Page 47 of Wicked

“Aw, Harper, I’m sorry.” He slides his hand from my back pocket and lifts my chair until I’m facing him. “Do you want me to go with?”

“You’d do that? Fly to Chicago on short notice, and right after your game too? You’ll be exhausted.”

“To be there for you? Yeah.” He cradles my face in his palm.

“That’s not normal,” I point out. “It’s only been three weeks. You don’t know me, Ryker.”

“Then let’s start with why you were at my place, at my party. Doesn’t seem like your kind of scene.”

“It’s not,” I admit. “I overheard these girls talking. I’ve never been to a college party. Shephard forbids it.”

He scowls but doesn’t question me further.

“He wasn’t around that night. He had business in Chicago. He usually takes me with on his trips. He doesn’t like to leave me, un . . . um, alone.” I almost said unprotected.

What business did he have back home? Did Shephard return home to visit Sam in prison? He wouldn’t go back for his parents unless it was to pay his respects. They overdosed my sophomore year of college.

“I could tell the girls felt sorry for me. I’m sure it’s the reason they agreed to let me tag along.”

Sam. He had to have gone back to see Sam. Panic grows and spins in my core. Needing something to take my mind away from the possibility that Shephard’s trip home had something to do with my father’s murder, I gather up the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

“I’m glad they did.”

Ryker’s honesty and earnestness sooths my panic. I dry my hands on the dishrag and return to my seat.

“How about it? Can I meet you in Chicago? You can show me your old stomping grounds, your favorite places.”

The only place that stands out, that haunts my nightmares, is the abandoned house hidden behind rows of industrial warehouses.

Boarded-up windows. Stained threadbare carpet. Graffiti-splattered walls. Sweat-slicked bodies. Musky and salty. The overwhelming urge to vomit. The barrel of a gun jammed against my temple.

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow. Fight through the growing panic. A thick finger slides across my brow and the other before trailing down my temple and jawline.

“Harper, you okay, babe?” Scowling, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You didn’t want me calling you that.”

“It’s all right.” I grasp his hand in mine and cradle it against my face. “I . . . I’m getting used to it. Keep at it, okay?”

Heaving a sigh, I shove my time in that dank room to the back of my mind.

“Thanks for the offer, but Shephard’s already going with. He paid for the tickets.”

I’ve never had a desire to return home to Chicago, but Shephard thinks seeing the reality of my dad’s gravesite will give me closure.

“What does he do that he’s able to up and leave whenever the fuck he wants?”

Thick tension squashes the heat in his eyes and his touch. If tone could hurt and maim, I’d be bleeding and in pain.

“He owns Gio’s Gym.”

His eyes widen. Realization dawns on his face.

“Gio is short for Giovanni. It’s his middle name.”

He remembers me telling April about my first crush, Giovanni, and my first boyfriend, Sam.

“Yes.”

“Fuck me.” He rams his fingers through his hair and blows out a breath. “No wonder he prances around like he owns the place. He does. What did he do in his past life? When you lived with him in Chicago?”

---