Jace, page 25
Where the hell was she? More importantly, where was he?
The spindly fingers of dread were working their nasty fingers around her lungs, the beginning flutter and press of anxiety setting in. That tremor along her spine. Clammy palms. That odd sense that time was speeding up. Out of control. Her hands fisted.
No more freaking fear. No more. If she let this go on, she was giving him control—letting him win. It wasn’t just her in this beyond fucked up situation. It was up to her to try to end it. If she didn’t try, there could be others like her. And that was sad, wrong, devastating.
Reaching up, her fingers encounter a well-padded gauze wrap around her head. “My head hurts,” she managed.
“Krystal?” Emmy. “Hey, Sissy. Are you okay?”
She forced her eyes open. “I’m not sure.” Hospital. Hospital room. Hospital bed. The cold made sense. “People.” Not just people. Police. All her empowerment self-talk was getting an immediate challenge. Holding off the whole panic attack was going to be harder than she’d expected.
“People on your side.” Her father’s voice was gruff. Damn, he looked old. Worn out and shell-shocked.
“Okay.” Her attempt at a smile ended in a wobbly wince. Her fingers lightly traced over her temple, eyes, and cheek. “Bad?” Her gaze shifted from her daddy to Travis.
“Sure as hell isn’t good.” Travis was red-faced and stony. Something about her jovial, teasing, ass of a brother strung tighter than a guitar string hurt. It wouldn’t take much to trigger a full-on explosion. He couldn’t be here for what was about to happen.
“Okay.” She didn’t try to smile this time.
“I want to ask if you’re okay.” Emmy. “But you have a black eye and stitches in your head so…” Poor Emmy—the tears she wiped away kept coming.
Tig’s warning. About Emmy. And Travis. If she did this, there would be no turning back. How could she? Because of Becca—and who knows how many others. Because someone needed to stand up for them. She only hoped her family would support her.
Sawyer stood, silent as always, watching her. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there? That was a dangerous question. He had been there. And he’d stopped…everything. His nod was stiff, nostrils flared and jaw clenching tight.
“Krystal.” Her father spoke up. “The police have some questions for you.”
Questions that had big, life-altering answers for every single person in this room. Questions that should have been asked, and answered, ten years ago. “Okay.” Her fingers pleated the thin white sheets covering her legs.
“Give her a minute.” The female officer held her hand up. “There’s no rush here.”
Two men and one woman. Police officers in full police officer uniforms. Because calling the police was the right thing to do when someone is attacked. A flash of his hand on her mouth streaked across her mind. Her stomach clenched tight, bile rising up in her throat.
“Where are we?” The answer was obvious but the question came out anyway.
“You’re in the hospital.” Emmy sat on the side of her bed, taking her hand.
Because she was hurt. Black eye and stitches? That’s what Emmy had said. Which matched with the slamming pulse in her face and eye. She didn’t feel much in her head—probably shot up with something to numb her for the stitches. She was drained, like after one of her marathon workouts. Wrung out.
Because of Tig… Another flash. Him over her, being pinned on the floor. Her heart rate picked up. Thanks to the monitor she was hooked up to, everyone knew it, too. The rapid beeping had one of the policemen staring at the monitor with concern. For some reason, she wanted to giggle. Since that probably wouldn’t be okay, she pressed a hand to her mouth. Which reminded her of her face. The pulse throbbing in her cheek and eye.
“It’s okay.” Emmy smoothed her sheets, not in the least okay. Her sister’s lower lip was quivering and she was sniffing, doing her best not to fall apart completely.
Would it be? Would it ever really be okay again?
Yes. It would.
Sawyer was fidgeting. The man she’d begun to think of as more robot than human was shifting from one foot to the next, looking…out of sorts. He was never out of sorts. His master poker face was failing. Big-time. It was unnerving as hell.
“He called the ambulance.” Emmy’s words made it ten times worse.
“Ambulance?” She closed her eyes and hissed, reaching up to touch her face, but that hurt, too. “Dammit.”
“You think you can answer some questions?” Her father stood at the foot of her bed.
She stared at the three strangers, then her family. “Probably best if I do this alone.”
Travis shook his head, his face turning a dark red.
“I’d like to stay,” Emmy whispered, her hand tightening on hers.
“Emmy.” She blew out a deep breath. How could she protect her sister now? The truth was going to come out. It had to. “I can’t sugarcoat this. Can’t make this easy.” She swallowed. “I can do this on my own.”
“I know.” Her sister’s gaze locked with hers. “But you shouldn’t have to. We all want to be here for you.”
Words were the easy part. It was after they were said that things changed—when the actual words faded but their impact remained. “Are you sure?”
Emmy nodded.
“We’re all sure.” Her father’s blue gaze searched hers.
Fine. There’s no way to hide it this time. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
“I’m Officer Washington. That’s Officer Cruz and Officer Ramos.” Officer Washington stepped closer to the bed, her dark brown eyes sweeping over Krystal’s face. Her attention lingered, briefly, on Krystal’s eye. “First, we’d like to do a rape kit. Check for DNA samples under your nails, swab inside your mouth—”
“Fuck,” Travis growled.
“I wasn’t raped.” Krystal shot her brother a look. “But I’m okay with you checking for samples. You’ll need that, won’t you? For a restraining order?”
Officer Washington nodded.
“Okay.” Krystal lay her head against the pillow, then popped forward, away from a shooting pain at the back of her head. Too fast. Dizzy. “This is like the worst amusement park ride ever.” She was gripping Emmy’s hand, clinging to stability.
“You hit your head,” Officer Cruz explained. “Hard. Concussion. A few stitches.”
“That explains it.” Her gaze caught on Sawyer, jaw tight and nostrils flared. Seeing him this way was unsettling. “Thanks, Sawyer. For taking care of me. And him.”
“Him?” Travis jumped in. “Tig? Tig did this to you?”
Yes, Tig. She was going to have to stop freaking out every time someone said his name. “Where is he?” The question had her heart monitor climbing.
“Mr. Whitman is at the station.” The female police officer said. “Can you recount the events leading up to your altercation with Mr. Whitman?”
“Altercation? How about assault?” Travis bit out. “Have you seen her face?”
“Travis.” Krystal sighed. “You’re stressing me out with the human volcano routine. Keep it up and I will make Sawyer drag your ass out of the room.”
The two male police officers glanced back and forth between her, Sawyer, and Travis.
“Let’s try to keep things as calm as possible. Your sister is going to need both of her brothers’ support.” Officer Ramos’s low bass voice was just menacing enough to get Travis’s attention. “All things considered.”
“Sawyer isn’t our brother.” Emmy’s glanced Sawyer’s way, her lower lip quivering.
“No?” Officer Ramos didn’t look convinced. “There’s a…resemblance.”
Krystal studied Travis. Then Sawyer. Officer Ramos had a point.
“Just security.” Sawyer’s tone was hard.
“Good damn thing he was there, too.” Travis scowled, his lips parting. “What if—”
“Stop. I mean it.” Krystal glared at him, which made her face hurt. Which made her react and cover her tender face. “Dammit.” She shook her hands out. “Tonight?”
Officer Washington’s forehead creased. “Let’s start there.”
I can do this. I have to do this.
The door to her hospital room opened and Jace was there.
Jace.
Her heart. Oh, her heart. He was here.
No.
His face. He hesitated, just inside, doing his best not to react. But that was reaction enough. His smile was for her, strained and broken but real. His light brown eyes searched her face before falling briefly away. When he looked at her again, he’d pulled himself together. Because he was Jace. Strong and beautiful. Here. For her. He was here for her.
On this point, Tig had been right. Jace was exactly the kind of guy who would stick now—out of misguided nobility. He’d want to ride in on a white horse, make it better, with his smile and his warm gaze and gentle hands.
She sucked in a wavering breath, her heart breaking in a million pieces. There was only one option here—one she could trust was right.
“You can’t be here.” She forced the words out, brittle and raw.
You are a liar. Tig’s voice echoed in her head. She wanted Jace here, wanted his strength and support. Needed it.
“Not visiting hours?” he asked, frowning. “I needed to see you were okay.”
Panic reared up. One touch, one look, and she’d cave. Because she loved him. It was stupid and useless but true. She loved him. So much. Too much to put him through this. And once he heard, everything would change. Tig’s accusations had added bruising weight to her constant guilt. She’d let things go on—let Tig do those things to her. How could Jace look at her the same way? How could he leave her? He was a gentleman. And this time, it would be his downfall.
In his eyes, she was a better version of herself. Losing that? It would hurt. But there was no help for it; she needed to get used to pain.
She gripped Emmy, the bed, anything not to reach for him. He couldn’t be here.
But he was headed toward her with a single-minded focus that demanded her response. He was all buttoned up and starched for a night out, looking seriously sexy and gorgeous and manly…staring her way, smiling her way, not acknowledging anyone else in the room. Not her family or the police officers or the out-of-control beeping of her heart monitor. Just her. By the time he was beside her, sitting on her bed, she welcomed his arms around her. Craved his scent, turning into him—even if it hurt. Jace. She couldn’t get close enough. This. This was what she needed.
His lips pressed against her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He could never hurt her. Ever. It was a truth she’d finally come to accept. He was, without fail, the man she believed couldn’t exist. And, dammit, she loved him.
If you love someone, you put their needs first. Always. Another bit of her gramma’s kitchen counseling.
Jace had Heather. A fledgling career. The support of a record company, endorsements in the works. Obligations to fulfill. He didn’t need to be front and center for the media circus she was going to unleash. He owed it to himself, to his sister, to see this through.
She had to stop hiding. Tig Whitman had to pay. And Jace shouldn’t be a part of that. She wouldn’t let him. Now she had to pretend she wasn’t exactly where she wanted to be, burrowed against the chest she adored, and go full-on bitch mode. She shook her head. “Jace.” She forced herself away from him. Be strong. For both of their sakes. Strong. And mean.
“Don’t do it.” His brow furrowed, those light brown eyes searching.
Dammit. Tough. Not soft and achy. Mean.
“Please.” He blew out a deep breath. “Let me stay.”
Yes, stay. Hold on to me. No. Stop it. She cleared her throat. “I need…” She broke off. She didn’t want him here—it wasn’t what was best for him. But she needed him. “Stay.”
He nodded, staring at her so long and hard Krystal’s eyes were burning something fierce. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That look. Her heart hammered away. When he looked at her like that, she could almost believe he cared about her—that, by some miracle, he might care for her no matter what. She knew better. They’d never make it, never made any sense. He was too good for her. Once he knew the truth about Tig, he’d never look at her this way again.
Officer Washington watched the exchange—the whole room did. Clearly, she had some concerns about Jace’s arrival. “If you’re staying, Mr. Black, I’d like to get back to questioning?” She nodded toward the door.
He stayed at her side, his warm gaze sweeping over her face. “Stay strong. I’m proud of you,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His words echoed. And they made her strong.
“Miss King, I understand that this might be difficult. But you need to be as thorough as possible. Details, in this situation, can be key.”
She nodded. Details. The bits and pieces that made facts into so much more. “You heard her, guys. Last chance to bail.” It was a pathetic attempt to defuse the tension in the room, but she had to try. Hoping they’d go. Hoping they’d stay.
Nobody moved.
She stared at the whiteboard on the far wall, listing the nurses on duty and an emoji pain scale for patients to use when describing their discomfort. She stared at the “High Level of Pain” face—red cheeks, tears, forehead scrunched. On the inside, that was her. She focused on that, focused on only that. Not her family or the police officers or even Jace. Just that red-pained face, and started talking.
“Tig Whitman is an asshole. Make sure you write that part down.” She took a deep breath and started talking. If she distanced herself, made it more like a narration, on the outside, the words came easier. She spoke slowly, carefully, choosing her words. Narrating—not involved. Going in to get Emmy’s purse. What she heard. What she saw. Becca. What she suspected. Becca shutting her down. Tig—smug and smiling. A tremor ran along her skin. She stopped there.
Officer Washington waited. “And then?”
Jace’s hand rubbed up and down her back, encouraging her. Because he didn’t know what was coming. None of them did. Her stomach clenched.
She flexed her fingers, shook her hands out. They were all watching. All waiting. She blew out a long, wavering breath. The “High Level of Pain” emoji was blurring now. Her words weren’t as steady when she described running for her bus, texting them to pick her up later, panicking—no point denying she had. “I wanted space…I was upset. Needed to get my head right.” More hand shaking. “He was on the bus.” She focused on the light overhead. The fluorescent bulb had a slight pulse. “He…he kept saying things…” Her gaze fell, darting toward her father, then the sheet covering her legs. “Things…that happened a long time ago.” A long time ago. The past. No more. Head up. No more secrets. She cleared her throat, the edge to her voice defiant—wavering. “I’m a liar, he said. No one believed me then. Why would anyone believe me now? The truth won’t change the past.” Her hands were so cold, tingling. No matter how hard she shook them, she couldn’t stop the frigid stinging shooting from her fingertips up her arms.
“You have a past with this man?” Officer Washington asked.
Her heart rate had accelerated to jackhammer intensity so she tugged off the finger monitor and threw it on the bed. It was only going to get worse. “I do. He was my mentor. My father’s best friend. Near family. And he…molested me for almost a year before I told anyone.” The words choked her. But they were out. She’d said it—the truth. Eyes burning, stomach churning, shaking like a leaf—but she’d done it.
And now everyone knew.
Jace jolted, the whole bed jerking.
Jace knew. She pressed her eyes shut, bracing herself.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Travis’s voice rose. “Who did you tell?” His eyes widened. He knew, his gaze slamming into their father. “Tig Whitman put his fat, white hands on my sister? And you knew? You… Why didn’t you do something?” He was hurt.
It had hurt like hell when she’d realized her father was human—flaws and imperfect and capable of making terrible mistakes.
“Travis.” Krystal tried to sit up, gripping the railing on the bed to steady herself.
“Krystal.” Jace’s hands held her shoulders. “Slow. Easy. Careful with yourself.”
“Mr. King.” Officer Washington’s voice dripped authority, her careful, methodical stare down of her brother and father impressive. “When did this happen?”
“Fifteen. Until I was almost sixteen.” She glanced at her father, her devastated father. “I was a handful back then, a kid who made stuff up and caused all sorts of hell. Now I know I was the sort of kid someone like him would look for.”
“Camp?” Emmy’s voice broke. “Momma sent you to that camp? Because of…this?”
Jace’s breathing was unsteady now, his hand against her back still.
“This is such bullshit.” Travis was pacing. “It’s not like you were setting things on fire, causing fights, or stealing shit. If you had? It shouldn’t have mattered.” He was glaring at their father again. “A parent should always believe their kid. A parent should always protect their kid.”
“Mr. King.” Her dark brows rose. “Last warning.” Officer Washington paused. “Back to the facts—to tonight. Who initiated the assault? Mr. Whitman is making his own claims about tonight.” Officer Washington paused again. “He says he was the victim.”
Which was hysterical and horrifying all at once. But really, what choice did he have? He wasn’t going to fall to his knees, confess, and ask for forgiveness. But her? Attack him? “Me and my superhuman strength? Since he’s there and I’m here, I’m guessing I didn’t hurt him all that badly?”
