“Nope. But I’ll try my best.”
We settle on some blue jeans that make her ass look great, a simple white long-sleeve shirt, and finish it off with me helping her re-dye her hair so it will be the pinkest of pinks tomorrow night.
The guys left about half an hour ago, and Emma’s impatience for an explanation is making the air in the bathroom practically hum.
“So, alarms at my place?” she finally broaches, and I know I can’t put off this story any longer.
I start with the parts that can be told: how Bryce is out of jail and has escalated. She’s already vibrating with anger. And I haven’t even told her about the mess with Trips’ family.
Or my near-death experience last weekend.
I shiver just remembering.
“That’s so shitty, Clara. I can’t believe the cops just let him out like that. And poor RJ, that run in with the cops had to be terrible. No wonder he’s in a mood.”
“That’s part of it.”
“That’s not all of it?”
I shake my head, stripping off the bloody looking plastic gloves and tossing them in the trash. “Set the timer,” I say, and she does.
“What else?”
Closing my eyes, not wanting to see her reaction to what comes next, I force the words out. “I almost died. Then I got engaged.”
Chapter 18
RJ
Trips takes directions silently, a nod or ‘okay’ the only things coming out of his mouth. And even that makes me want to deck him again.
I always knew his temper was a problem. I just never thought it was a problem that would affect me so strongly. But that ignorance has come back and bit me so hard my insides are bleeding. I won’t make that mistake again.
It doesn’t matter how contrite he is. It doesn’t matter that he’s helping me without complaint and with only one functioning hand. What matters is that his loss of control almost cost us the best person any of us might ever know.
Once the space is as secure as I can make it on short notice, I say my goodbye and march out to Trips’ car.
When we reach the SUV he’s been using since Chicago, he stops. “You drive,” he says, passing me the keys.
I don’t take them. “Me? Drive your car?” The man has never given up the keys in his life.
He clenches a fist around them, then hands them over, even though it’s a proximity key. Pure theater. Maybe an act of contrition. Not that it changes anything.
“Yeah. I shouldn’t drive. It’s not safe with this thing busted.” The entire drive here he flinched when using his right hand, the wrappings thick. Jansen says he’s going to have surgery on it next week, and none of us wants to take him.
“Your own damn fault,” I mutter, snagging the keys and going to the driver’s side, adjusting everything to fit me.
“Do you think she’ll be safe?” he asks, watching me with a frown.
“Right now, she doesn’t seem safe anywhere. Or with anyone.” He slumps in his seat, understanding I’m talking about him. Deserved. “But Bryce has been quiet lately, no new photos on his phone for the past week. Between that and the security we just installed, she should be safe. But I plan to monitor his phone for the rest of the night.”
“Good.”
The drive home is full of silence that burns, but I’m not breaking it. Honestly, silence has always been something Trips and I share—neither of us needs to speak into empty air. But now, that silence is anything but comfortable.
“I wish I’d done something different,” he says when we’re about halfway home.
“Me too,” I snap.
