Chapter 8

8

Colver

Abrielle falls into my arms.

She smells like greasy fast food. She's got blood on her left arm, her shirt, a random smear dried to her face. I'm wondering if she got into a car accident, hit her head, and wandered off, thinking about me for some reason.

That would not explain how she ended up where I live.

I don't have time to think or question…

I look back at my truck.

"Okay, kitten, I'm taking you to the hospital," I say.

"No hospital!" Abrielle cries out. "I don't want him to know."

When she says the word him I just so happen to glance at her left hand and I see the diamond ring on her ring finger.

It's not hard to imagine Abrielle engaged.

I mean, we're fully grown adults now.

Beyond that. We have lives. Careers.

Maybe… not…

"Your arm is cut pretty bad," I say. "I'm not a doctor but I've been around a ton of injuries. You need some stitches."

Abrielle gasps and looks up at me.

The pure terror in her womanly eyes is intense.

"Please, Clover …" She smiles.

I don't smile back.

I hate when people mess up my name, joking or not.

I'm about two seconds from throwing her ass into the bed of my truck and driving off.

Then I think about it for a second.

Really think about it…

I show up to a hospital with her all bloody. She needs stitches. Someone recognizes who I am. With a bloody woman. Imagine the rumors, huh? Imagine the social media firestorm. Implications and assumptions that I did this to Abrielle.

The world we live in where someone is judged before the facts are heard…

I'm not the most famous guy in the world. Far from it.

I don't have a reputation for being a good person either.

But last thing I need is to be cornered by some nurses or doctors - or police - and have them questioning if I'm the kind of guy that would put his hands on a woman and hurt her.

That leaves another option.

Drop her off at a hospital and take off.

Even for me that feels a little fucked up.

"Hey," Abrielle says. "You called me kitten . I haven't heard that in forever."

I grit my teeth. "Get in the fucking truck, Abrielle."

"No hospital," she whines.

"I'm taking you inside," I say.

I guess I have to call in a favor, huh?

I end the call and take a deep breath.

I'm a lucky guy living in an apartment like this.

It's got the vibe of a dirty, brick flat, but it's updated and sort of luxurious.

The view of the city is amazing at night too.

I walk to the kitchen and the lights automatically turn on under the cabinets from my movement.

I get two glasses and pour Abrielle and I each a drink.

She's sitting on the edge of my leather couch, still worried about dripping blood or damaging something.

It's too late for that.

Plus, I have cleaning people coming tomorrow anyway. I'll throw them some extra cash for a deeper cleaning of the place.

I wrapped up Abrielle's arm in an old t-shirt.

It's the best I have to offer.

I hand her a glass of scotch. "Drink up."

Her eyes look up at me. "Do you still hate me?"

Fuck…

"One of the trainers is coming over. He's sort of a friend of mine."

"You don't really have friends, do you?"

"No. But he's willing to help us out. In the meantime you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on. I haven't seen you in almost a decade, Abrielle. Now you jump in front of my truck. You're covered in blood. You're a fucking mess."

"I know I'm a mess," she says. "Do you think I wanted to come here? Do you think I wanted to ask for your help?"

"Then why did you?" I growl.

"Because you're the only person who ever really helped me!" Abrielle yells.

She stands up and takes one step.

I grab her right arm and spin her around to face me.

Fuck, it's got the same vibe as before.

The messy hair. The eyes. The nose. Her medium lips with the hairpin curves.

This natural beauty she has now and had back then.

My mind goes right into overdrive.

It's different now, Colver.

There are no boundaries. No questions.

Nobody in the way.

"Someone hurt you, Abrielle," I say.

"It's not what it really seems though."

"Right. That's who you are? You make excuses for someone?"

"Fuck you, Colver."

"You're in my apartment. I didn't ask for you to show up. You can get the fuck out right now. Take yourself to the hospital."

Her eyes fill with tears.

She's angry, but not at me.

I know what she wants from me.

All that meanness. All that aura of violence.

It turned her on a long time ago, but she knew to stay away.

Her memory serves her though… the reminder that sometimes violence can be harnessed for something good.

I nod. "Who do I have to kill, Abrielle?"

She exhales loudly with a mix of a scoff and a laugh.

If she thinks I'm joking… I'm not.

After way too many seconds of collected silence, I tell Abrielle to sit back down and drink up.

Jared arrives not too much after that.

He's a nerdy trainer whose father is a famous neuro doctor.

They probably have more money than I do.

Jared loves his job. Loves hockey.

And he's not that bad of a guy.

I called him on a whim once when I got into a bar fight.

Two guys jumped me and one slammed a glass off my face and cut me.

Jared stitched me up.

And now…

"It's not me, it's a friend," I say.

Friend. Is that what Abrielle is? All these years later? A friend…

Jared takes one look at Abrielle and looks ready to bolt.

He starts to shake his head.

I cut him off, almost crashing into him.

"I can't get the story out of her," I whisper to him. "We go way back, okay? We haven't seen each other in years. If she's here asking me for help, she's in big trouble."

"This feels really risky," Jared says.

"I'm not going to say a thing," Abrielle says. "I'm desperate. Okay? And if you both need the truth so badly, I stupidly wasn't paying attention and walked into a project of mine. I had a very sharp knife on the edge of a table and it got my arm."

She knows both Jared and I think she's full of shit.

I wonder how many times she's practiced that story. Or how many times she's told it.

"Listen, this has nothing to do with him," Abrielle says to Jared about me. "I swear on my life. He offered to take me to the hospital. I refused. I can't go to the hospital. Okay? I just… can't…"

Jared sighs. "Let me see your arm."

Abrielle unrolls the shirt I gave her.

"Damn," Jared says. "That needs at least four stitches. It's a super clean cut. Deep though."

"Want to go through my drawers and compare knives?" I ask. "Can't fucking believe this."

"I'm not accusing anyone of anything," Jared says. "Let's go to the dining room table and I'll get this taken care of. But I was never here, okay? This is insane for me to be doing. It's one thing to help you, Colver. You didn't tell me it was for someone else."

"I'm an asshole," I say. "You're not the first person I've pissed off to get what I want. So stitch her arm up, get the fuck out of here, and never talk to me again. Okay?"

Amazing how fast with Abrielle showing up I'm already starting to set parts of my life on fire because of her…