Page 55 of Damaged

“Oh.” James stands up straight. “There’s only one bed. You can have it. I don’t mind the couch.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“You look cold,” James says, interrupting me.

“Yeah. You’re sure I can’t step out onto the balcony?”

“You’re in clear sight of about two dozen different apartment complexes. I’m sorry, but no chance.”

James closes his laptop and walks up to me. He sets his hand on my cheek. “I got you cool, but I didn’t think to warm you back up.”

“It’s fine. The hot water ran out and we could be sniped from the balcony, so…”

“You’re freezing. Come on.” He doesn’t wait for me to follow. He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bedroom.

The bed is made, and he rips the king-size comforter off and wraps me in it. Half of it lays on the floor like a dress train. “Come on, snowflake. Let’s get you warm.”

He leads me to the couch and pulls me onto his lap. He rubs my shoulders to warm me up while I lean against his chest.

When I steal a glance up at him, I notice he’s not looking at me. His eyes are staring into space. There’s pain in his expression. I can’t help but think he’s doing this, treating me so well, because he feels awful.

The reality hasn’t sunk in yet, unless this numb understanding is as real as it gets. I could’ve been killed. I was an inch away from bleeding to death in an alley in Cairo, and James seems to understand this fact better than I do.

I can feel the blood race to my limbs as my pulse quickens. He cups my hands inside of his. His hands are so big that mine vanish in his fists.

We stay like this for a while. For longer than it takes for me to just be warm. A half hour. More. We watch as the sun sets, big and pink, behind the city.

“I should get to work,” James says, patting my shoulder. His tone is flat, like maybe this moment didn’t mean anything to him. Like taking care of a battered employee in a foreign country was just another chore.

“Okay,” I say as he walks off, texting on his phone.

I lean back in the cushions. I’m warm enough now that I kick the comforter off and stare out at the city. The day is too much to look back on. Work. The chase. Fainting.

James.

I didn’t realize I’d been keeping them back until they come, but as I look out the window and realize just how far from home I am, my face streaks with tears.

James

The call comes a little after midnight. It didn’t wake me. I wouldn’t sleep tonight with all the scotch and benzos in the world.

I put on a black dress shirt, black suit, and a large silver ring on my knuckle that I save for such special occasions.

I peek into the bedroom to see Sophia sleeping in a slant of moonlight. I watch the sheets rise and fall. A movement as gentle as the girl they cover.

My jaw locks. My teeth grind against each other. I’d known we had company on this trip—Brock had told me—and I’d left her alone in the car to chase a new business contract.

My greed put her at risk. It does more than just fill me with white-hot rage. My heart aches.

I worry if she’s as unfazed as she seems.

But people surprise you. We’re hardwired to be stronger than we think, and I think Sophia will be alright.

But she nearly wasn’t. And it was my fault.

And leaving her in the car wasn’t my only mistake.

Last night I dismissed the Russian as someone we didn’t have to worry about. I did it on the basis that he was staying at the same hotel. I thought nobody would be stupid enough to show their face to me that blatantly and then try to kidnap an employee.

---