Page 108 of Broken Bonds

“You couldn’t have stopped him. He would have killed her and maybe even you. He’s going to get the punishment he deserves.” She leaned back and cupped my cheeks. “She needs you, Amber. She needs her best friend. Remember what Mama always said when we got hurt?”

Pulling back a little more, I stared into her somber eyes. “I was born first because I’m the strongest, and I have to be therefor those who need strength, even when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

She nodded and squeezed me in a hug one more time before pulling away. “She needs your strength right now. Go sit beside her and hold her hand. Remind her she isn’t alone.”

We turned and walked in opposite directions. With my hand on the cold, sterile, stainless-steel doorknob, I took a deep breath before turning it and facing the dark room with strength I didn’t know I possessed.

My eyes automatically landed on Celine, her blonde hair fanned out on a stark white pillow, her face swollen, a giant white bandage under her right eye where he punched her. Her usually tanned skin was ashen. My eyes trailed down her body, seeing her one wrist in a new cast since he broke it when he threw her into the wallrepeatedly.

Her other hand was bandaged, her fingers swollen from trying to block his hits. Her mom was grasping it tightly. Beneath the blankets were huge, black bruises from his fists and feet where he kicked her.Bastard.

With four broken ribs beneath the discolored skin and a sprained spine, she wouldn’t be walking for a few days—maybe even weeks. And on top of her legs, already scarred from everything before, covered in bruises and handprints, she now had to deal with a broken foot and ankle, too.

That monster.

I sucked in a breath at the state of my best friend, remembering the words the doctor told us once we were allowed in the room. “It’s a miracle she’s alive.”

Most domestic abuse patients didn’t survive a beating like this. The worst part was that she hadn’t told any of us that he was hitting her—that he was violent. Why hadn’t she told any of us? Why hadn’t she toldme? Why did she lie for him?

Celine’s mother was sitting next to her frail body, shoulders shaking as she cried. Her husband was a silent supporter, standing behind her, hands on her shoulders. I took a step back, not wanting to intrude, but her dad caught my eye and shook his head, his eyes begging me not to leave. And so, I sat on her other side, wrapping my fingers around her arm just above the cast.

Take my strength, Cece. Take it all. I’m so sorry he did this to you.

In the morning, I was woken by a young nurse who needed to redress Celine’s bandages. Celine hadn’t stirred—no movement, no sound. Just nothing.

The doctor told us her mind was doing its best to protect her, sheltering her from the pain, and that it might be days until she woke up. She might not even remember anything from the attack. The mind worked in mysterious ways. For her sake, I hoped she didn’t remember. It’d been horrific, and I wasn’t even the one in the room with Julian.

Celine’s parents were standing outside in the hallway, each holding a cup of steaming Starbucks coffee, talking to my sister who was holding a cup out to me. “Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a sip and feeling the warmth flood my veins.

A detective walked up to us an hour later and started questioning me about last night, quickly writing everything I said on a notepad.

“How long has Celine Wilson been dating Julian Scott?” he asked.

“A few months, almost a year.” I sipped the coffee while he wrote that down, too.

“Did she ever mention him showing signs of abuse?”

I shook my head. “Never. They had a fight a few weeks ago, but she was fine.” I wracked my brain, trying to see if there were signs, but there was none. Nothing more than the broken wrist, but she’d insisted she’d fallen and broken it.

“Did you ever see any bruises or marks on her body?”

I shook my head again. “No.”

“Do you think he broke her wrist a week ago?”

I let my eyes linger on Celine’s battered body and swallowed thickly. “Yes, but she never told me —only said that she fell at a party.”

“How did you know she was in trouble last night?” He looked up at me over the rim of his glasses, concern lingering in his dull eyes.

“We were about to leave, and then she disappeared, so I went looking in all the rooms for her… And then she was screaming soloud.” Tightening my hands around the now-empty cup, I looked at my feet. “She was just begging for help, and I knew he was hurting her. She was screaming.”

The officer wrote all of that down, too. “Did William Baker help you get into the room?”

“Yes. He also mentioned warning her that Julian was dangerous. I don’t know him other than he’s the school’s linebacker—seems like a decent guy though.”

Nodding, the detective closed the notebook and stuck it in his pocket. Handing me a business card, he added, “If you think of anything else, please give me a call. I want to do what I can to get men like Julian off the streets.”

“Where is he?” I asked, looking up at the older man.

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