Page 13 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

Chapter eight

WALKER

T rey wasn’t kidding. He is a terrible dancer.

Two left feet whenever music was involved.

A couple slow songs made up for it though during date three.

He could at least sway. But given his general grace in everything else he does, not to mention his speed and agility when coming to my rescue with Curtis, I figured he must have been exaggerating.

He was not.

Also considering his speed and agility in the park when getting that awful mother to let go of her kid with what looked like a martial arts move. But Trey visits different cities all year long; it makes sense he knows self-defense. That isn’t weird.

Or his camera that had been pointed at Curtis’s apartment.

Not weird! And not at all seeming weirder to me just because Curtis is still missing.

Not missing necessarily, but after several more days of no word from him, Bryan called me again, asking if I’d heard anything.

I haven’t. No drunk dials, no nothing like I expected.

Curtis’s conference should be over now, but even after checking in with his work, Bryan said no one’s seen him.

It's not as if Trey and I were the last people who did see him. He went to that work party, broken wrist and all, and took a rideshare home. Where no one else has seen him since, home or otherwise. Home… across from where Trey is staying.

It’s crazy that I keep letting my mind wander there, but I can’t seem to get this nagging feeling to go away.

I had completely set aside any paranoia about Trey after he patched up the cut on my cheek, and date one went so well, and date two was the sweetest ever, before date three ended up hilarious and endeared him to me even more.

Despite the fact that we were in a club—and not a crazy, can’t hear yourself think type of club, but one with a full kitchen and quiet areas for dining or getting drinks, with a dedicated dancefloor that plays real music, not remix garbage that all sounds the same—we didn’t get as hot and heavy as I was thinking we might.

A first kiss on my stoop and stolen moment in the park was like getting to third base with Trey instead of first, yet somewhere PDAs are practically expected, he was a perfect gentleman.

No good boys . No openings for me to call him Daddy . He called me doctor once or twice, but that just felt like he was goading me on purpose, making it clear nothing was happening that night, because the third date rule did not apply, and Trey was making me wait.

Now date four is imminent. No more blue balls or self-love in my future. I should be on cloud nine counting down the days.

Then Bryan had to go and call again and start up this damn spiral!

“Do you know that the last people who saw Curtis, ones from work, said he had a broken wrist?” Bryan told me. “Gave some bullshit excuse too. Like, how did that even happen?”

My new boyfriend broke it when he came to my rescue.

Not saying that while Curtis is missing.

No one else was around when it happened, so there’s no proof, and if Curtis appears at some point and tries to start shit, it’s he said/we said. But it doesn’t look good when no one’s seen him since after that day. It doesn’t look good that we broke up right before he disappeared.

Bryan sounded so cagey when I didn’t really answer about the wrist, like maybe he was starting to suspect me.

I didn’t do anything! I was attacked, saved, and started seeing someone else, that’s all.

I can’t even call Trey my new boyfriend yet.

It’s only been three dates. Three and a half.

With that elusive date four coming up tomorrow night.

Trey sometimes acting a little cloak and dagger doesn’t mean anything shady is going on. Manifest Ventures and his articles are real. Not that a secret agent wouldn’t make sure his cover identity was real.

You, I would spare.

Fuck! He was joking when he said that!

Right? Even if he is some sort of secret agent, why would he target Curtis?

Or is it just that secret agents know how to make someone disappear?

I check my phone for the millionth time.

I keep waiting for an update text from Bryan or Curtis himself to prove all this madness is a waste of time.

I’m even on a walk right now to clear my head.

Trying to study for certs is impossible with all these intruding thoughts creeping in.

Even my primary textbook reminds me of Curtis because it’s the one I forgot at his place.

But as I look at my phone screen, there are no missed calls, no texts from Bryan or Curtis.

Nothing. Nothing new from Trey either, not since his last message about looking forward to tomorrow.

I’m supposed to meet him at his hotel, but he won’t tell me where we’re going.

It’s a surprise , he said. Which is sweet. And exciting.

And not at all mildly concerning.

I mean it’s crazy to suspect anything nefarious about Trey.

He is amazing! He even sent me copies of his favorite pictures from our park date.

I scan through them again now, since I’m already looking at my phone.

The ones I was worried about turned out great.

The surprise one over my shoulder—not up my nose.

It actually looks pretty cool with the sunlight haloing me, shadowing some of my face, with this sort of neutral half surprised expression before I cried out and yelled at Trey for scaring me.

All the photos are great, but my favorite is the one Trey said is his favorite too.

You can see the archway of trees, the city, a few scattered people, all perfectly looking away, so no funny faces or real photo bombs, and then…

me. Trey caught the exact moment when I glanced at him, and it’s somehow the best looking I’ve ever found myself.

Maybe because there’s this hopeful, shy little expression I’m wearing, with only one thing on my mind, other than worrying I’ll look like a goober in the pictures. Only one thing…

Trey.

And not the creepy alcoholic who we first saw on date one, then again on date two, with an illegitimate child he had with some woman even younger than his already much younger than him wife.

The next picture, one where I’m still facing away from the camera, caught a very weird moment between creepy guy and mistress.

He’s slipping her something like spies handing off a package.

They’re too small in the background for me to see what they’re handing off, but it is definitely weird.

Hush money? Child support? Probably that.

But we ran into this guy twice, and Trey just happened to take a photo at that exact moment?

I need to stop looking at the photos and actually pay attention to where I am. I shouldn’t be surprised when I finally glance up again that my feet brought me to the hospital. At risk of being caught by Doctor Aldrin, I figure a quick visit with Noah couldn’t hurt.

I make my way to his room without any run-ins with my mentor but the door is closed. I peek inside anyway and see no sign of Emma or their parents, just Noah napping. I am so curious about what became of his MRI results, I can’t resist slipping inside the room to check his chart.

Inconclusive.

“ Fuck ,” I huff beneath my breath. Now I know why Doctor Aldrin didn’t update me.

There was nothing to say. Bad news sucks, but inconclusive is the actual worst, because all we can do is keep trying without knowing exactly where to turn or what to do next, and every day we don't have answers puts our patients at more risk.

“Doc Walk?” Noah’s groggy voice alerts me that I definitely cursed too loudly. “Did you say a bad word?”

Crap. “Never!” I lie. “I’m not even here. You’re dreaming. I’m going to turn into a hippopotamus any second now.”

Noah giggles. He’s tired, sure, just waking up, but I can tell he’s more naturally fatigued and weaker than when I last saw him, and that was only a week and a half ago.

“Where’s Zappy?” he asks, as I return the chart and move up by his pillow.

“Ah, shoot, I forgot him,” I admit. I hadn’t planned on coming here today, so Zappy is still where I moved him beside my alarm clock. Not that it’s a better location than the kitchen island to avoid scarring the stuffie while seeing my nightly activities, but it’s nice having some company in there.

“It’s okay,” Noah says. “You can keep him for a little longer.” He has Doctor Hoot cuddled to his chest, while the usual array of other stuffies surround him.

“I’ll be sure to give him back to you before you’re out of here.”

“That could be a while,” he says with a pout. “Feels like I’ve been here forever.”

“You’ll be out of here sooner than you think.

” I really don’t want that to be a lie, but he needs to keep his spirits up at least. Succumbing to despair is when the panic sets in, and nothing gets better after that.

“Hey, you go back to sleep for now and keep resting, okay? You’ll need it the next time you play your sister at Pokémon. ”

“Nah, I can beat her easy,” he says but it’s missing the usual energy.

“Rest anyway, kiddo.”

He doesn’t fight me after that, and his eyes are already fluttering closed before I’ve finished retreating to the door.

I make it out of the hospital without any Doctor Aldrin run-ins either, but now I need an afternoon pick-me-up.

And possibly a valium later. Between wacko thoughts about Trey and Noah’s worsening condition, I feel beyond fried.

At least I made sure to grab my inhaler on my way out of the apartment, because spiked anxiety is not good for claustrophobic asthmatics.

There are two Starbucks within a block or two of the hospital, which is also pretty close to my apartment, but there is thankfully a local fair trade coffee shop three blocks down. The extra walk is always worth it.