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I look up at him, searching for something, some reassurance, something to tell me it’s okay, but I can’t read his expression.
The image of the knife reflecting the streetlight burns in my mind, and I can see the figure on the ground, remembering how quickly Marcus walked away from it.
I try to push the images away.
It doesn’t matter. We’re safe. I’m with Marcus.
But it doesn’t work.
Chapter 22
Marcus
“That… person…” Lila says, her breath heavy and her eyes terrified.
We’re standing in my hallway, her eyes searching mine, begging me to tell her it isn’t what she thinks. But there’s nothing I can do or say.
“Yea,” I say.
“Was he…?”
Neither of us can bring ourselves to say the word.
The image of his face on the ground burns in my brain like a train wreck I can’t look away from. But there was no mistaking the cold glassy stare in his eyes or the pool of blood seeping out from under him.
I nod, dropping my gaze to the floor as Lila gasps, her hand shooting up to her mouth.
There’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say, that can make any of it go away. We saw what we saw.
“We have to call the police!” she exclaims. “We saw the car that did it! We can help them catch the people responsible!”
“Did you see the car’s reg plate?” I ask.
She closes her eyes for a moment, then shakes her head.
“Did you see what make the car was? Anything that could help identify it?”
She shakes her head again. “No. It all happened so fast.”
I nod, my jaw tightening. “I didn’t either.”
Normally, I’d be able to name the make, model and engine type just by the sound of it pulling away. But all I can remember is the blur of the headlights and the sick churn in my gut. It was a bigger car and took off in a way that suggests it was four-wheel drive. Could have been an x5, or another similar high-performance type. But I didn’t catch the detail. Didn’t see the plate. And that pisses me off more than I care to admit.
“If we call the police, they’ll want us to give a statement,” I say, watching her closely. “They’ll ask lots of questions. Are you alright to do that?”
She looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together like she can wring the tension out of them. “I don’t know.”
I watch her for a beat, my instincts torn. A huge part of me wants to pretend none of this ever happened, to pull Lila close to me, kiss her, and move this upstairs to my bed. I want it more than anything. But the other part – the part that won’t shut up – keeps looping the image of the lifeless body on the ground. We didn’t imagine it. We were there. And walking away like it’s not ours to deal with feels wrong.
“I get it,” I say quietly. “It’s… scary. And I don’t want to make you do something you’re not comfortable with. If you don’t want to, we’ll take a minute. Breathe. Figure it out.” I take her hands and her eyes lift up to mine. “But whatever we do, we’ll handle it together.”
She leans into me, her head resting against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her. She’s trembling, but I can tell she’s trying to hold it together.
“I don’t think I can let it go,” she whispers after a long moment.
“Me either,” I admit.
And just like that, the night we thought we were going to have – jazz bar, wine, her in that dress, me pretending I’m not completely undone by her – vanishes in smoke.