“You were fucking mugged at knifepoint. That’s a big fucking deal,” he barks, and the detective arches an eyebrow at him. He shoots him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. I just…I told her she shouldn’t live there.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I argue calmly, even though I’m rattled to my core and I have to work really hard to keep my voice steady. “He cornered me, showed me the knife and demanded my wallet.”
“Your sister was smart. She handed it over and didn’t cause a scene,” the detective pipes in.
Trey looks down at me with approval in his eyes and he rubs my shoulder. “Well, if you’re finally going to listen to instructions and not talk back, this is the right time to do it. Thank God you figured that out.”
“I did, however, hurl my wallet at him and run like a bat out of hell,” I confess. “Because I’m brave like that.”
I know it’s stupid to be embarrassed that I didn’t put up a fight, but I am anyway. Trey hugs me again, slightly less forcefully. “You’re fucking moving.”
“No. I’m not,” I argue, even though I’m probably going to start to look at rental listings. Just in case there’s something else out there I can afford.
Trey lets me go and turns back to the police officer. “Does she need to go to the doctor? The hospital? Should we have her checked out?”
He points to me. “That’s up to her. She did take a bit of a tumble.”
I flex my left hand and feel the burn from where I turned the corner at the end of the block and tripped on the uneven sidewalk. My palm is scraped and my left knee and my yoga pants are torn, and I probably had a mild cardiac event thinking the mugger would catch me, but it turns out he wasn’t even chasing me. When I ran, he must have just grabbed my wallet and taken off.
“I’m okay. Just scrapes. I just really want to go home.”
“You’re not going back there!”
“Trey, it didn’t happen in my house or anything. It was a block away. I was taking a shortcut home,” I explain. At least being annoyed at him is helping me calm down. “When I get a new car this won’t happen again.”
I just don’t have the cash for a decent car right now. I’d been trying to decide if I should use what little savings I do have to move into an apartment in a better area instead of buying another car. This incident, which was terrifying, made me realize I have to act soon. But if I admitted that to Trey, he’d feel guilty and try to pay me more, which I know he can’t afford.
“And when, exactly, are you getting a new car?”
“Umm…shortly.”
He swears under his breath but before he can lecture me, I hear my name from an all too familiar, overdramatic voice. I turn and see my mother and father marching toward us. My mom is already crying. My dad’s face is set in a weird scowl or grimace or something.
“Shaynie. Oh my God!” She literally throws herself at me and I glare up at my brother.
“You were mugged,” Trey replies to my unspoken anger at the fact he called our parents.
I untangle myself from my mother, and my father stalks over and shocks me by grabbing my face in his big hands. He looks right into my eyes, and I swear I see anguish. “Are you okay?”
I nod because I can’t seem to find my voice. His hands press more firmly and he repeats the question. This time I manage to croak out an answer. “He didn’t hurt me.”
My father releases me and turns to the police officer, who clearly recognizes him, because he’s got that awed look on his face I know too well. “Can we take our daughter home now? Do you need anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I have her mugger’s description and a record of the incident. We’ll be in touch tomorrow or the next day with more information,” he says and pauses before adding, “I’m a huge fan, Mr. Beckford.”
My father’s face morphs into one of his trademark confident smiles. “Thanks, Officer…Seabrook. Very nice to hear. I’m hoping you can make a point of working hard to catch this bastard since it’d mean a great deal to me.”
Yeah, because if you weren’t such a sports icon, they wouldn’t even bother looking for a man with a weapon who steals from women.Leave it to my dad to make my mugging about him. I give Trey anotherthanks a lotglare and start to untangle myself from our mother, who is hugging me again.
“I just want to go home and forget this happened, okay?”
My father and I both shake hands with the police officer who was helping me, and as Trey, my mom and I all make our way out of the station, my father stops for several selfies with officers along the way. Of course.
Outside it’s dark and warm, but I still feel a chill. I rub my arms. Trey unzips and shrugs out of his hoodie and drapes it over my shoulders. It feels as big as a blanket and I’m reminded of Sebastian’s hoodie that I wore this morning. God, I loved that thing, Winterhawks logo and all. I should have stolen it.
Sebastian. I dig my phone out of my coat pocket and check. Yep. He’s texted twice and called once, but there’s no voicemail. He must think I’m ignoring him. And as I take a deep breath of night air I’m thinking maybe I should ignore him. I know telling him about this will screw up his concentration. And being a hockey kid, I know the sport is equal parts mental game and physical game.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, and my mother clutches my arm. “I’ll make up your old bedroom.”
