Page 31 of These Shattered Memories

I spend the afternoon with Halle and it’s late when I return to my apartment.

Her lawyer says it’s possible that the case could come up again, but without the Arnold family’s backing, Homicide has no reason to pursue it and waste department resources.

She’s in the clear and I feel lighter than I’ve felt in months, maybe years.

I yawn, shuffling through my apartment, exhaustion from last night and this morning finally catching up to me. After I wash my face, I return to my living room, curling up on my couch with my favourite vanilla scented candle burning and a TV show I mindlessly watch playing in the background.

Rain falls outside, the soft tapping of water droplets hitting against the large windows.

I stare at it for a moment, debating whether I should call Rowan or whether that just makes me look desperate.

As new as this is, and as much as I don’t know what we’re doing, I still want to see him.

I still want to be in his orbit—to be around him constantly.

It feels just like the first time I fell for him, both thrilling and anxiety-inducing.

Is it too desperate to call him after I just saw him?

Maybe if this was a normal relationship, I’d resist the urge but there is nothing normal about Rowan and I. It’s a strange shift that has happened so quickly, yet naturally. Less than two weeks ago, he was close to slitting my throat and now, I’m throwing words out like relationship.

I swipe to his number, hesitating as my thumb hovers over the call button. My pulse thrums in my ears. The need to hear his voice outweighing every doubt. But just as I’m about to press it, an email notification slides down on the screen.

My stomach knots as I tap on the message, my hands trembling. The words stare back at me, sharp and accusing, the air in the room seeming to run out as my eyes read over the words.

Looks like you found another way to get your sister’s case dismissed. I thought we could trust each other, Alex…

I read the lines again, and again, until they blur together. My mouth goes dry, and my chest tightens with an uneasy rhythm.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes violently in my hand, startling me. An incoming call from an unknown number flashes on the screen. I flinch, and it slips from my hand.

“ Shit .”

It clatters onto the tiled floor, the sound sharp and the screen cracking. It continues to vibrate, the sound grating in the silence of the room.

Then comes a knock.

It’s soft at first, almost tentative, but loud enough to cut through the static in my head and the loud vibrating on the floor. I freeze, holding my breath. Did I imagine that?

The knock comes again—louder this time, more insistent.

“Alex? It’s me,” a familiar voice calls from the other side of the door. “I saw your car outside.”

Kane .

The tension in my shoulders eases almost immediately at his muffled deep voice. I exhale shakily, closing my eyes for a moment to collect myself before rising to my feet.

I pad toward the door, and when I open it, Kane is standing there, rain-dampened and casual in his jeans and waxed jacket. His hair clings to his forehead, droplets sliding down his temples.

“You okay?” Kane asks, tilting his head, his hands casually stuffed into his jacket pockets. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

But the uneasy prickle in the back of my neck tells me everything is far from fine if that message is anything to go by.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, moving aside to let him in.

“You didn’t see my text?” he asks when I turn back to him.

I peer over to my couch where my phone is still on the floor. I rush over to pick it up, swiping away from the ominous email and surely enough, a message from Kane sits in my messages.

“Oh,” I say, my voice still hoarse.

He looks at me carefully. “I heard about Halle’s case. The Arnolds dropped it, right? A few of us were at The Mast tonight and I thought to come over and check on you, especially after yesterday.”

I glance at him, trying to find the right words. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

This time, he frowns. “Is everything okay?”

I look down at the phone in my hand. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I got a message…”

“Okay…” he trails, still looking confused. “From whom?”

I place the phone on the table, my palms lying flat on the wood as I try to steady myself. “Remember when I said someone had sent me an email saying they would help me get Halle’s case dismissed?”

He nods next to me. “Yeah. What did the message say?”

I take in a steadying breath. “Nothing really. Just that they know I broke our deal.”

Kane frowns, eyes scanning me with concern. “I thought whoever was sending you those emails was the one who got the case dismissed. That was the deal, right?”

My stomach knots as I nod. “Yes, but I asked Rowan to help instead.”

He doesn’t look surprised, instead he just nods. “Rowan? Last time we spoke, you said you weren’t in contact anymore.”

“We weren’t,” I say. “But he—” I stop myself.

I can’t tell him about Key or any of the other stuff, really.

I can’t tell him that it feels like I’m picking Rowan over the OCU.

It hits me then that this is the conflict for Rowan and I.

My life now can never match his. I’ll have to keep lying to the people I love to protect him and ultimately, The Snake.

“Alex?” Kane says after a moment. “Is Rowan behind all of this?”

I shake my head, standing up straight. “What? No, of course not.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Your judgement could be clouded. You two have been involved before.” He licks his bottom lip, his hands landing on his hips. “Are you sleeping with him again?”

The question hits like a slap. I flinch. And that’s all Kane needs. His frown deepens, his scrutiny growing sharper. He reads me too well—so much like Halle does.

But then something clicks into place, an alarm blaring in the back of my mind. I meet his gaze, my pulse quickening. “Wait. How did you know Arnold’s lawyer called off Homicide?”

Kane doesn’t miss a beat, shrugging with a practiced casualness. “I have friends there, Alex. You know that.”

That’s true, but it seems unlikely that Homicide would randomly discuss this with Kane unless prompted. And even if they did, why would he ask his friends there instead of me?

I take a careful step back, gripping my cracked phone tightly. “Why did you come here?” I ask.

His face falls, something like concern clouding his features. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”

The knot in my stomach tightens, a creeping certainty that something is very, very wrong. “I think you should go,” I say, my voice firmer now.

“Alex,” Kane says, holding up a hand, his tone calm, steadying. “Seriously, I just came to check on you.”

But then his gaze flickers—just for a second—to the phone in my hand.

Shit.

I act on instinct, swiping open the screen and tapping Rowan’s number. The phone begins to ring, a faint buzz against my palm, but before I can raise it to my ear, Kane steps into my space.

He has more muscle and height on me and when I try to sidestep him, his arm snakes around my middle, locking me in place.

“Kane, what the—”

The phone slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. Rowan’s name flashes on the cracked screen as it rings. Kane doesn’t hesitate. He stamps down hard, the phone shattering beneath his boot.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, clawing at his arm, panic bubbling in my chest. His grip tightens, cutting off my air.

“Don’t fight me,” he growls through gritted teeth.

I don’t listen to him. Instead, I twist and struggle, but he’s too strong. My eyes dart around the kitchen, landing on the glass I left on the table. I lurch toward it, forcing Kane to stumble with me. The glass tumbles, shattering on the floor, and the faint splash of water touches my face.

Before I can make another move, I feel the sharp sting of a needle in my neck. My vision blurs instantly, the world tilting as my body goes slack.

I hit the floor hard, the back of my head knocking on the tiles. Through the haze, I see Kane looming over me, his face tight with regret.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I had no choice.”

And then everything fades to black.

***

It’s cold.

That’s the first thing I think when I come to. I haven’t been this cold in years.

My eyes blink open, and I’m met by dim light coming from a single globe attached to a ceiling swathed in dots of black mould.

They creep down onto the wallpaper in menacing black tendrils.

Below me, the red carpeted floor is marred with holes made from burnt cigarette butts. The stale air reeks of mildew and ash.

Then the headache hits—splitting and relentless, hammering against my skull with every beat of my heart. I groan, shifting slightly. My arms tug uselessly at the restraints behind me, the coarse rope biting into raw, exposed skin.

The room is sparse, the walls bare, grimy grey curtains covering the windows, though light filters weakly through the fabric.

Outside, distant city sounds filter in, cars honking, an ambulance wailing, voices carried on the wind.

I’m in some kind of apartment building then, maybe a complex near the river.

What the hell happened?

Think, Alex. Focus.

An arm around my neck. A syringe.

Kane.

My stomach lurches as the memory resurfaces. He brought me here.

Panic claws at my chest, but I shove it down. I can’t afford to spiral. My eyes dart around the room, searching for anything useful, but it’s empty. My clothes are rumpled, dust clinging to the hems of my sweatpants like I was dragged through a filthy hallway.

Why would Kane do this? How did he know Halle’s case was dropped? And why the hell would he drug me?