Page 61 of These White Lies

Hearing the tone in my voice, he faces me with one hand on the doorknob. “You’re coming back tonight, right?” I feel my cheeks flush, but I don’t care. “I mean to stay for the night? I won’t be alone?”

I want to play it off, like being in the same space where I found my murdered ex-husband hasn’t affected me, but it has. Deeply.

His features soften, his lips curving in a sweet smile. “I’m not goinganywhere.”

The emphasis on the last word hits me hard, and I cough to cover my reaction. “Bring back a pizza. Veggie.”

He shakes his head, chuckles, and then he’s gone.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I’m alone. My stomach swirls, and I feel shaky. My brain reminds me there are people two floors below whose entire job is to keep me safe. But my former peace of mind is gone, and I know why.

Brady isn’t here.

Deciding a shower will make me feel better, I pull off the sweats and drop them on the bed. I’m moving for the bathroom when the bedroom door flies open, and I scream.

“Oh my god. Sorry! I knocked, but it must not have been fully latched because it opened.” Sera’s face turns red, and her eyes are huge.

Hand clutched to my chest, I try to catch my breath. “It’s okay.”

“Brady said you were going to take a shower, and I thought…”

I finally notice the large gauze pads, surgical tape and roll of plastic wrap in her hand. “Thank you. I didn’t even think about how I was going to shower with the stitches.”

I offer her a smile, but she’s not looking at my face. She is taking stock of the different purple bruises exposed on my body, now that I’m only dressed in my bra and underwear.

Her eyes land on the row of stitches before looking away. I took one look at them when I pulled my shirt off, and my stomach turned, but I’d rather die than admit it to her.

Sera clears her throat. “If you put the gauze pad on first, you can cover the whole area with the plastic wrap and tape the edges. It should keep them dry as long as you don’t aim the water at it.”

“I’d forgotten how annoying stitches are,” I say blithely, like I’m not standing in front of her in my underwear. I’m not sure why I’m trying to impress this young woman, but I am. “It’s been a long time since I had any.”

“You’ve had stitches before?” She sounds reluctantly interested.

“Yep. I used to be an incorrigible risk-taker. Never met a dare I didn’t take. My mom says I’m responsible for all of her gray hairs.”

Sera studies me. “Used to be? Not anymore?”

I should have known she’d pick up on my words. “No.” I plaster a smile on my face and pretend this conversation isn’t prodding at a wound I thought had healed a long time ago.

“Why?”

“Life taught me the consequences aren’t worth it,” I say honestly.

Sera’s lip trembles a little, and pain flashes across her eyes. But then her expression hardens. “That’s right. Seven stitches when you crashed your bike when you were thirteen.”

I suck in a breath, but try to keep my voice light so she doesn’t see how much her knowledge about my life has unsettled me.

“I put it in your file with the rest of your background info.”

She doesn’t mention that my little sister was in the hospital for weeks from the same accident.

“You’re very thorough,” I manage, though my heart is thudding in my chest.

“Brady insists on an extremely detailed dossier on new clients. Never know what they’re hiding that could come back on us.”

Sera is determined to remind me I am a client. The worst part is, she isn’t wrong. My head is pounding, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up a calm façade in the face of this young woman’s animosity. Her resentment is palpable and contradicts her thoughtful gesture of bringing me supplies.

I’ve reached my limit of mindfucks today.