Page 10 of Lace 'em Up

My head whips toward King. He can’t even begin to know how to do that, but one look at the determined expression on his face means I don’t bother arguing.

I’ll figure it out.

Okay.

More likely, he and Chrissy and Rome will figure it out in spite of what I try to do.

I bite back a sigh. “I’ll need to get my stuff out of the house too.”

“I’ll take care of that too,” King says softly.

Dangerously.

Stubbornly.

A tone that earns a nod of approval from Dr. Halston as she moves toward Jean-Michel. “It sounds like you all have everything under control,” she says. “Let me know if you need me to make a statement to the authorities.”

He nods curtly. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Me too,” Kingston mutters.

Rome nods and follows them, and, echoing in from the hall, I hear the good doctor say, “I’ll forward you the pictures.”

I shiver.

Not wanting to see those photographs.

Ever.

Not wanting to know what I look—or looked—like before Dr. Halston cleaned me up—like. Not wanting to have the image of what Phillip was capable of burned into my mind, not ever, but certainly not when I was bearing the marks of his rage on my skin.

Chrissy moves slowly to the bed, perching on the side like she’s worried the wrong jostle of the mattress will send me into debilitating pain.

And I guess that’s answer enough for how I look.

Because I sure as shit won’t be able to forget Chrissy’s expression or the careful way she adjusts her weight.

I force my lips up into a smile, know that it’s fake as shit, but also that it’s one of the few things that’s going to hold me together right now. “Sorry to ruin the party.”

Chrissy, a survivor through and through and my best friend, doesn’t miss a beat, lips curving as she quips, “I hated the bridesmaid dress anyway.”

I release a short laugh that has my ribs protesting. “You picked it out.”

“I know.” She winks and then any false lightness she’d been allowing me fades. Sighing, she takes my hand, linking our fingers together. “I’m so sorry, babe.”

I sigh then wince. Because too deep, too fast, too much hurt. “I…” My eyes sting. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what happened, how he could do that to me.”

A gentle squeeze. “Can I ask a question and have you give me an honest answer?”

That has me going still—or more still, anyway. But my insides don’t settle—worry curls in my gut, threatens to climb up the back of my throat. But…this is Chrissy. My friend. My partner in crime. My ride or die.

Only, I’d thought that Phillip was that too.

I sigh again, eyes sliding closed, tears threatening.

“It can wait,” she whispers, fingers tightening around mine. “You should just rest, and Rome and I will deal with the venue and?—”

My lids peel back.

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