Page 75 of Rush of Jealousy

Beneath the ball cap, a purplish shadow darkens under his left eye; he needs ice. I want to go to him, to comfort him. I try to open the door. It is locked.

I am a captive. To my own mistakes.

I slink back into the leather, pulling my legs up to my chest after kicking off the flats to gather on the floor. I curl my toes, and my body leans against the coolness of the window. I press my face against the glass. I don’t even realize the tears are flowing until my face slides from the slickness of the stream of moisture. My eyes shut and become prisoners to the deafening silence.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, I await my fate.

The jerk of the door sends me barreling sideways in free fall.

“Geez, Angie,” Graham admonishes, scooping my limp form up before I hit the pavement.

The crisp air awakens my senses. He situates me back into the car with trembling hands, careful not to graze me with his wounds. He then slides in beside me. His shakiness rattles my insides, but hearing my name off of his lips sends a thrill through me.

His hand grazes along my cheek at the place where Mark hit me. Even the slightest touch is making me flinch—maybe from the memory or maybe because it is still so sore. His thumb gently glides over the corner of my lip and up to the bridge of my nose. His eyes turn dark and murderous. What is he going to do with me? I am frozen in fear of what will happen next.

“Did he—” Graham’s words catch in his throat as he scans down my body.

“No. You got there just in time.”

Without another word, Graham buckles my belt and places the throw blanket on me. I grip the fabric, tugging it tightly against my body. I feel so cold.

Once I am settled, he scoots out of the car and shuts the door, leaving me wondering the extent to which he hates me that he can’t even be in the same section of the car with me.

I sniffle quietly in the silence of the backseat as the car starts to move. I assume Graham is in the passenger seat, but the screen keeps me completely isolated from those in the front. We weave throughout the heavy weekend city traffic, heading north. Collins takes a hard turn and follows the road to a parking garage. I am limited to only see out my window. I watch as he drives up the ramp to the second level and parks near a silver sedan. Dr. Saber gets out upon recognition of our vehicle. The sound of the back door unlocking makes me jump.

“Hi, Angie,” Mitch says softly, getting into the backseat.

I must look confused because Mitch gives me a small smile.

“Graham wants me to run your blood in my private lab to see what you were slipped.”

“Okay,” I whisper, moving the blanket off of me.

“Did you leave your drink unattended tonight?”

I nod my head shamefully. “I know better too. But between using the restroom and the waiter delivering my seltzer, I bet Mark drugged me.”

His warm fatherly smile makes me not freak out over my confession.

I cough into the sleeve of my hoodie. “He told me that I would not remember anything. But I do. I remember everything.” Every detail. A small part of me wishes that my memory was wiped clean.

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

He frowns at my words, knowing without saying that I am referring to more than just the trauma from being drugged. I can tell he wants to give me a hug but doesn’t want to overstep a boundary. He is nurturing and patient, warm and inviting. A natural helper.

And then it dawns on me. “You helped Penny after she was drugged, too, huh?”

Dr. Saber doesn’t verbally confirm, but the hard press of his lips tells me that I am correct in my assumption. No wonder Graham and he mutually respect each other so much.

“How long have you known the Hoffmans?” I continue, trying to distract myself from the situation. I close my eyes at the sight of the latex gloves and rubber band tie that get removed from his briefcase. The pain from Mark smacking me hurts way worse than a silly needle. I have been through worse, I remind myself.

Like with the stitches, Dr. Saber does his job of rolling up my sleeve and tying the rubber band around my arm without any commentary. I close my eyes, stay still, and just focus on breathing. Just breathe.

“I got to know Graham when he was in high school. I was a new physician and was working at his school in their sports program. After Graham graduated from college, our paths crossed again. He offered to hire me to be on retainer as his primary doctor, and I accepted.”

When I hear the snap of the briefcase, I know that he is done with the blood draw, and it’s safe to open my eyes again. I look at the Band-Aid and press my fingers against it, before pulling down the sleeve of my hoodie.

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