Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jasmine

Liam drives us to the south side of Chicago. It takes me a while to find the place, but eventually we pull up in front of our old apartment building.

I unbuckle my seatbelt. “I’m not even sure she still lives here.”

“Let’s go find out.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you the entire time.”

We get out of the Jeep and walk up to the front of an old brick building that has seen better days. The walls are covered in graffiti. Some of the windows are boarded up with plywood. The lawn is overgrown, and there’s trash littering the yard.

I point at the second unit from the left. “That one.”

I follow Liam up to the door. The curtains are closed, but we see the flickering of the TV through the sheer curtains. It looks like someone is home.

Liam knocks, but there’s no answer. He knocks again, this time harder. But again there’s no answer. He steps over to the front window and peers inside. “Shit!”

“What is it?” I ask, joining him. I look through the window and spot my mom lying on the sofa. Her arm is dangling off the cushions. There’s a syringe lying on the carpet right next to her hand.

Liam moves to the front door and tries the knob. It turns, and he opens the door. I follow him inside. The house is filthy, with dirty dishes, food wrappers, and empty beer cans everywhere.

Mama’s lying unconscious on the sofa.

Liam mutters a curse as he presses his fingers to Mom’s throat. “Is this your mother?”

I nod.

“She’s alive,” he says. He gently shakes her. “Mrs. Grant? Can you hear me?” But she doesn’t stir. “I’m calling 911.” He pulls out his phone, and a moment later, he speaks into his phone. “I’d like to report a drug overdose. Caucasian female, approximately forty years old. She’s alive but not responsive.” He pauses. “Yes, I’ll stay on the line.”

Liam turns to me. “They’re sending an ambulance.”

We hear sirens not long after. An ambulance pulls up to the curb in front of the apartment building, and two paramedics come to the front door. Liam’s there to let them in.

While the medics go to work checking my mother’s vitals, Liam pulls me aside. “Would you rather wait out in the Jeep?”

I watch, horrified, as one of the paramedics administers NARCAN to my mom.

I nod to Liam, feeling sick as I watch the paramedics trying to revive my mother. She’s OD’d before, but I never saw her this bad. “Yeah, I’ll go wait in the car.”

I sit in the front passenger seat of the Wrangler and lock all the doors. Before long, the paramedics bring my mom out on a stretcher and load her into the ambulance. Liam locks the apartment door and pulls it shut on his way out.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and sits quietly for a moment. We both watch as the ambulance pulls away, lights flashing as they head toward the local hospital.

“Is she—I can’t even bring myself to ask the question.

“The paramedics were able to revive her,” Liam says as he turns in his seat to face me. “I’m so sorry. I was hoping for a better outcome with your mom.”

I shrug. “I’m not surprised. It was bad when I left. I wasn’t expecting anything different. It’s probably a good thing we came when we did. Otherwise, she might have died.”

Liam nods as he starts the engine. “Let’s go home.”

Home.

Tears prick my eyes, and I look away so he doesn’t notice. I stare out the passenger window at the passing scenery. We’re both quiet on the drive back to Liam’s apartment building. My throat is tight, and I’m fighting back tears. I never expected that going back home would turn out well, but I never dreamed it would be that bad. I don’t even know if my mom’s going to make it. And even if she does, what about the next time?

Liam’s phone buzzes, and he looks at the screen, then at me. “My brother and his wife are inviting us to the penthouse for dinner this evening. They’d like to meet you.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“Because you’re staying with me at the moment.”

I laugh. “Maybe they’re afraid I’ll be a bad influence on you.”

“Or, maybe they’re nice people and they want to show you some hospitality.”

I frown. “They don’t mind having a hooker in their home?”

“I guess they don’t, or they wouldn’t have invited us. They want to help you, Jasmine.”

“How?”

“Shane invited his attorney over tonight, too. His name is Troy Spencer. He’s going to help you get your documentation in order—your birth certificate and social security number. You’ll need both of those to do anything, like register for school or get a job.”

I can’t help looking as skeptical as I feel. No one helps someone like me for free. “Does he know who I am?”

Liam nods. “Yes.”

“And he’s still willing to help me?”

“Of course.”

I still don’t buy it. “Okay, I’ll go,” I say with a shrug.

When we arrive back at Liam’s apartment, I freshen up and change into one of the dresses I bought so I look a little more presentable. It’s an emerald-green tunic with long sleeves. I wear a pair of black leggings and my ankle boots. At the last minute, I put on a bit of foundation—to hide the fading bruises on my face—and some lip gloss.

When I come out of the bathroom, Liam’s eyes widen when he sees me. “Wow.”

“Do I look okay?” I ask, trying not to smile at his reaction.

“You look amazing.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

While I was getting ready in the bathroom, he changed into a pair of black trousers and a gray Henley that accentuates his lean, muscular build.

We take a different elevator up to the top floor—one that requires a special code.

“You sure do have a lot of codes to remember,” I say as I glance around the elevator. It’s fancy, with gold trimmed light fixtures and mirrored walls. I stare up at the surveillance camera in the front corner. “Are they watching us?”

Liam laughs. “I doubt it. They have better things to do than spy on the elevator.” He studies me a moment. “Are you okay?”

I nod but don’t say anything.

The elevator opens, depositing us in what looks like a formal lobby. The floor is a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. In the center of the room is an elegant round wooden table holding a vase of red, pink, and white roses. The foyer even smells like roses.

“They must be rich,” I say, studying the flowers. I’ve looked in enough florist shop windows to know those must have cost a fortune.

“They own this building,” Liam says. “My brother is quite wealthy.”

“You’re sure they said it was okay for me to come up?” I’m finding this hard to believe.

“Yes. Don’t worry.” Liam motions toward the door opposite us. “This way.”

He opens the door and steps back so I can enter a home that looks like something out of an interior design magazine. It’s wide open and spacious. The back wall is all floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline. I scan the room, from the living room on the left with a fireplace that soars up to a high ceiling, to the bar in the back corner, and to the right is a dining room table that could seat an army. To the right is an impressive kitchen. I spot an older guy sliding a baking tray into the oven.

Immediately, we hear a child’s laughter. A tall, red-haired guy is throwing a blond toddler up into the air and catching him on his way down. The boy is giggling his head off and shrieking with joy.

Seated on the sofa in the living room is a young woman not much older than me. She’s probably the boy’s mother. She’s stunningly beautiful, with pale blonde hair and light blue-green eyes. She’s holding an infant in her arms.

As soon as we’re noticed, the laughter stops. The red-haired guy props the little boy on his hip and walks toward us. “Hey, Liam. Good to see you, man.”

Liam nods. “Hi, Sam.”

Then the red-head turns to me. “And you must be Jasmine.” He offers me his hand. “Welcome. I’m Sam.”

While I’m shaking Sam’s hand, the blonde woman rises from the sofa and comes to join us. She smiles at me. “Hi, Jasmine. Welcome to our home.”