicker than I expected, and my interview with Vera is only a few short hours away. IknowI can’t afford to mess it up. I need to be everything Alex and his mom have been assuring me I am, and somehow, I need to convince Vera of thatas well. And that’s fucking terrifying, really. I’ve been going back and forth between hopeful excitement and an anxious near-panic most of the day, which is why I’m glad Alex was able to come meet me for lunch.
We sit there in silence for a few more minutes, and it’s comfortable and relaxing. My lunch hour is probably almost up, although I don’t want to move to check my phone. So I shrug my shoulder a bit into Alex.
“What time is it?”
He mock-grumbles and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Twelve fifty-five.”
“Ugh.”
With a quiet laugh, he straightens up, and I sigh and copy him. His hand finds my thigh, and he lets his fingers linger there for a moment before he gives me a light squeeze. “Walk with me out to the truck?” He leans in closer and adds, “So we can say goodbye properly.”
I nearly groan, remembering how we “said goodbye” this morning when he dropped me off—his tongue exploring my mouth as his hand slid up my thigh, his fingertips stretching out to barely brush against the base of my semi-hard cock. Completely inappropriate. I fucking loved it.
“You can’t touch me like that again,” I whisper back hoarsely. “Not when I’ve gotta work and—”
“Thereyou are, you little shit.”
I barely have time to register the pure hatred in the voice or the dank, rotten waft of alcohol before a hand grabs my shoulder and wrenches me away from Alex, slamming me back into the bench. A sharp pain lances through my arm and shoulder, and my heart slams to a stop. I can’t breathe. I try to scream in pain, but no sound comes out.
Patrick stands there, leaning over me, one hand still on my badshoulder, pushing me back harder into the bench. His other hand is balled into a fist, lifting up from his side with clear intention. His eyes look wild and angry. Violent. Rageful.
Holy fuck, I’m going to die.
Next to me, Alex jumps to his feet, yelling something. I can’t understand the words. And Patrick, too, he’s screaming at me—but all I get are bits and pieces. Something about it being all my fault. Him getting fired. My mom kicking him out. I can’t hear it all, not with how hard my heart is hammering in my chest and with the pain slicing through my shoulder.
Alex tries to put himself between me and Patrick, but Patrick is larger than both of us. He easily shoves Alex out of the way with some nasty curse and lifts his fist again.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
I try to move—to struggle or something—but my body won’t respond. And the pain as he puts more of his weight into my shoulder is nearly unbearable.
Caitlin is running over to us, yelling something, her phone in her hand. Our eyes meet, and she looks as terrified as I feel.
“Call 9-1-1!” Alex shouts, and he tries again, stepping in between me and Patrick. “Get away from him, you asshole! Someone help!”
Alex turns to shield me, then grabs my free arm and starts pulling me away. At the same time, someone else grabs Patrick. Or maybe it’s more than one person, I’m not sure. Sharon’s suddenly there, too, standing between me and Patrick, telling him to back the fuck off, and Caitlin’s talking on the phone, her voice frantic and loud.
It’s chaotic and terrifying, and I’m trembling and lightheaded, clinging to Alex so I don’t collapse. Patrick shrugs off the men who pulled him away from me. He yells another couple of curses, spits on the ground, and then turns and storms off around the sideentrance to the courtyard, his fists still clenched.
I can’t breathe. The air is too thick and hot, and my chest is too tight. Pain rips through my shoulder and arm as my trembling turns into full-blown shaking.
Alex’s hand rubs along my lower back. “God, Nico, are you okay?” he asks, hugging me to him.
I don’t get to answer before Caitlin pipes in. “The police are on the way. Sharon, I’ve gotta—”
“Get back inside with the children,” Sharon cuts in. “Actually, everyone. Let’s all get inside and lock the doors until the police get here.”
They keep talking around me as Alex guides me inside, Sharon staying right next to us the whole time. She directs the other library patrons to stay and wait for the police and then tells Alex to help me to the back office where I’ve been working. It’s quiet there, she says. That’ll be best.
