Page 128 of Look, Don't Touch

“I know you didn’t.” Karris shrugs like he’s sorry. He’s not. “You weren’t even in the ballroom until the man was unconscious. You don’t know how he came to be that way. You don’t know what he did to earn it either.”

“To earn almost dying at a fuckin’ ball?” The cop’s brows shoot up.

“He’s the one you should be arresting.” Karris’s intelligent eyes shift toward the man now on a stretcher. “He sexually assaulted a woman in front of everyone at a fundraiser for domestic violence.” Karris draws a circle around his head. “Ask a few people. They’ll tell you what he did.”

“And what did he do?” The cop shakes my arm.

Again, I’m amazed at how much I don’t give a fuck about him touching me. It’s hard to care when your world is in tatters.

“He saved his woman. That’s all.”

Only I didn’t.

I didn’t save her.

I lost her.

“You have to go.” My voice is raw, but my words are firm. That’s something. I curl into my couch and wish Plinko would come snuggle with me. But no. The hopeless guy is perched on the credenza with his keen gaze glued to the door. He’s been in the same place for the past two days, watching and waiting for Arlo.

My throat goes so tight at the thought of him. I’m glad I’ve already ordered my aunt to leave. Because I might not be able to say another word.

At least Plink has finally decided to lie on the furniture. His poor little legs had to be tired.

Arlo isn’t coming.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

He showed up an hour after I was escorted home, only to hear me continue to dry heave. He’s called a couple of times to check in on me and sent a care package. Two actually.

Arlo isn’t coming.

Not because I don’t want him to.

I’d love nothing more than to curl up in his arms, to hear him talk to me in his special voice, and to have him make me forget.

Arlo isn’t coming.

Not because he’s in jail.

Between bouts of heaving, I spoke with Chad Iversen’s attorney. I promised not to press charges for sexual assault on his client if he promised not to press charges against Arlo. After several minutes of arguing with Nat’s attorney, the two came to an agreement.

No, Arlo can’t come over because I can’t let him.

I opened myself up, experienced the highest of highs, and then got smacked down by the lowest of lows. I tried. I failed. I am shattered goods.

Shattered goods are no good for a man like Arlo.

He deserves the world. Not a chipped and worn woman with more attachment issues than leaves in winter.

“Hailey, I’m not leaving you like this.”

I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth. Her warm hand meets my cold lips, and then I release her from propping me up, from worrying about me.

“I’m an adult.”

“Even adults need help. You know that.” She smooths my ratty hair back from my face.

“You have helped me.” I meet her gaze. “It’s all you’ve done since I was thirteen. It’s time to help yourself. Go.”

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