Fifth floor, apartment 521.
I put my phone back in my purse, and glance at the building once more. My hands begin to sweat, and my stomach coils tight. What if he doesn’t listen to me? What if he doesn’t believe me?
Crap, maybe I should have brought Vance with me.
Better yet, I should have waited for Kim.
Ugh. That sounds ridiculous.
Jimmy’s been a friend of mine for years. We’ve worked together. We’ve lived together. We’ve been through so much together …
Okay, right, stop worrying.
Get out of the truck, Pipes, and fix this.
I hop out of the truck, quickly making my way to the main doors, pausing for just a second to snag a box of dishes from the open trunk of Jimmy’s car. Might as well bring something up while I’m going, right?
The elevator is quick, already waiting at the lobby. I get in and push the button, and moments later it opens right outside Jimmy’s apartment door. I stroll up to the door, juggling the box around, knocking.
Then I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
I can hear him in there, crashing around, unpacking and making a heck of a lot of noise doing it. There’s music playing, too, so I knock again, this time louder.
The door opens and he appears in front of me, his expression confused. He looks at me, his eyes shifting past me for just a second, scanning the empty hallway at my back, before he meets my eyes again. He’s quiet for a moment, just staring at me, agitatedly pulling his lip ring between his teeth, worrying it, before he finally speaks. “Pipes.”
That’s it.
That’s all he says.
“Hey, Jimmy,” I say, smiling at him.
He stares at me. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug my shoulder awkwardly, rearranging the box in my hands. Jesus, it’s getting heavy. “I thought maybe you could use some help.”
He blinks, then stares some more, his expression shifting from confusion to … I don’t even know. Angry? Annoyed? Depressed?
It could be anything really.
The silence stretches.
“Uh …” I stall, hesitating. Maybe this just showing up idea wasn’t such a good plan after all. “This box is kind of heavy.”
Jimmy’s eyes widen, dropping from mine to the box clutched in my arms, as though he’s only now just noticing it. He reaches for it, taking it from my hands, and quickly sets it down in the hallway.
“Fuck, Pipes …” he mutters, turning back to me. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
Suddenly, he’s on me, arms wrapped around me, hugging me so tightly I can hardly pull in a breath, but I don’t care. I hug him back, my arms coming around his waist, squeezing just as tightly.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I say softly but firmly, my voice muffled by his chest. Pulling my head back, I grin up at him. “Well, maybe you need to be a little sorry, because I’ve been going out of my mind worrying about you, but that’s it.”
“Tara …” he starts, but I don’t let him finish, pushing out of his arms.
“Tara has nothing to do with you and me,” I say. “It’s not your fault she was harassing me.”
His eyes are skeptical, borderline angry as he takes a step back. He doesn’t believe me.
“I’m serious, Jimmy,” I say. “This crap that’s happened to me is not your fault.”
His eyebrows furrow at my statement. “But …”
“No,” I say, cutting him off once more. “No buts. This is not your fault and Tara is not your problem. She can’t hide forever. Vance will find her, or the cops will, and when they do, she’ll have to deal with the consequences. Not you. You can’t blame yourself for her obsession.”
He gapes at me. “You really don’t blame me?”
I shake my head. “No, I really don’t blame you.”
He stares at the floor for a moment, before meeting my eyes, returning my smile. I don’t know if he believes me, but I can tell he wants to.
“You left your car door and trunk open,” I tell him. “That’s probably not smart.”
“Probably not,” he agrees.
“Should we …?” I hesitate, looking past him to the disaster of boxes spread through the apartment, then back to the elevator. “Can I …?”
I’m not sure why I can’t spit the questions out, but the words just won’t come. He looks exhausted and stressed, and standing at the door, I feel like I’m interfering.
“Yeah, Pipes,” he says, answering my unasked questions. “I think I’d like that.”
He strolls out the door, a smile tugging at his lips as he moves past me, pressing the call button on the elevator, and we head back down to his car, making quick work of unloading the rest of the boxes.
The morning slips by as we unpack. Nearly everything is new, still in the original packaging. New clothes, new sheets, new pillows and dishes. When I ask him about it, he grumbles something about Tara tossing all his things while he was away on his last photo shoot, before taking off to another room, clearly not wanting to talk about it.
By the time we finish unpacking everything for the bedroom and setting it up with the new bed and dresser, it’s closing in on one o’clock.
“I’m starving,” Jimmy says, flopping back on his bed. “You feel like pizza?”
I look at him, my expression serious. “I always feel like pizza.”
“There’s a place down a block that’s awesome and they have a walk in special running,” he says. “You wanna come?”
“Kim’s going to be here any minute,” I remind him. “One of us should probably stick around.”
Sitting up, he runs a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Pineapple and bacon, right? Or did you want to go instead?”
“Nah, I’ll stick around here,” I say, though I’m guessing he wasn’t expecting me to want to go, because he’s already up and walking toward the door.
I spend some time in the kitchen after he leaves, washing all the new dishes, and then I wander between rooms for a bit, putting things away.
There’s a knock on the door as I bend over to grab a box labeled bathroom. I straighten up, leaving the box where it is, and glance at the clock, seeing it’s a few minutes after one. I smile. Kim’s actually on time. I walk to the door, quickly unlocking it, and pull it open, but it’s not Kim on the other side of the door.
No, the person standing at the door is Tara.
Chapter Twenty
Piper
Oh crap!
Oh crap!
Oh crap!
My pulse goes flying and I move to push the door closed, but before I can, hard hands shove me and I stumble backward. I gasp in shock, nearly toppling over, scrambling to stay on my feet as the door slams and the lock clicks in place.
I try to swallow my shriek as Tara spins on me, but the sound leaks out as a high-pitched gargling mess when she takes a threatening step in my direction. She’s a mess. Her clothes, stained and torn, her hair, tangled and greasy, and her eyes ... oh God, her eyes are crazy and wild, and she has a grin on her face that terrifies me. It’s twisted and wrong, making her look deranged and almost feral.
She stalks toward me, muttering incoherent words, and I scramble backwards, my hands up in front of me, warding her off.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, hating the tremor that seeps out in my voice. “You shouldn’t be here, Tara.”
Tara’s footsteps falter and she stalls in the hallway, running obviously agitated hands through her knotted hair. She’s watching me skittishly, as though she thinks she’s the one who should be terrified, and not me.
“No,” she says, shaking her head frantically, and pulling at her hair. “No, no, no. You don’t get to ask me that. You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here. I told you to stay away. I told you!”
“You need to leave,” I say. “Kim is on her way here, and Jimmy is going to be home any minute.”
“I don’t care!” she scream
s. “Jimmy is my boyfriend, not yours. He wants me here, not you.”
“He’s just my friend,” I say, edging back another step, because I really don’t want to risk letting her get close enough to put her hands on me again. That one shove was hard enough that I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up with a nice bruise on my shoulder. “That’s it, Tara, just my friend.”
“We were happy,” she says. “We were going to get married and start a family, but then you came along and ruined it all. Ever since he left me for you, my life has been going to shit and it’s all because you’re a little whore.”
“He didn’t leave you for me,” I say, folding my arms over my chest, attempting to hide the terror I’m feeling as I move back slowly, carefully. She continues to watch me, as though she thinks I’m seconds away from attacking her, and she’s mentally calculating how she can stop me.
It puzzles me and I’m not really sure what to do. She’s the one who forced her way into the apartment. She’s the one who’s advancing on me, but the look in her eyes, it’s as though she thinks she needs to defend herself, or maybe defend Jimmy’s place.
“Yes he did,” she spits out. “I’m not stupid. I’ve been watching both of you. I know you two don’t actually work when you’re together. I’ve seen the way he touches you, the way he hugs you, the way he looks at you ... We’re having a baby together, you bitch. Why couldn’t you just find your own man!”
Crap. Jimmy is right. She’s crazy, completely out of her mind nuts.
“Tara, I know you’re not pregnant,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even. “I know you can’t have kids. This isn’t the way to get him back. I can help you, though. I will help you. All you need to do is calm down and stop lying, okay?”
She lets out a sudden manic laugh, ringing her hands together, as her wild eyes dart around the apartment. She takes another step toward me, and I take another back.
Then, I shriek because I guess telling her that I can help her was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it was the comment about her not being pregnant. I’m not sure.
But at the moment, it doesn’t matter.
All at once, she screams and lunges at me, her hands swinging at me, her fingernails coming dangerously close to my eyes.
I scramble back into the living room, and unfortunately, in my haste to get away, I’m not paying attention to my footing, and I topple over one of the boxes in the room, landing hard on what sounds like a box filled with glass.
Tara lands on top of me, her hands frantically clawing at my face. We struggle on the floor, the glass crunching within the box under me, as more boxes topple over all around us. I can feel blood bead up on my skin as her fingernails dig into my cheeks, my neck, and my arms.
“You think I want your help?” she screeches. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. All I need is you gone. Gone and out of the picture.”
I need to get away from her. I need to get to my phone, and call for help. No, scratch that. I need to get to my phone, then get to the bedroom or bathroom, lock the door, and then call for help.
I wince as her nails dig hard into the side of my jaw, scraping along my neck, and I struggle to get my arms up over my face to protect it from her attack. I buck and kick, trying to dislodge her from my center, clawing and flailing, but it seems useless. She’s stronger than I am, bigger than me, and I can’t get her off.
We’re making quite a ruckus, I realize, as a mixture of angry and frightened tears burn my eyes. The contents of the boxes crashing onto the floor, the thumping of our limbs, our shrieks and screams. Someone is bound to hear us, and then they will come to investigate.
If I can just hold her off, stop her from doing too much damage, maybe, just maybe ...
Suddenly Tara shifts, putting all of her weight on one of her knees, planting it right in the center of my stomach, lifting herself up, and bouncing, pushing all the air from my lungs. Panic rises up fast in my throat as I struggle underneath her, my hands flailing around, searching for something—anything—I can use as a weapon.
She’s reaching for something, too, I realize, as she mutters all kinds of things, about how her and Jimmy are going to get married, and how she isn’t going to let some little whore like me stop her, completely unaware of my hand as I clasp onto the handle of a frying pan. I wrap my hand around the handle, good and tight, and without hesitation, I swing at her as hard as I can, hitting her firmly on the back, hard enough to dislodge her, and she falls, face first onto the floor, letting out a startled shriek.
Jumping up to my feet, my body screaming at me from the sudden movement, I scramble toward the door, the frying pan still clutched in my hand. I only make it a few steps, before I hear Tara coming after me and a second later, I feel a sharp burning sensation as something slices into my thigh, and I cry out, spinning around, blindly swinging the frying pan.
Vance
I’m sitting at a table in Heaven Here Coffee with Jase and Wes, waiting for a client to show up, when my phone rings. I pick it up off the table, glancing at the screen.
Kim.
My brow furrows. She’s supposed to be at Jimmy’s right now with Piper. I answer it quickly, feeling on edge as I bring the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“Don’t freak out, but you need to get over to the hospital.”
“What?” My stomach coils. “Why?”
“Um …” She lets out a shaky breath. “Tara attacked Piper.”
My heart skips a beat before hammering hard in my chest as my mind starts to race, my thoughts scattered. Adrenaline washes over me, mixed with panic, and every muscle in my body constricts.
“What the fuck do you mean Tara attacked Piper?”
Silence.
Helpless anger flares through me. “Jesus Christ, Kim, tell me what the fuck is going on!”
“Piper’s okay,” Kim says hesitantly, her words sounding broken and strained. “She needs some stitches, but she’s okay. Tara came at her with a knife, but Pipes knocked her out with a frying pan. The cops have Tara now, and Pipes is being loaded into the ambulance.”
I blink.
Tara came at Piper with a knife.
Tara came at Piper with a knife.
Tara came at Piper …
My heart does something weird. There’s a squeeze. There’s an odd beat and skip. And my throat … my throat closes up.
My girl is hurt.
My girl.
“Fuck!” I blink again, and then I’m on my feet. “I’m on my way.”
I hang up on her, shoving the phone in my pocket, and run my hands over my face roughly, when my heart squeezes and pulls and twists.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me?
My eyes dart across the table when one of the guys clears his throat, and I see both Jase and Wes staring at me, eyes concerned and questioning.
Another blink. Fuck.
“It’s Piper,” I say. “I’ve gotta go.”
I don’t give them any more and I don’t wait for a response, striding out of the coffee shop and sprinting for my truck.
I reach it quickly, and I don’t know how, but suddenly Jase is there, blocking my path. He’s standing in front of me between me and my truck, a concerned expression on his face.
“Get out of my way, Jase,” I say, moving to step past him. “I have to get to the hospital.”
“Just tell me what’s going on first,” he says, his expression serious.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Kim said Piper got cut when Tara came at her with a knife. Cops have Tara, and Piper’s on the way to the hospital.”
His brow furrows. “Wasn’t she at Jimmy’s? Where the fuck was he when this happened?”
“I don’t know,” I say again, my voice coming out as a frustrated growl. “I can’t do this, Jase. I’ve got to go.”
He hesitates, frowning at me, and then nods, stepping aside. “Go. I’ll call Cruz and get the details. We’ll be there soon.”
I step past him and get in my truck,
tires spinning as I speed away. I don’t know how long it takes me to get to the hospital.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
It takes too goddamn long, before I see the signs for the emergency entrance. I pull in and park, which feels like it takes a fucking century to do, and then I sprint to the entrance.
It’s just a cut, I tell myself. She’s okay. Kim said she’s okay.
Another century passes as I wait at the reception desk, trying to find out where my girl is. I text Kim, try to listen for her and Jimmy, scan the area for police, anything that could give me a hint of where she is, as I wait.
Nothing.
I hear nothing.
See nothing.
My stomach twists tighter.
Another few minutes pass by before I’m finally told where she is, and a nurse leads me to her room. I pause at the doorway, staring at the bed. Piper is on her back, with Kim by her side, squeezing her hand. Jimmy is in the corner, looking distressed as he stares at her, and the doctor is here, hovering over her leg. His back is to me and I can’t see what he’s doing, but by his arm movements, it looks like he’s stitching her up now.
I swallow thickly, taking a step forward into the room.
She looks pale—paler than normal—and she grimaces with each movement of the doctor’s hand.
Fuck.
I watch quietly waiting for the doctor to finish, not wanting to disturb him.
Another year passes by.
Jimmy looks up, noticing me first, and gives me a shaky chin lift. “Vance …” His voice cracks with distress, and he wrings his hands together. “I wasn’t even gone twenty minutes. I was just grabbing a pizza.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say to him. Logically, I know this isn’t his fault.
None of it is.
But fuck if I don’t want to hit him right now.
Piper leans to the side, looking around the doctor. She smiles brightly, wiping her eyes when she sees me. “I’m getting stitches again.”
Her voice is just as bright as her smile, and even though there is a hint of pain beneath it, it instantly puts me at ease. “I heard. You’re gonna be a pro at this in no time.”