Page 12 of Dash

She’d just seen her last week. Her ebony strands had been silky, shiny, and straight. Not that Liz was any sort of hair expert, but she hadn’t thought her friend had the type of hair that could be dreaded. It had no texture to it. It was fine and literally pin straight.

Holding up a brown bag which Liz could only assume held two bottles of some cheap champagne, her friend winked at her. “I needed a change,” she said dismissively. “And we need to celebrate sentencing day.”

A change? That was a change all right. Shaking it off, Liz moved past her friend to her apartment door. “What is sentencing day?”

“Do you not have Google alerts set up?” Anemone scoffed.

Pushing her door open, Liz led the way into her apartment. “No,” she admitted, not really sure where this conversation would go.

Sashaying into the apartment, Anemone closed the door behind her. “Well, you should.”

The cryptic response earned her friend a sideways glance as the pair walked beside one another toward the kitchen. Her friend hummed with a wily grin as though something bubbled beneath the surface, eager to get out.

Liz was content to keep quiet, to give her friend just enough space and time to let it. Putting the food on the counter before she reached for plates, she waited. Two plates, a pair of forks, and spoons came out next. Okay, waiting sucked. What the hell? Why wasn’t she coming out with it?

Reaching into the bag, she pulled out the few cartons of food while doing her best to not directly watch as Anemone got two stemmed glasses, popped the cork from one bottle, and poured. How could she keep quiet this long? Usually, her friend couldn’t help but yammer on about anything and everything. When she had something to tell, she told it without hesitation, and she had something to tell.

The anticipation had Liz’s stomach knotting. The longer it took Anemone to share, the further away from good news Liz went. If she delayed, it wasn’t going to be good. It went from Anemone had a new lover to she’d set Liz up on a blind date—with her dad’s business partner—who was sixty—and married.

Jesus. Could she be more ridiculous?

But he had a good 401K. And a life insurance policy.

What the hell was wrong with her? She’d been watching too many of those women get revenge on their cheating husband movies late at night. Her friend wasn’t one of those gold digger type people.

With a slight hip check, her friend tore Liz out of her spiraling day dreams. Anemone grinned, offering Liz a glass of bubbling alcohol. Good. Just what she needed to calm her nerves.

Liz lofted her brows with expectation as she braced herself for the news and accepted the glass.

Anemone tinked her glass against Liz’s. “Richard was sentenced to two years.” Her friend squealed with glee before she tilted the glass upward and took a large swallow.

Liz stood there frozen, unsure how to feel or even respond to that. She’d made it a point to not follow the case. Once the charges had been dropped against her, she wanted to move on with her life. She wanted to forget it ever happened.

It was bad enough people reminded her that she’d been with Richard, but if she could forget that he’d used her to commit a crime, she’d be happier. If she could just forget that she’d been a tool in his little scheme to hurt the very people she took care of, she could go on.

Liz put the glass down. She didn’t feel like celebrating. She didn’t feel like anything. She couldn’t look at Anemone, the food, the champagne. All of it overwhelmed her. She wanted to crawl into a hole and just not exist. She put people at risk. It was her fault.

Retreating, she closed her eyes as she walked past her friend and speed walked down the short hallway toward her room. Closing the door behind her, she collapsed onto her bed and pulled all the blankets around her—cocooning herself as tightly as she could—trying to feel safe again.

Closing her eyes, flashes of that day danced before her eyes. The feel of the cuffs on her skin. Her heart raced. The look of resignation on his face. The lack of guilt—the lack of remorse. The terror she felt. She shook when the cops questioned her—accused her of being involved. The pressure to get her to admit to being a part of the plan.

The tears falling down her face now were just as warm as they had been then. She’d been so lost in her memories she didn’t hear the knock at the door. She didn’t hear it opening. She didn’t hear her friend calling her.

However, she felt the bed sink and the hand going to her shoulder. “It’s over now.” Anemone’s soft words stroked her just as softly as her hand moving up and down her side. “He’s getting what he deserves.”

“But it’s my fault.”

Shifting on the bed, her friend laid cuddled beside her, outside the blanket. “No. You didn’t make him do it.”

“I brought him around,” Liz countered.

“But you didn’t give him the idea. You didn’t give him the information.”

Liz sniffled. “He wouldn’t have had access if it wasn’t for me.”

“You can’t do that,” Anemone admonished sternly. She curled her finger under Liz’s chin and pulled her face toward her own so they were eye to eye. “You can’t try to take responsibility for him. I won’t let you. You’re such a great person. He used you. He targeted you. He knew what the hell he was doing. He’s a fucking asshole. And he got caught. You don’t get to feel bad for what he did. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You did everything you were supposed to do. He was a fucking snake.”

“I shoulda—”

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