Page 9

CHAPTER 9

SHEA

Is it too soon to have sex with Oliver?

Yes. Of course it is.

We’ve only been on two actual dates, if I count watching a movie and ordering Chinese as one of them. Which I am, because all the important elements of a date were included—dinner, some sort of entertainment, more flowers, orchids this time, and a kiss goodnight.

Well, more than one kiss, technically, but that’s as far as it went.

I probably would have let things go further, had Oliver made a move. Especially while we were kissing on the couch once the movie was over. But it wasn’t just kissing, my entire body was attuned to every touch—his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before dipping inside, his hand on my back, pulling me closer, my nipples brushing against the firm planes of his chest, the stroke of his fingers across my cheek…

It was incredible. Maybe better than before, really.

What’s that saying? You never know what you had until it’s gone? It’s kind of like that. While I knew Oliver was amazing four years ago, being without him makes me appreciate him even more.

Getting Oliver back after years without him is like the most precious gift. A gift I never expected, rarely dared to dream about, really, and I’m still scared I’ll wake up one day to find it gone. To find Oliver gone.

I’m scared he’ll decide he can’t forgive me, even though he said he does. Or he’ll realize I’m not good enough for him, with my mediocre job and my boring life and my eating disorder that’s held at bay, but may never go away completely.

I hate not feeling confident about myself. Intellectually, I know I shouldn’t feel that way. If I were to ask Jade, she’d give me a dozen reasons why any guy would be lucky to date me—my admittedly nice hair and eyes, the success I’ve found at my job, my writing skill, and how I’m nice to everyone, even when they’re rude.

She’d remind me how I graduated summa cum laude from Brown, and about the article I wrote for the university paper that won a national award. Lovely Jade would tell me how strong I was during my recovery, fighting against the demons that didn’t want to leave me alone.

It’s not that I disagree, exactly. It’s more that I’m disappointed with myself.

I had so much going for me back in Virginia. An incredible boyfriend, a plan to get a job in journalism, hobbies and friends, my health… and I threw it all away.

Yes, I know anorexia is a real disease, a dangerous one, and once you’re in the thick of it, it’s hard to get out. And I know how easily it sneaks up on you, starting out so innocently. Just a few pounds , I’d tell myself, and another half hour on the elliptical. Once I hit my goal weight, I’ll stop.

But that’s the tricky part of it. The goal was never enough. And with each new goal I set, I fell deeper and deeper into it, until I couldn’t see a way out.

I won’t let myself go back there again. Not just for myself, but for Niall and Jade. I can’t put Niall through that again, terrified he was going to lose the last of his family. And poor Jade, blaming herself for not noticing I was sick when I did everything in my power to keep it from her.

Most importantly, my future niece or nephew. I need to be around for them. I need to be a good role model, especially if it’s a girl, showing her she can be happy no matter what size she is. I want to be cool Aunt Shea, who shows them around New York City and takes them to plays and museums, not their sickly aunt who doesn’t have enough energy to do anything.

But what if Oliver doubts me? What if he chooses to end things now instead of taking the chance of being hurt again? I wouldn’t, I’d rather die than do that, but are my assurances enough after what I did before?

What if I give all of myself to him and then he leaves?

It makes more sense to wait. To let things progress more slowly, like they did at the start of our relationship. It’s safer to stick with kisses and hugs and cuddles on the couch until we’re both certain we want to be together again.

Except.

That’s not what I want.

I want to be with Oliver so badly it aches. I want to see him naked, and I want to kiss all the little scars I remember and the ones he might have gotten since then. I want to feel him inside me, an indescribable sensation I’ve never forgotten.

There hasn’t been anyone else since him. I want Oliver to know that, too.

In theory, I could just make a move the next time I see him. But if I put myself out there and he pulls back, if he doesn’t want the same thing as me…

Maybe I should just buy some more of those dresses he likes and see where it leads.

He always loved it when I wore dresses, and it didn’t matter what kind. Long ones with flowing skirts, cute little sundresses, country-style ones in floral prints—he loved them all. I remember wearing one back in Virginia that I belatedly realized looked more like a sack than a dress. It was probably the unsexiest thing I’ve ever worn, and considering what my comfortable around-the-house clothes look like, that’s saying a lot.

But Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off me. When I asked him why, I still remember what he said. “In a dress, you remind me of a fairy-tale princess. Not that you don’t every day, but there’s just something about it.” Then he gave me a lascivious smirk. “Plus, I know when we get home, I can just lift up your skirt and have my way with you. So that’s nice, too.”

So, yeah. I may have gone a little crazy buying dresses over the last few days. Two arrived yesterday, and three more should be delivered today. Did I spend more money on clothes than I typically do in six months? Yes. But they’re so cute, perfect for late spring to summer dates, and if Oliver likes them, it’s worth it.

Now that I’m thinking about it, which one should I wear for our date tomorrow? We’re going to the Horse and Ghost in Sleepy Hollow, and from looking at the photos online, it seems dressier than the Hop-less Horseman but more casual than Giuseppe’s. I could wear the new shirtdress that came yesterday, or the print wrap dress with the pretty blue floral print that’s supposed to show up today. Or maybe the maxi-dress I bought on a whim a year ago but never wore.

Glancing at the time on my computer, I decide I’m due a mid-afternoon break. I’ve been working diligently on my new project for work, so much that I’m ahead of schedule. So if I take a little break to text Jade, I can do it in good conscience.

Pushing away from my desk, I leave my office and head into the bedroom. One of the reasons I took this job in the beginning was because of the remote work option, something that was critical when I was first recovering and didn’t have the energy to go into work every day. Now, it’s just a nice perk—I love being able to take a quick break to walk around the neighborhood or do a bit of yoga if I’m feeling stressed.

As I walk into my bedroom, I make a beeline for the closet and pull the double doors open. My collection of dresses is a rainbow of colors all hung in a row, and I pluck out two of them to take pictures of so I can send them to Jade.

First, I send her the shirtdress with the tags still on it, then the maxi dress in a gorgeous blue ombre. Last, I send the link to the wrap dress, along with a message.

Can’t decide which one to wear tomorrow. We’re going to Horse and Ghost, it’s supposed to be kind of like a modern speakeasy. What do you think?

I’m not expecting Jade to answer right away—it’s currently one PM in Texas and I know she’s supposed to be at work. But surprisingly, her reply comes in almost immediately.

The maxi dress. That color will be gorgeous on you.

The three dots blink for a second. Then another message arrives.

So how are things with Oliver? Still good?

Jade doesn’t say it, but I know she’s concerned about me. Not that she thinks things will go badly between me and Oliver, but there’s no guarantee. I’m sure she’s still harboring a worry that if things don’t work out with Oliver, I might be triggered into a relapse.

Which I won’t. Even if I end up crushed, I have the tools to deal with it now. But Jade was the one who found me near death in my apartment, so I can hardly blame her for worrying.

After I hang the dresses back in the closet, I flop onto the bed and text her back.

Things are really good. Last night he came over and we watched a movie. And he brought flowers again. We had Chinese and cuddled on the couch and kissed. Before he left, we set up three more dates. So I think those are all good signs. Right?

After a few seconds, her response blinks onto the screen.

Definitely. Are you happy with how things are going?

I grin at the phone as I text her back.

Yes. Very. It’s so nice being with Oliver again. More than nice. It’s wonderful. And he’s been so sweet. Last night he offered to take me to my pilates classes so I wouldn’t miss them.

Then I send another message.

I know it’s still early. Things might not work out. I’m just going to hope for the best, but I’ll be okay if they don’t. I promise.

Fine. Okay might be an exaggeration. Crushed seems more accurate. But I’ll handle it. I just hope I don’t have to.

A few minutes go by before Jade replies.

Sorry! I’m on my lunch break and one of the nurses wanted to talk to me. She figured out I’m pregnant after she spotted me drinking ginger tea. Anyway. I hope it does, too. I always liked Oliver, and you guys were great together. Maybe it wasn’t the right time before, but now it is. Kind of like me and Niall.

She has a point. While Jade and Niall never dated before they got together, they’ve known each other for ages, and both of them had feelings for each other but never admitted them until just this past year. Jade could have been upset about the lost time, but she just said, “It wasn’t the right time for us. Things might not have worked out if we’d gotten together sooner. I think everything happened just the way it was supposed to.”

Maybe it’ll be the same for me and Oliver.

Maybe years from now, when we’re happily married, I’ll say the same thing. That all the crummy stuff happened for a reason, and we’re stronger because of it.

Married. That’s a dramatic jump from two dates. But I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind.

After all, if he’d asked me before, I would have said yes.

I’m not saying that to Jade, though. I don’t want her to worry about the possible disappointment. So I start typing out a question about her pregnancy instead.

Just as I’m about to hit send, an alarm goes off on my phone.

My heart stops for a second.

As I tap on the alert, my pulse settles back into a regular rhythm. It’s fine, just the UPS delivery guy, holding a package that looks like the size box some dresses could fit in. On the little video feed, he rings the doorbell while staring down at his phone, more intent on what’s on there than on what he’s delivering.

I send Jade my original text before adding another.

Delivery guy is here, looks like he needs a signature. I’m going to grab it and get back to work. But I’ll text you later, okay? I want to hear more about mini Jade or Niall.

Then I jump off the bed and hurry into the living room, reaching it just as the doorbell rings again. Tapping the little intercom button on the phone, I say, “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

Steps from the door, a thought brings me to a stop.

Is this what Oliver would want me to do? Or Niall?

Just answer the door without taking any precautions?

Even though it feels silly, the guy is right there, in uniform no less, holding a delivery of items I ordered, it can’t hurt to be cautious. So I quickly open up the tracking information to verify that yes, my delivery is still scheduled for today. And to be extra careful, I even grab the little canister of pepper spray from my purse, something Niall insisted on me carrying ever since I went away to college.

As I mess with all the locks—I’m faster with them now, but it still takes almost thirty seconds to unlock all of them, I hear a heavy sigh gust from the other side of the door.

As I yank the door open, I blurt, “Sorry. I was in the other room, and the locks are new, so they’re a little sticky.”

His head is still down, his gaze fixed on his phone. Which is pretty rude in my book, but one thing my mom instilled in me is to always be polite. “Anyway. I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” I continue. “I can just sign and you’ll?—”

Out of nowhere, there’s a twinge in my stomach.

Not just a twinge. A full-fledged punch.

But there’s nothing to worry about.

Then he looks up at me, and I realize just how wrong I was.

His face isn’t normal.

All the features are there, but they’re not right. His nose is too big. So is his chin. Wooly caterpillar eyebrows shadow his eyes. A giant mustache—my dad used to call it a walrus mustache and I thought it was hilarious—hangs low over his mouth.

For a split second, it doesn’t make sense. Nothing fits. Up close, he looks like a caricature of a man.

Or like he’s wearing those prosthetics people use in the movies. Like the show Niall liked to watch, Face Off , where the makeup artists competed to create the best monsters and aliens and fantasy creatures.

Oh, crap.

He is wearing them. That chin isn’t real. Upon closer inspection, I can see the faint seam where the prosthetic meets his skin. It’s the same with his nose. And his mustache is drooping the slightest bit on one side.

I can’t tell if minutes have gone by, or seconds. My brain is zipping along, but my body is frozen.

Why is he wearing them?

But I know why.

He steps forward, a malicious glint in his eyes. Then he shoves his phone in his pocket and tosses the box aside. In a low, menacing tone, he says, “You won’t be needing this .”

Before I can react, he lunges at me.

Grabs my arm in a punishing grip.

His breath fans across my face, stinking of garlic and onion and coffee.

As he shoves me backwards, he hisses, “If you say a word, I’ll kill you.”

Then something jabs into my arm. It’s sharp. Painful. Terrifying.

He drugged me.

NO.

Never in my life have I been this scared.

All the terrible things he could do flash by on fast forward.

Assault. Kidnapping. Death.

Fear explodes inside me.

But right after, a surge of rage.

How dare he try to hurt me. Take me away from Oliver and Niall and Jade.

A rush of anger thaws my muscles.

I won’t let him.

Whatever he has planned for me, it’s not going to happen.

But I’m already inside my house.

I try to dig my heels in, to push back at him, but it’s a fruitless effort. He’s just too strong.

NO.

I have to do something.

Horrified, I watch him reach for the doorknob.

As my mouth opens to scream, he slaps a meaty hand over it. “What did I say about making a sound?”

Wait.

The pepper spray.

I have to do this now, before it’s too late. Before this awful man gets the door closed. Before whatever he injected me with starts to kick in.

On a silent prayer, I whip the canister out and spray it right in his face.

Please .

I’ve never done this before.

Please let it work.

It does.

With a pained yowl, he lets go of my mouth. Claps his hand to his eyes. “You bitch!”

I shove him as hard as I can in the direction of the door, yelling, “Get out, get out, get out!”

He stumbles over the doorjamb, almost falling before he catches himself.

With a furious shout, I grab the door and slam it closed, sobbing with fear as I fumble with the locks. Already the contents of the needle are seeping into my body, slowing my movements and making them unsteady.

Once I slide the last bolt home, I sprint for my phone. I snatch it off the coffee table where I left it and?—

OUCH.

Stumbling, I smash my shin into the wooden edge of the table, almost toppling over it.

A heavy weight hits the front door.

No, no, no. He can’t get inside.

I need more doors between us.

Half running, half weaving, I rush to the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Then I careen into the attached bathroom, banging into the doorframe as I go.

Gray creeps into the edges of my vision.

Please.

As soon as the bathroom door is shut and locked, I collapse against it and sink to the floor.

Call for help.

I need to call for help and hope they get here before the man gets inside.

Everything is blurring. Shifting. Spinning.

My phone falls twice before I manage to unlock it.

Consciousness is fading as I call the first person I think of.

Oliver answers on the second ring, his voice cheerful as he says, “Hey, Shea. I’m glad—” But he stops the moment he hears my broken sob. “Shea? Honey? What’s wrong?”

My words are hard to get out.

“Oll. Someone tried to… break in. He drugged me. I’m in the bathroom. I need help.”

The world comes back like a fog slowly lifting.

At first, it’s just sound. A throbbing echo in my head. Blaring sirens. A cacophony of voices.

It hurts.

Then, amid the chaos, welcome familiarity.

“She’s not waking up yet, Ian. Why isn’t she awake? What the fuck did he give her?”

Oliver.

Another voice responds. “It may take some time. Don’t worry. We’ll get her to the hospital, have her checked out. They can set her up with an IV, flush the drugs out of her system.”

“Don’t worry?” His voice sounds close to snapping. “Someone drugged her. Tried to force their way in… Look at her face, Ian. Bruises. From some asshole grabbing her.”

“I know.” A third man, this one soothing as he says, “She’s going to be okay, Oliver. We’ll take good care of her.”

The second voice—Ian, I think—adds, “Alright. I think we’re ready to move out.”

Wait.

What?

Move out? Where? Who are these people? Where are they taking me?

I want Oliver.

Though it’s a struggle, I force my eyes open, wincing as the light hits them. Everything is slightly blurred, but I can see three men huddled around me. Two I don’t know, but I don’t pay attention to them, my gaze jumping straight to Oliver.

“Oll—” My voice is so small. Wobbly.

“Shea.” Oliver leans over me, his face a picture of worry. Lines are etched across his forehead and around his mouth. Fear shadows his eyes. “Fuck. Are you—” He stops, swallowing hard. A muscle works in his jaw. “It’s going to be okay.”

“What…” Terror blossoms in my chest. The man. The fake-faced-man. “Where is he? Is he gone? Did you find him?”

Regret washes over Oliver’s face. “No. By the time the police got here, he was long gone.”

“The police?” My thoughts are still scattered. Floaty.

Oliver takes my hand, his fingers warm and comforting as they wrap around mine. “Yeah. As soon as you called me, I contacted the White Plains PD. They got here a few minutes before I did.”

“Kingston, the ambulance is ready to leave.” It’s a blonde man with kind eyes, not Ian, but the other.

Oliver glances over at him. “Okay. But I’m going with her. Police escort, if anyone argues.”

“Wait.” Panic flutters in my belly. “Where?—”

The kind-eyed man gives me a gentle smile. “Hi, Shea. I’m Dallas. With the White Plains Fire Department. It’s going to be fine. We’re just going to pop over to the hospital and get you checked out.”

“Dallas and I go way back,” Oliver adds. “We went to high school together. He’s a good guy. And I’ll be right there with you.”

“We’ll all be at the hospital,” Ian adds. He gives me an equally kind smile. “I’m with the Sleepy Hollow Fire Department, but I was in White Plains for a training, so I convinced them to let me tag along. Once I heard it was you—” He stops. Pauses. “Well. Kingston’s a friend. Which makes you a friend, too.”

Only now do I realize I’m laid out on a stretcher, bands strapped across my waist and chest. And it’s so much like that horrible day back in Virginia, when I was so sick, I can’t stop the panic from taking over.

As my thoughts come together, I know it all makes sense. That I have to go to the hospital. That it’s not the same as the last time.

But my body can’t control my instinctive response. Tears spring to my eyes. I clutch Oliver’s hand. Voice shaking, I plead, “No, Oll. I don’t want to go. Please. Not the hospital. Just… I can’t.”

He frowns, looking absolutely miserable. “I know, love. I know. But I need to make sure you’re okay.”

The tears break free, running down my cheeks and into my hair. “Oll… I don’t…”

Oliver brushes the tears from my face, then kisses the damp tracks they left behind. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there. And the second the doctor clears you, we’ll come right home. Alright? I won’t leave you. I promise.”

And looking into his eyes, I know it’s the truth.

“Okay.” Exhaling, I give him a little nod. “As long as you’re with me.”

“Oh, Shea.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”