A knock at the door wakes me up at six and I rub the sleep from my eyes, glancing down to see that Emma is still asleep next to me. With a kiss to her head, I carefully get out of bed, closing her door behind me and heading out into the living room.
Looking out of the peephole, I don’t see anyone there. A feeling of unease washes through me when I think about the letter that came in the mail and how William knows where I am now. Brady’s apartment building is small, but it’s secure. No one can come up to an apartment without being buzzed in first. Feeling like an idiot for being nervous when it’s probably just the super dropping off the rent bill, I slide the chain off of the door and unlock the deadbolt, opening the door slowly.
Glancing down at the floor in the hallway, my blood runs cold and my hand flies to my mouth to cover up a sob. Standing in a row like little soldiers guarding the door are three crystal vases, overflowing with bunches of purple orchids. Their spicy, vanilla scent fills the hallway, overwhelming my senses until I feel like I might throw up. I quickly slam the door closed, my hands shaking as it takes me three tries to put the chain back on and secure the deadbolt. Once the door is locked, I back away; staring at the door like it will burst open at any moment and my worse nightmare will be standing in front of me. I keep walking backwards until my ass bumps into the wall next to the television and I slide down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them.
I used to love purple orchids. Growing up, my mother kept vases of them in every room. It was the one good memory I have of being a little girl – going to the flower shop with her every Sunday and buying orchids to fill the house. We would pick out the plants with the prettiest blooms and the softest petals and then she would take me to the country club for lunch, just the two of us. She wouldn’t nag me about sitting up straight, minding my manners or acting like a lady. We would talk about the beautiful flowers and how nice the house would smell as soon as we got home.
My head thumps back against the wall and I squeeze my eye shut to try and keep the tears from falling as I think about how much I loved orchids and Sundays alone with my mother.
I loved them until my mother told William they were my favorite flower. I loved them until he would buy them for me every time he hurt me as a way to absolve himself from the pain he inflicted, as if a bouquet of flowers could erase what he’d done.
The smell of the flowers in the hall clings to my nose and my body shakes with the memory of each and every time I received a vase of those flowers.
Chapter 13
Austin
She’s late for work and she’s not answering her phone. Is this how she “forgets” about what happened between us, by ignoring me and not coming to work?
That’s just fucking great.
The office phone has been ringing off of the hook for the last hour and a half and even though I’ve familiarized myself with Brady’s current cases, I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing with the new ones that roll in.
The bell above the door chimes and I look up to see a guy walk in. He’s wearing a black suit and dark sunglasses and his look just screams “security guard”. Sliding the glasses off of his face, he looks at me in confusion. “Where’s Gwen?”
Ignoring the ringing phone, I shrug. “Beats the fuck out of me. Who are you?”
“Dylan Callahan. I’m a friend of Gwen’s,” he tells me with a smile, holding his hand out for me to shake.
I don’t like the way he says her name, like he’s entirely too familiar with her. It burns a hole in my gut and makes me want to punch the smile right off of his face. God dammit. One kiss from this woman and I already feel like a jealous asshole.
I begrudgingly grab his hand and shake it, squeezing it a little too hard just because I can. “Austin Conrad. I’m filling in for Brady.”
He lets go of my hand and shoves his sunglasses into the front pocket of his suit coat. “Brady mentioned something about you being here. I was working as Layla’s body guard before he decided to get his head out of his ass and profess his undying love for her,” Dylan explains with a laugh.
Now I remember him. Brady told me about how the night he went back for Layla she was about two seconds away from kissing this douche bag. Even though Brady worked out a plan with Dylan ahead of time so he could get some alone time with Layla, Dylan went off the rails a little to make Brady jealous.
I knew there was a reason I hated this guy on sight.
“What do you need Gwen for?” I ask, getting up from the desk and walking around to the front of it.
“I’ve known her and Brady since high school. When I told her I was going to be in town, Gwenny told me to stop by so we could catch up.”
Gwenny? I’m going to throat punch this motherfucker.
“Well, she’s not here so you’re date is going to have to wait,” I tell him, not even bothering to hide the irritation in my voice.
No wonder Gwenny was so gung-ho on forgetting about what happened between us. She’s got this asshole waiting in the wings.
“Well, can you let her know I stopped by? I’ll be in Nashville for about two weeks, so we’ll have plenty of time to get together,” he informs me, pulling his sunglasses back out of his jacket and sliding them on his face. “She’s got my number. Just have her call me.”
Yeah, I’ll get right on that.
Dylan turns and walks out of the office right when the phone starts ringing again.
Fuck this shit.
Grabbing my keys from the desk, I storm out the door, locking it behind me. If Gwenny wants to ‘catch up’ with Mr. Bodyguard, that’s fine with me. She can get her ass into the office and take her own damn messages.
I cannot believe I’m actually going back to the “scene of the crime” to tell Gwen her date was looking for her, yet here I am. She was quick to brush off what happened between us and it’s not like I wanted to chat about it either, but now it looks like we’re going to have to do just that if I want to restore some semblance of peace between us so she can get her ass back to work.
It’s a good thing Brady not only gave me a key to his office, but to his apartment building’s main door and his apartment as well. I’d rather not have to buzz Gwen to let me up because I’m pretty sure she would ignore that as well seeing as she’s ignored the ten messages I’ve already left on her fucking cell phone.
Stepping off of the elevator, I immediately see three vases of flowers sitting on the floor in front of the apartment door.
Mother fucking Dylan Callahan.
I’m guessing the flowers are from him, unless Gwen has a string of other poor schmucks nipping at her heels.
Ignoring the flowers that I have an unnatural urge to kick down the hall, I bring my hand up to the door and pound on it. When there’s no answer, I do it again and shout through the door. “Gwen! Open up!”
My knock goes unanswered again so I do the mature thing and try yelling again. “Gwen, open up the fucking door!”
Just then, the door across the hall opens and Karen pops her head out. “Is there a problem?”
I paste a smile on my face and pretend like I wasn’t just about to kick the door down. “Just trying to find Gwen. She didn’t come in to work this morning. Any idea where she is?”
Karen opens the door a little wider and steps out into the hall. “I was supposed to watch Emma today but she called me earlier and said she didn’t need me. I’m guessing she decided to take the day off and do something with Emma.”
Thanking Karen for her help, I wait until she goes back into her apartment before pulling the keys back out of my pocket. I saw Gwen’s car downstairs in the parking lot so I know she’s here. What the fuck is going on?
Unlocking the door, I slowly push it open and step over the flower vases, quietly closing the door behind me. I can hear the faint sound of a television coming from down the hall so I head in that direction. I stop short when I see Gwen sitting on the ground outside one of the bedrooms with her knees pulled up to her, staring at the wall opposite her.
“Well, hey there, slacker. In case you were wondering, I opened the office today for you and handled all of your calls.”
She doesn’t acknowledge me, just continues to stare straight ahead. Stepping closer to her, I can see she’s been crying. Her eyes and nose are puffy and red and there are tear tracks marking her cheeks. My thoughts immediately go to Emma and wonder if something happened to her.
“Where’s Emma?”
She finally speaks, her mouth quivering as she tries to keep herself from crying. “She’s in her room, watching a movie.”
She still doesn’t look at me and her voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear her. Creeping closer, I squat down next to her, brushing some strands of hair off of her cheek that have gotten stuck from her tears.
“I told her to stay in there. If she’s in there, I know where she is and I know she’s safe.”
I’ve been around enough people who’ve been in a state of shock to know that’s exactly what’s going on with Gwen right now. Something scared her enough for her to hole up in her apartment and not let Emma out of her sight.
“Hey, look at me,” I tell her softly.
When she doesn’t respond, I reach up and cup her chin in my hand, gently turning her face towards me. When her watery eyes meet mine, I lose my breath and I’m thankful that I’m not standing right now or my knees might have given out. She’s no longer the fighter I’ve been dealing with the past few days; right now she’s scared to death and about two seconds away from breaking.
Sliding my arms around her waist, I pull her to me. She comes to me without a fight and I flop down on my ass, hauling her into my lap and holding her close. She sits sideways on my thighs, her hands wrapped around my bicep and her face buried in my chest. Leaning back against the wall, I run the palm of my hand down the back of her head and hold her close, listening to the sounds of her quiet sobs, knowing now what it feels like to have a knife jammed right through my heart.
She cries until she doesn’t have any tears left and I’m thankful that Emma likes movies and hasn’t walked out into the hallway. I don’t know how I’d explain to her why her mother has been crying in my lap, especially after the girl just told me last night that she doesn’t want her mom to cry anymore.
“Tell me what’s going on, Gwen.”
She pulls her face away from my chest and looks at me, our noses practically touching, her warm breath fanning over my lips.
Jesus Christ, I’m an asshole. The woman just cried a river in my arms and I’m thinking about kissing her again.
Without a word, she pushes herself off of my lap, reaching her hand down to help me up. Still clutching my hand as I stand, she turns and heads across the hall, pulling me with her into a bedroom.
When we get to the dresser, she lets go of my hand to pull open the top drawer, moving aside t-shirts and socks until she gets to the bottom. She pulls out a thick, manila folder, bringing it to her chest and hugging it for a few seconds before turning to face me. I watch as she swallows thickly before handing the file over to me. I take it out of her hands and she walks away from me, over to the bed to sit on the edge. I stare at her for a few seconds as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She doesn’t say anything, so I turn away from her and open the folder.
The full color photo on top steals the breath from my lungs and my heart beats out of my chest. It’s a picture of Gwen – the old Gwen. Right here in living color is the woman she used to be – long blonde hair, her gray eyes filled with sadness and pain. The blonde hair isn’t what shocks me though – it’s the black eye, busted lip and other assorted bruises that mar the beautiful pale skin of her face.
I glance over at her for an explanation, but she still has her head in her hands, refusing to look at me. I don’t want to look at this file, but I have to. She’s giving me all of the answers, right here in this room and I have to know.
Turning my face back to the file, I slowly flip through each page. There are at least twenty pictures of Gwen in various states of damage from broken ribs and shattered bones to cuts and slices on several areas of her skin that required stitches. In between the photos are doctor’s notes, detailing each “accident” that ranged from falling down stairs to being mugged. Each page I turn to leaves me feeling sick and furious. My hands are shaking by the time I get to the last page. After what Emma said to me, I just assumed Gwen’s ex was verbally abusive. That alone made me want to kill him, but seeing this file and all of the damage he’d done to her makes me want to tear him limb from limb.
“My name was Gwen Stratford.”
I look up from the file to see Gwen studying me.
Stratford… each one of these doctor’s notes were signed by Dr. William Stratford. Obviously not a coincidence.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, tossing the file on top of the dresser and walking over to her.
“No, but he thought he was sometimes,” she tells me with a sad smile.
The scar that I noticed on her shoulder the other day is once again peeking out from the top edge of her shirt. I move closer to her, reaching my hand out to run my fingertips over top of the mark. She doesn’t move away this time, just closes her eyes and sighs.
“He didn’t like the new chairs I bought for the dining room, so he broke one. The piece he hit me with had a nail sticking out of it.”
I move my hand away from her skin and take a step back, clenching my hands down at my sides. I’m so God damn furious right now I’m afraid of what I’ll do, not the least of which is get in my car and drive to New York to put a bullet in this fucker’s head.
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