Page 44 of On the Line

“James,” Ozzy says softly, crouching in front of me. But I feel lost. So lost. “James, baby, look at me.” His hands are on my face, wiping the tears away only for more to replace them. “You can’t let him get to you like that.”

My gaze connects with his. “It’s not what you think.”

“What isn’t?” His thumbs are still on my wet cheeks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Talk to me.”

The words form slowly, they slip and slide in my mind. I think I drank too much. But it’s too late to bother with the regret coating the inside of my mouth.

“I just.” I try to pull away, but Ozzy doesn’t let me. “I just want to forget what he did … what he let happen, but I can’t.” My voice cracks.

I hate myself.

“Do you mean,” Ozzy says, studying me. “How he treated you?”

“Yes,” I mutter after a long beat of silence. “But also.” I take a deep breath. I can’t do this. But I have to. Tears spill. “He watched while.” I close my eyes. “While I was passed out. Drugged I think. I only remember bits. And … and …” I let a sob slip. “Spencer raped me.”

I open my eyes and see my pain reflected in Ozzy’s gaze, his face pales, fingers stiffening around my cheeks. It’s almost too much to bear but I force myself to look. To accept.

“That fucking piece of shit, do you want me to kill him? I’m going to kill him. I’ll kill them both,” Ozzy says through his clenched jaw, standing up, tight fists locked against his body. I realize he’s gunning for the door. Zachary is still inside.

“Wait! Don’t,” I urge, managing to grab his hand before he gets too far away. “Please, just stay here with me.”

Ozzy’s jaw ticks, his chest heaving, still looking at the front door as if deliberating.

But when his eyes land back on mine, he’s managed to calm himself down. His expression is so tender that it almost feels meant for someone else.

Because when have I ever had someone look at me like that before?

“Come on,” he says, pulling me up onto my feet and into his arms. He kisses my forehead. “Let me take you home.”

“I don’t want to be alone.” The words slip out. I make no effort to take them back.

Ozzy squeezes me closer. “We’ll sleep at my place.”

17

OZZY

It’s two in the morning by the time we get to my place. I left my car in the parking lot of Orso, called us a cab, and texted Alec on our way. I didn’t mention James being with me but was relieved when he told me he was heading to an after-party with some of the kitchen crew.

She was quiet most of the ride here. I counted my breaths in silence, hoping it would help quell the burning rage I had inside me. It hasn’t much subsided, but I try to focus on James instead while we walk up the stairs.

I can still feel the drugs flowing in my system. I’m wired, clenching my jaw too hard. It’s that strange time of the night when the body refuses to wind down even if the party's over.

Only time can fix that problem.

“If you’re feeling extra doom and gloom right now, it’s normal,” I tell her while unlocking the door. “Sometimes the comedown is harder when you don’t know what to expect. You just need to sleep it off.” I hope I sounded comforting and not like I’m mansplaining cocaine to her.

“Yeah,” she answers softly behind me. “I kind of figured.”

I open the door and flick the hallway light on. “So this is my place.” I scratch my head nervously. “It’s not much.” My room is on the right, Alec’s on the left. The hallway leads into the double living room, one side converted into a dining room, followed by the kitchen near the back balcony.

James lets out a little snort. “You should see my place.”

“Oh?” I say, walking into the living room. “No grand piano?”

“I wish,” she mutters.

“Or a private studio for your paintings?”

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