Page 68 of Black Roses

The barista’s eyes go wide when he sees the denomination of the bill lying on the counter. He’s clearly confused by the situation, but he pockets the money anyway and seems to understand enough English to follow Mason’s order. “Sí. You got it, amigo,” he says, happily.

Mason and I stand side-by-side in silence as my new drink is made while we watch. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t try to get me to look at him. He doesn’t do anything but stare at every move the kid makes, from writing my name on the cup, to mixing cappuccino with the perfect amount of milk before he places it in front of me again.

Mason nods his head at the kid in thanks. I get the impression he doesn’t speak much Spanish.

I pick up the drink but I can’t make eye contact with him again. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll remember him in a flashback of one of my dreams. They come back to me like that sometimes. When I see a smile that might have belonged to one of them, or hear a vaguely familiar voice, or hear the drunken cheers of partying men.

If I remembered him there—doing those things to me—I don’t think I’d survive it. Not after what we shared. And knowing he could potentially be the—

“Piper, sweetheart.” He puts a hesitant hand on my elbow. “Please sit down and let me explain.”

All of my defenses click in as I rip my arm from his gentle grip and shove him hard in the ribs. “Don’t ever fucking call me that again.” I walk away, begging my legs not to collapse out from under me.

chapter twenty-six

mason

“Wait!” I ignore the tender, stinging flesh over my ribs and run out the door behind her. I say to her backside, “Don’t you at least owe it to me to listen? I mean I did come all this way.”

She stops and turns around; conflicting emotions flowing from her eyes instead of tears. I try to read her like I’ve been able to do so well in the past. What is it I see behind those incredible green irises—anger? Regret? Indecision?

It’s the last one I grip onto despite the way her words jump out to bite me.

“I told you a long time ago, I don’t owe anything to anyone. Ever.”

She’s right. She doesn’t owe me anything. Especially after what she thinks I did to her. Hell, she should be throwing her scalding-hot coffee at me, not giving me a second chance.

“Right,” I say, grasping for words that might get her to stay and hear me out. “Then how about you do it out of the kindness of your heart.” I gesture to a table in front of the café. It’s in the corner of the courtyard, out of the way but still in view of the many other patrons. I want her to feel safe. That will always be my top priority whether she ends up with me or not. “Please. Sit down. You don’t have to talk. Just give me the time it takes for you to finish your coffee.”

She looks around at the other tables, taking inventory of the fact they are pretty much bustling with activity at this popular mid-morning hour. A sigh escapes her and my heart lurches forward in my chest. She’s going to let me explain.

She walks over to the table, pulling out one of the two chairs and placing it as far away from the other as she can get it. She sits down, removing the lid from her steaming latte. “I’d say you have about ten minutes. Talk fast, because when this is done, I’m gone.”

I explain every nauseating detail to her, same as I did with her parents. And when I check my watch to see how many minutes have passed, I see it’s been more than twenty. And her coffee sits on the table. Untouched.

A sliver of hope lines my words. “I was there, Piper. But I swear to you I wasn’t a part of what happened. I had no knowledge of anyone spiking drinks. If I had, you have to believe I would have stopped it. You’ll never know how guilty I feel for being so close to you and not doing anything. I had been drinking myself that night. Not a lot, but enough to cloud my judgment. I had been to some pretty wild parties back then. And full disclosure, I’d been with more than one girl at a time myself. Consenting girls,” I quickly add. “I’d pretty much seen it all. Nothing shocked me.

“I asked,” I say, closing my eyes and shaking my head because I still can’t believe it was her. “I asked, just like I told you a minute ago. Even though I couldn’t see you, I asked if everything was okay. You gave me a thumbs-up. God, if I could only turn back time.” I run desperate fingers through my hair, gripping the back of it with pent-up anger and frustration. “A fucking thumbs-up, Piper. I thought it was consensual. I thought the girl—I thoughtyou—were okay. All I saw was a girl having a good time.”

Finally, she makes a movement other than twisting her bracelet. Her shaky hand reaches for her drink and she takes a sip of what I’m sure is now lukewarm coffee. She doesn’t make eye contact. She simply stares at her drink, mindlessly tracing the black ink of her name written across the side.

When she speaks, her words slay me. “A girl having a good time, huh?”

I nod shamefully and my voice thickens with regret. “I’m sorry.”

She clears her throat and tries to compose herself, sitting up straighter in her chair and smoothing a wrinkle on her jeans. She’s fighting it bad. Even though I’ve never seen her shed a single tear, she’s clearly destroyed by this. “Well, at least now I know which dream is accurate.” Her voice is distant and emotionless.

“We don’t know that for sure, Piper,” I explain. “I was only there for a minute. Seconds even. I left the party shortly after. I don’t know what happened after that, but I like to think the drugs wore off and you fought back—kicking them in the balls, making those bastards incapable of procreation.”

Her face pales. Then she quickly gulps down the remainder of her coffee and I know I’m running out of time. “Where did you get the picture?” I ask. It’s a question I pondered all the way here. I’d never seen it before. Surely if I had, I would have remembered her unmistakable, stunning face.

What she says makes my stomach turn.

“Cassidy.”

“Cassidy?” I ask, confident I heard her correctly, but not quite believing how that would have come about.

“Yeah. As in the mother of your child?” Emotion once again finds her words as they drip with anguish and maybe bitterness.

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