Chapter 2

2

Who knew an attempted robbery and a kid throwing firecrackers at a liquor store clerk would be such a time suck?

Okay, so, maybe the long slice that nicked the side of my boob and traveled down my side six inches also took some time to be looked at, cleaned, and bandaged by paramedics. Or I should say, one paramedic called Delilah. She was sweet, but I figured that was an act since she turned into the devil when she figured out that contrary to her best efforts to get me to go to the hospital, I wasn't going to waste the rest of my afternoon that would bleed into my evening sitting in the waiting room of the ER. I think she purposefully used more alcohol swabs than necessary to clean my cut—that thankfully wasn't deep, just long and bleeding like a son of a bitch. She had grimaced and apologized when the germ-killing solution burned its way down to my soul, causing the sting to bring tears to my eyes. So maybe she wasn't the devil, just thorough even though she was unhappy I'd refused her advice.

Whoever said getting cut by a shard of plastic didn't hurt just as bad as being sliced by glass had obviously never been stabbed by a party bucket before. Stabbed might've been a little dramatic, but it was the story I was sticking with. God knows my life being as boring as it was I needed a good story to spice it up.

Coupled with my near-death experience, the stabbing would be my claim to fame. Not that I had anyone to tell but my roommate who would call me out for my theatrics like he always did when my impressive skills of overexaggerating a story took a turn into the unbelievable.

Now I was the proud wearer of a sticky, bloodstained blouse with an over-the-top bandage under my shirt. I'd given my statement to the police—that would be three of them who let me tell my story then asked follow-up questions to their follow-up questions. I was exhausted and ready to go home, drink a bottle of wine, where at such time I'd finally allow myself to stop using humor as the crutch I always relied on and freak out that I'd almost been taken hostage in a robbery attempt.

I was almost to my car when I heard my name, then I was stuck in a mental conundrum—pretend I didn't hear Valentine calling after me or stop and face the man. I wish I could say my problem was due to exhaustion, but I was running high on adrenaline that was quickly wearing off and I wanted to be alone when the crash hit. Alone where no one could witness my unravelling.

Unfortunately in my hesitation the choice was made for me.

"Sophie, wait up."

Damn .

Okay, I could do this. Surely the man had more important things to do than hang out in the parking lot of a crime scene talking to a stranger. It hadn't taken long for my first impression of him to be confirmed—he was a cop. With his brethren still crawling all over the store he wouldn't have much time to waste on me.

I slapped a fake smile on my face before I turned to face the very handsome Valentine.

"I think the universe is telling us something," I quipped. "First, near disaster in the spaghetti aisle, now this. Seems dinner and drinks are out for us."

The frown that pulled his brows together was my first indication he didn't find me amusing. The way his gaze dropped to my chest area was not due to my superior breasts—not that I'd ever had a man zero in on my B cups before and now clearly wasn't going to be the first time—but it was another clue Valentine wasn't enjoying my attempt at humor.

"It looks worse than it is," I started. "Apparently a little blood mixed with lime juice makes for one hell of a stain."

At that his eyes traveled up, taking a long time to meet mine .

"Do you need a ride to the hospital?"

Even if I'd been planning on going to the ER both my arms still worked and I hadn't lost enough blood I couldn't operate my car.

"Delilah patched me up," I told him then added, "The paramedic."

"I know who she is, but you should still get checked out."

Not this again .

"You might know who she is but obviously you're unfamiliar with her kickass field dressings."

"I'm acutely aware of how good the woman is at her job," he fired back as his hand lifted. He dropped it back to his side short of its intended target, which looked as if he were aiming for his stomach. "You still should?—"

"I don't mean to cut you off but I'm fine. I don't need to go to the hospital for a scratch."

Again his eyes dropped to my shirt. He accompanied this with a pinch of his lips.

"Right," he forced through a frown.

"Thanks for?—"

This time he cut me off. "I didn't do anything. By the time I got back you'd successfully taken out the threat." He paused and ever so slightly shook his head. "I shouldn't've left you back there by yourself."

Ah. His unhappy frown wasn't about me kicking bad guy ass before he could. He felt guilty he left me unprotected .

"And deprive me of practicing my self-defense moves?" I teased.

When those lines bracketing his mouth got deeper I figured now was the time to get serious.

"Listen, Valentine, there's no reason for you to feel guilty or any sort of way about leaving me the way you did. You had a job to do. You were seeing to that. You had no idea someone was going to come into the back."

The man still looked unconvinced.

As much as I wished it wasn't the truth, there was nothing I could do about that. Especially with the impending freakout I wanted to have in private.

Instead of trying to do the impossible I asked him, "Are you okay?"

My question seemed to take him off guard, or maybe it was surprise I'd flipped the script and was asking after him—the big, tough cop. And I didn't mean that snarky. The dude was big; he towered over me with broad shoulders and a muscular frame that I'd already dreamed about after our first meeting, so naturally I'd lust after him again even if I was covered in sticky blood and he was grimacing. The tough part was merely an educated guess.

"Valentine!" a uniformed police officer called out. When Valentine craned his head to look over his shoulder the cop went on shouting, "We need you for a minute!"

Without answering—or perhaps the dip of his chin was an answer—Valentine turned back to me. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably something along the lines of an unnecessary apology.

So I let him off the hook. "Thanks for checking on me. I promise I'm fine. See you around."

I turned to leave but halted when he said my name.

"Yeah?"

His stare morphed into something different. The change was miniscule but unmistakable. His gaze heated even as his features softened. Then it was gone so fast I wondered if I'd imagined it. And when his guard went up to what I'd call a cop mask giving nothing away, he dipped his chin, followed by, "Drive safe home."

"Thanks. You, too."

I didn't stick around to see if he had more to say. I could feel the anxiety of the day seeping in. On my way to my car I checked my watch, grateful Hayden would already be gone.

The closer I got to my complex the more the pressure built. By the time I pulled into the lot my chest felt heavy. When I made it into my apartment my breath was coming in short, choppy pants. But it wasn't until I made it to my bed and curled into a ball did I let it sink in.

And not just what had happened that day.

Everything.

The way I lived my life.

The way I allowed people to treat me.

The way I'd stumbled through life taking scraps instead of reaching for more.

The way I tolerated the constant nagging from my mother.

The way I'd brushed off growing up with the knowledge my father had abandoned me.

The way I'd let everything get so out of control.

I was on a merry-go-round.

I wanted off.

I wanted more.

I wanted to try a different brand of spaghetti noodles, dammit.

I'd give myself this—one night to feel the despair of living half a life when today could've been it.

Lights out, never to wake up again, all over, the end.

Tomorrow I would figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life.