Untimely You (27 page)

“Loony Lucy?” Eric questions as if I’ve once again lost my mind.

I just shrug my shoulders. “Short for Lucifer.”

His eyes widen and Neesy giggles so hard she nearly falls off the barstool. My hands steady her waist.

“I think I’ll leave you two nut jobs to have breakfast alone. Call me if you need me.” His words are intended to be aimed at both of us, but he gives Neesy a pointed look that says,
Let me know if I need to beat him up
. And I’m thankful. In some fucked-up way, I’m thankful he’d throttle me before letting me do something stupid that could potentially hurt her.

I’m not going to do anymore stupid shit, though.

This ends now.

I
will
get better for my girls.

W
hen I peek out the window of my new apartment, I frown. It’s awfully late for snow, but El Nino has been a bitch this year doing whatever the hell she pleases. My heart gives a little flutter of worry knowing the snow will agitate Adrian.

I sigh and walk over to another box we’d recently moved from my old apartment. It’s been a few weeks since Adrian’s crazed outburst over Chrissy’s affair confession in her notebook. I’d gone with him and met Robert Redford the day he showed him the notebook. Of course, his therapist really isn’t Robert Redford, but he’s a dead ringer for the old fellow. Red, bushy hair. Bright smile. Kind eyes. I’m quite fond of Mr. Redford. Both the therapist and the actor. Robert—his real name, Clint Jones, is boring so we’ll stick with Robert—says Adrian’s reaction was normal for his situation. He does have him meet with an anger management group that seems to be helping, though. When Adrian gets pissed all over again thinking about it, I watch as he closes his eyes, grounds himself, counts to ten, and calms. It’s fascinating to watch really.

My phone chimes and I walk over to the bar where it sits next to my plate with a bagel covered in cream cheese. Adrian still frowns about my unhealthy food choices but doesn’t say anything about it. I think he knows that’s one argument he’ll simply not win. His daughter loves cream cheese.

Wacko: Don’t leave the house. It’s snowing. I’ll bring you some lunch.

I smile and rub my belly. Lucy and I love lunch with Daddy. It usually ends with a quickie for Mommy.

Me: Got it, sir. Luce and I are craving mashed potatoes.

His response is immediate.

Wacko: When you call me sir, it gets my dick hard. Are you craving my gravy too?

I gag at his innuendo and shake my head as I type.

Me: Gross!! I think I just lost my appetite.

As soon as I hit send, I take a bite of my bagel. Apparently, I didn’t lose my appetite. He doesn’t reply back right away which means he’s busy. He and Eric are working on a massive acquisition that’ll skyrocket the company into overwhelming success. Adrian’s told me a few times while lying in bed that he is thinking of selling his part in the company to Eric. That he’d like to do right by his child instead of working every waking moment like he’d done in the past. I’ll support him in whatever he decides. Although, having him around Noble House all day could prove distracting. We might both be poor and homeless when it’s all said and done because when we’re together, nothing seems to get done. Except for each other of course.

Speaking of Noble House, everything is beginning to take shape. I’ve begun to read through résumés in search of a full-time assistant. Damien will intern during the summer, but I need someone for the rest of the time, especially now that Lucy is on her way. Construction is going well downstairs, and my heart is full, knowing my dream is coming true. All of my dreams. I spoke to Dad a couple of days ago to invite him and Annie to the grand opening in May. He says he’s not sure if they’ll be in Canada or not, visiting Annie’s other daughter Marla, but they’d really like to come. My heart sank at his answer, but would could I do? At least he’s promised to come—with or without his wife—when Lucy is born.

My phone rings and I grin. Adrian never makes me wait too long. Busy or not. He’s quite the doting boyfriend.

“Hey sexy,” I purr into the phone.

“N-N-Neesy…” A ragged, familiar whisper.

I jolt and jerk my phone away to see who the voice belongs to. Shawna. And she sounds terrible. “Shawna? Are you okay? What’s going on, honey?”

Her breath is heavy and she lets out a sob. “B-Brad…” she trails off. “He…”

Panic skitters through me. “He what? Tell me what happened. Where are you?”

I hear some shuffling and she lets out a pained groan. I’m already on the hunt for my coat and scarf.

“He’s been getting worse and worse.” She breaks down in hissing sobs that have my heart about to explode in my chest.

“Is he sick? Are
you
sick? What’s going on?”

The thought of anything happening to my best friend worries me to death. I’ve never really liked Brad. They’ve been dating for months, and she seemed so into the seemingly boring doctor. He just always made me feel weird. Like he hides a dirty little secret behind his boring façade. I’m wondering if my suspicions were correct.

“He kicked my ribs real hard and…” she gasps. “It hurts to breathe.”

At this, I’m slinging my coat on and grabbing my purse. “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“His place. Today is a surgery day so he’ll be gone all day.” She rattles off the address and I rush out the door.

I keep her on the phone but quickly type out a text to Adrian.

Me: Brad beat up Shawna and she sounds awful. I’m going to get her.

Hurrying down the stairs, I make my way through the construction and out the front door. As soon as I step outside, a snowflake hits my cheek, and it reminds me of the day I fell in New York in front of Jenny. How embarrassed I’d been. But it was also the day I found out about Lucy, so it wasn’t all that terrible of a day.

The moment I step onto the concrete stairs just outside of the building, my feet slip. Thankfully, my arms aren’t full, so I’m able to grab on to the handrail preventing a nasty tumble. I can hear my phone buzzing in my purse, but I don’t make any moves to answer it until I’m safely in my car.

“Hello?”

“Neesy, goddammit, what in the hell are you thinking? You can’t drive in this shit. You know how I feel about this,” Adrian growls.

Ignoring him, I start the car and pull away from the curb. It’s freezing out but Shawna is hurt.

“Calm down, Wacko. I can handle this. Focus on what you’re working on.”

The snow is coming down pretty hard now, and I’m freezing my butt off inside of my cold-ass car, but it isn’t anything I can’t handle.

“Are you already driving? Jesus Christ,” he booms. “Stop the car and let me go check on her.”

“I’m already out. Brad’s place is near your office. I’ll text you the address when I get there. Besides, I don’t have a bad feeling. You know I always have a bad feeling before something awful happens. I’ll be fine. I just need to make sure she’s okay and to get her someplace safe. I’ll see you soon,” I promise.

When he starts ranting, I hang up to focus on the road. I’m not a bad driver; I’m a bad walker. I’m not worried about getting to her. I’ll be extra careful when walking from the car to the building.

The drive isn’t all too long and fifteen minutes later, I’m hunting for a parking spot. Once I park rather illegally, I climb out and abandon everything but my keys. Adrian keeps trying to call, but I know he’ll only be angry with me. Right now, I need to focus on getting my friend out of that psycho’s apartment.

Slipping and sliding, I carefully make my way into the foyer and am greeted by a friendly doorman who looks no older than Damien.

“Hey, you,” I say as I enter, “can you come with me to check on my friend?”

Adrian would be proud of me for taking extra precautions.

“Sure, ma’am,” he says and follows me to the elevator. “What’s wrong?”

We enter the elevator together and I frown at the handsome boy. “She called and said her boyfriend had hurt her. Dr. Leavenworth. Do you know him?”

His face turns red and he nods. “He’s a nice guy. His apartment number is three fourteen.”

I hit the button to the third floor and regard him with a flat expression. “Apparently he’s not such a nice guy.”

When the doors reopen, he follows me out but then guides me in the right direction. Once we reach unit three fourteen, he proceeds to knock. I roll my eyes and turn the knob. He lets out a surprised gasp as I push right into the apartment.

“Shawna?” I call out. “Are you in here, babe?”

The well-decorated space is dark and quiet. I rush past the expansive living room toward an arched doorway that looks like it may be a hallway. When I hear a soft moan, I follow the sound into a master bedroom. Light pours out beneath a closed door. The bedroom is a mess. A lamp is broken and hanging off a nightstand. Blankets and sheets have been torn from the bed. Clothes are all over the floor. There are a couple of holes punched in the walls and even a picture hanging crookedly from the wall. It looks like a hurricane blasted through this place. Hurricane Brad apparently.

I try the bathroom knob, but it’s locked. “Shawna, you in there? Open up?”

She’s sniffling on the other side but doesn’t make any moves to open the door.

“Can you kick the door in or something?” I ask the doorman. “She’s hurt.”

His eyes widen in fear. I know it’s not a part of his job description but hell. My friend is hurt.

“Shawna,” I try again, “open the door and let me help you.”

I hear some shuffling and a small click.
Thanks for all your help, doorman.
Not. As soon as the door is unlocked, I twist the knob and push through. My heart seizes in my chest upon seeing her. Her normally sleek blonde hair is ratty and tangled. The black mascara she always has artfully done is smeared and streaked down her cheeks. A bruise on her cheekbone is forming, and her bottom lip is split open. Her nightgown, a spaghetti strap number, is ripped on one side causing it to hang down the front of her chest revealing one of her breasts. When her bright green eyes find mine, I’m horrified to see they’re bloodshot and dull. My lively friend is gone, and this sad girl is in her place.

“What happened?” I coo as I rush to her side on the floor.

“Maybe I should call 911,” the doorman says, his voice husky with fear.

Shawna shrieks which then causes her to cough painfully. “N-No,” she murmurs. “Please don’t call them. They’ll call him and he’ll…he said he’ll…oh God.” Her sobs break my heart into a thousand little pieces. Shawna is my strong, fun BFF. What did that monster do to her?

“Doorman,” I instruct, “just come help me get her to her feet and to get some clothes on her. I can take her to a doctor.”

“Derrick,” he says as he shuffles into the room, careful to avert his eyes from her nearly naked body.

Together, we help her to her feet. She coughs some more, which in turn makes her sob uncontrollably.

“It hurts,” she whines through her tears, clutching her ribs.

We help her sit on the bed. I fly through the room searching for something warm to change her into. Once I’ve found a hoodie and some yoga pants, Derrick and I carefully help her dress. She winces and moans but eventually we get her dressed. He finds her tennis shoes while I slide socks up her feet.

“Come on,” I say as we help her stand. “Let’s get her to my car.”

The trek down the hallway, down the elevator, and then through the lobby is a laborious one, but thankfully, I have a big, strong boy to help me get her to the car. After we settle her into the front seat, I snatch a wad of twenties from my purse and thrust them at him.

“Thank you!”

I hop back into the car and find my phone. Fourteen missed calls from Adrian. I’m trying to dial him back when it rings again.

“BERNICE NOBLE WHAT IN THE EVER LOVING HELL—”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, my breath heaving with exertion. “I have her in my car. That monster—”

“Don’t go anywhere! Eric and I are in the car heading your way. Now tell me where you’re at so I can come drive you!”

I start the car and pull out into the road. My wheels peel out a bit, but soon I gain the traction I need so that I can accelerate. “I’m on my way to St. John’s. Bastard Brad works at St. Peter’s and there’s no way in hell I’m taking her there.”