Page 32 of Downpour

“What’s the matter?”

She fidgeted with a box of pasta. “Nothing. Sorry I’m running late. I swear one of these days I’ll?—”

“Brooke.”

Her sunglasses slipped down her button nose, and that’s when I saw it.

A dark bruise marred her cheek. It bloomed up her eye lid and across her temple. A blood vessel had broken in her eye, and a deep cut was still open and damp, just above her cheekbone.

I grabbed her glasses and threw them onto the counter. Brooke winced, and a tear slid down from the corner of her eye.

“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Running errands took longer than I thought, and there was traffic, and I?—”

I reached up, cupped her chin, and wiped away the tear with my thumb as a low growl slipped from my chest. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

Her cherry lips trembled, and she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m late again.”

“I don’t give a shit that you’re late. I wanna know what the hell happened.”

Brooke swallowed and nearly strangled the box of pasta in her hands. “Please. Can we... Can we just ignore each other today?” She sniffed as her eyes welled up with tears. “I’ve been really looking forward to that.”

She looked like she hadn’t slept. There were bags under her eyes and more pain than the injuries warranted, though they were gruesome.

“Not until you tell me what the hell happened.”

She hurried to finish putting away the rest of the groceries, but I grabbed her wrist.

“Brooke.”

“Please,” she whispered, sliding the sunglasses on top of her head. “Between the pharmacy and the grocery store, I’ve gotten enough weird looks today.”

“Tell me what happened,” I gritted out.

Brooke slumped against the counters. “It’s been a long day.”

“Then sit on the couch and tell me. I don’t give a shit. But you’re not getting out of this.”

A roll of toilet paper from the pack in the closet was the best I could do since I didn’t have tissues on hand.

I rolled up to the couch, set the toilet paper on the end table, and locked the brakes on my chair. “Give me your hand.”

The couch was harder to get onto than the recliner. I used the padded arm to hold most of my weight as I braced against it with my hand and held onto Brooke with my other. I ungracefully flopped onto the cushion and turned until I was sitting beside her.

I grabbed the roll of toilet paper and handed it to her. “Talk.”

“It’s not what you think,” she said with tear-filled eyes as she ripped a sheet of toilet paper from the roll.

“It looks like you haven’t slept in a week, and that someone used your face as a punching bag. But please—correct me where I’m wrong.”

She hunched forward and rested her elbows on her knees as she tried to steady her breathing. “My roommates have been partying a lot, and it’s been so loud in the house. There’s always tons of people coming in and out. It’s hard to fall asleep.”

My blood turned molten. If some fucker had touched her, I was going to find some way to rip his body limb from limb. We had a backhoe and plenty of space out here to hide a corpse where no one would ever find it.

Christian’s comment about some guy trying to get money from her lodged in my brain.

“Did they do that to you?” I let out a long breath to try and keep from flying off the handle. It barely worked. “I swear to god, if one of them put a fucking hand on you?—“

“No,” she cried. Brooke carefully dabbed her eye and sniffed. “Mr. Wilson, the client I see before I come out here… He’s a really sweet old man, but?—”

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