“You’re too fragile to handle too much information in too short a period of time, Hailey.”
“We could do it in stages,” I counter. “I could stay at home for a while before I go back to college.”
I’d risk addingand meet my friendsbut I’m afraid I’ll hear Dad say softlyyou don’t have friends. Having a cop for a dad, a famous cop who took down dangerous men, has never been easy. He had to hide me and Mom at my grandparents’ farm in Idaho more than once over the years, so all I had through middle school and high school were people I spoke to in the halls. No real friends, no one to go shopping or sneak out to parties with.
“I know you want your memories and connections back, but with severe head trauma and brain swelling, we need to be extremely careful. Too much too fast, and your brain might jam up.”
The rational part of me understands he’s talking sense. It also fears what might happen in another incident.
What if I fry my brain beyond repair? What if I lose the sliver of a chance to regain my memories?
It’s not worth the risk, but the stubborn part of me wants all the informationright now.
I sip the coffee, letting the bittersweet liquid douse my flaring temper before the monitor beeps and I end up sedated for another day.
“What do you mean by a ‘neutral environment’?” I ask, my head full of picturesque recovery centers by the ocean. Sprawling rose gardens, gentle music, airy bedrooms. “I don’t want to drop out of college. I’m already two years behind!”
“No one says you’re dropping out,” Dad speaks up, his voice steady but the hand he runs down my cheek trembling. “I did some research and found a private college. It’s purely for drama, dance, and creative arts students. They have excellent acting coaches. Much better than any you’ve had so far. It’s in a remote location, away from the city, away from distractions. It’s... serene. Somewhere you can heal in your own time.”
So they want to send me away to a middle-of-nowhere fancy boarding college. Dad goes on, selling the place with cheap ad-copy: like-minded people, small community, private rooms, housekeeping.
I stop listening when he calls itelite.
Juilliard is elite. ThisLakesideplace is most definitely not.
“Think about it,” Dr. Phillips says once my dad runs out of steam. “We can talk more later today. You have at least another week in this bed provided you stay calm and recover enough for me to feel confident about discharging you.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one with two years’ worth of experiences and knowledge wiped like a USB flash drive dropped in coffee. Whatever I learned in college is gone.
“Will I need to start as a freshman again?”
“That’s something you’d discuss with the dean, but I’d think it would be the wisest choice.”
He doesn’t say it aloud. Doesn’t even hint it, but his reasoning shines in his dark eyes. I should start afresh because I might never regain my memories...
7
Carter
Acold chill sweeps over me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
Fuck.
That’s the last thing Rhett needs.
As if Charles Vaughn, the shining star of Columbus’s police force, wasn’t hell-bent on putting my father behind bars before; as if he needed another reason to use all means necessary, Rhett went and almost killed his fucking daughter.
Technically it was Babyface, but that dead idiot took his orders directly from Rhett, even if he didn’t fulfill them well.
Vaughn won’t care who nudged the sedan. He won’t care that the man responsible for his daughter’s near-death experience paid the highest price.
He’ll only care that the order came from Rhett Willard, the weed he wants to hack.
“And,” Rhett continues in a humorless tone. “I have reasons to believe Hailey knows whatever information Alex gleaned from working Aalyiah.”
That’s... a problem. A big fucking problem.
There are wrathful men walking this earth. Dante Carrow is my personal hero in that department, the story of how eight years ago he mind-fucked the man who oversaw a bounty on Layla—Dante’s wife—will forever remain my favorite moment of vengeance in criminal history.
