Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nico
“Thanks for coming.” I lean against Alex’s shoulder and close my eyes, ignoring the rest of my half-eaten lunch sitting on the other side of me. He carefully slips his arm up and around my shoulders, resting it on the back of the bench.
“I hope you’re feeling better now?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I can tell he wants to kiss me by the way he settles his cheek against the top of my head and the way he takes a long, slow breath in.
But he holds back, as he’s been doing since he arrived.
The little courtyard at the library isn’t exactly crowded—the students in the summer group finished their lunches and headed back inside maybe about ten minutes ago—but there are several others sitting on the grass reading books, including a couple of families with small children.
It’s quiet and peaceful. And that, along with Alex being here, has really helped curb the anxiety I’ve been feeling all morning.
It’s Friday.
The week passed quicker than I expected, and my interview with Vera is only a few short hours away.
I know I can’t afford to mess it up. I need to be everything Alex and his mom have been assuring me I am, and somehow, I need to convince Vera of that as well.
And that’s fucking terrifying, really. I’ve been going back and forth between hopeful excitement and an anxious near-panic most of the day, which is why I’m glad Alex was able to come meet me for lunch.
We sit there in silence for a few more minutes, and it’s comfortable and relaxing. My lunch hour is probably almost up, although I don’t want to move to check my phone. So I shrug my shoulder a bit into Alex.
“What time is it?”
He mock-grumbles and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Twelve fifty-five.”
“Ugh.”
With a quiet laugh, he straightens up, and I sigh and copy him. His hand finds my thigh, and he lets his fingers linger there for a moment before he gives me a light squeeze. “Walk with me out to the truck?” He leans in closer and adds, “So we can say goodbye properly.”
I nearly groan, remembering how we “said goodbye” this morning when he dropped me off—his tongue exploring my mouth as his hand slid up my thigh, his fingertips stretching out to barely brush against the base of my semi-hard cock. Completely inappropriate. I fucking loved it.
“You can’t touch me like that again,” I whisper back hoarsely. “Not when I’ve gotta work and—”
“There you are, you little shit.”
I barely have time to register the pure hatred in the voice or the dank, rotten waft of alcohol before a hand grabs my shoulder and wrenches me away from Alex, slamming me back into the bench.
A sharp pain lances through my arm and shoulder, and my heart slams to a stop.
I can’t breathe. I try to scream in pain, but no sound comes out.
Patrick stands there, leaning over me, one hand still on my bad shoulder, pushing me back harder into the bench. His other hand is balled into a fist, lifting up from his side with clear intention. His eyes look wild and angry. Violent. Rageful.
Holy fuck, I’m going to die.
Next to me, Alex jumps to his feet, yelling something.
I can’t understand the words. And Patrick, too, he’s screaming at me—but all I get are bits and pieces.
Something about it being all my fault. Him getting fired.
My mom kicking him out. I can’t hear it all, not with how hard my heart is hammering in my chest and with the pain slicing through my shoulder.
Alex tries to put himself between me and Patrick, but Patrick is larger than both of us. He easily shoves Alex out of the way with some nasty curse and lifts his fist again.
Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.
I try to move—to struggle or something—but my body won’t respond. And the pain as he puts more of his weight into my shoulder is nearly unbearable.
Caitlin is running over to us, yelling something, her phone in her hand. Our eyes meet, and she looks as terrified as I feel.
“Call 9-1-1!” Alex shouts, and he tries again, stepping in between me and Patrick. “Get away from him, you asshole! Someone help!”
Alex turns to shield me, then grabs my free arm and starts pulling me away.
At the same time, someone else grabs Patrick.
Or maybe it’s more than one person, I’m not sure.
Sharon’s suddenly there, too, standing between me and Patrick, telling him to back the fuck off, and Caitlin’s talking on the phone, her voice frantic and loud.
It’s chaotic and terrifying, and I’m trembling and lightheaded, clinging to Alex so I don’t collapse.
Patrick shrugs off the men who pulled him away from me.
He yells another couple of curses, spits on the ground, and then turns and storms off around the side entrance to the courtyard, his fists still clenched.
I can’t breathe. The air is too thick and hot, and my chest is too tight. Pain rips through my shoulder and arm as my trembling turns into full-blown shaking.
Alex’s hand rubs along my lower back. “God, Nico, are you okay?” he asks, hugging me to him.
I don’t get to answer before Caitlin pipes in. “The police are on the way. Sharon, I’ve gotta—”
“Get back inside with the children,” Sharon cuts in. “Actually, everyone. Let’s all get inside and lock the doors until the police get here.”
They keep talking around me as Alex guides me inside, Sharon staying right next to us the whole time. She directs the other library patrons to stay and wait for the police and then tells Alex to help me to the back office where I’ve been working. It’s quiet there, she says. That’ll be best.
A moment later, Alex kneels in front of me as I slump into one of the chairs in the office.
His hands hold mine, and he’s talking again, asking me if I’m okay.
I lean forward, trying to catch my breath, but my chest hurts and my shoulder throbs, and no matter how slowly I breathe, I can’t seem to fill my lungs.
“I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .” I force out, and I’m suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. I start to fall forward, unable to hold myself up. He catches me with a hand on my chest.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You’re okay. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe in . . . there you go, and out . . . Good. Again. In . . . and out . . .”
He talks me through each breath for what seems like several long minutes, until I’m finally feeling a bit more steady, like I’m not actually going to pass out.
“Thank you,” I say. My voice is still shaking, even though my heart is beating at much closer to normal speed. “Thank you. God, I-I thought I was going to die. Th-that was . . .”
“It was awful. And scary,” Alex finishes for me when my words fail. I nod and lift my eyes to meet his, fighting against nausea and a growing headache. His expression is tight with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I-I . . . don’t know.” I drop my eyes to where our hands are clasped together in my lap. “I mean . . . my shoulder’s pretty fucked up.”
Alex’s frown deepens, and he lets go of my left hand and grazes his fingers lightly up my forearm, stopping below my elbow. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“No,” I cut in, shaking my head. “Don’t.” I bite my lower lip and hold Alex’s gaze. His whole expression softens, and he’s about to say something when there’s a light knock on the door.
“Nico, the police are here.” I recognize Caitlin’s voice, and I try to look up at her, which is a bad idea. The room seems to tilt sideways, and I groan and close my eyes. Alex’s hand finds my chest again, steadying me. “Is he okay?” Caitlin asks quietly.
“He was having trouble breathing, and his shoulder isn’t . . . good,” Alex answers from where he still kneels in front of me.
Two sets of heavy footsteps enter the room, and even though I know I’m safe and Patrick’s not here, I can’t stop the tension from growing in my shoulders as I screw my eyes shut tighter and curl in on myself.
“Alex—” My voice comes out as a rough whisper, like I really didn’t have the air in my lungs for even the one pitiful word. I grab his hand with my good one, the sudden movement sending a fresh jolt of pain through my arm and into my chest.
“I’m here, Nico. I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.
” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and when I manage to open my eyes partway, I see him, his soft smile as reassuring as it always is.
He nods slightly, squeezes my hand again, and then turns to address whoever’s standing in the doorway.
“He’s got severe social anxiety, and he was just attacked,” Alex explains.
“Please just, um, move slowly when you come in.”
“Of course. Alex, right? And Nico?” The woman’s voice sounds familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.
“Yes, ma’am,” Alex answers.
“I’m Officer Morris, and my partner here is Officer Pulman. Can either of you tell us what happened?”
I know there’s no way I can talk about it right now, so I’m relieved when Alex nods.
“Yeah, sure, um . . .” He holds my hands tighter as he explains to the police officers everything that just happened.
He’s thorough, and he goes into much more detail than I’d have been able to.
Apparently, Patrick was screaming at me that he lost his job and that my mom kicked him out and that I was the reason for both.
He said more than that, too, words Alex has a hard time repeating.
“He said, um, he said he should have ‘beaten the shit out of Nico when he had the chance.’” Alex pauses.
“And he . . . he looked like he meant it.”
Officer Morris nods and turns to her partner. “It’s consistent with Anderson’s statement last night.” She turns back to us.
My head’s pounding now, and my shoulder throbs, but I manage to look up at her and listen as she explains how one of Patrick’s coworkers came in to the police station the night before and filed a report alleging that Patrick had been bragging while on the job about “scaring the shit out of his ex’s son” and “wanting to do a fuck of a lot more than just scare him.” The report was serious enough that the police followed up on it this morning.
They went out to the construction site where Patrick worked and questioned him and his other coworkers.
“It wasn’t pretty,” Officer Morris admits. “His boss was pissed and let Patrick go on the spot.”
It’s so much to take in. I almost can’t breathe again. I grip Alex’s hands tighter and take several short, shallow breaths, and he lets his thumbs rub soothingly back and forth along my knuckles.
One of the officers steps closer. “Nico, I know this is difficult, but I need you to answer a few questions, too, just so we can be sure to have the whole story. Okay?”
I look up, and I finally remember where I recognize her voice from. She was one of the officers who responded to the 9-1-1 call my mom made four years ago, when that asshole broke my nose. I close my eyes again as the discomfort in my chest grows.
“Y-yeah, okay,” I mumble, and I lean forward to be closer to Alex, ignoring the pain radiating from my shoulder.
“Something happened earlier this week?” the officer asks.
I suck in a sharp breath and nod. “Yes. Um, well, last week actually. L-last Friday.”
“Tell me what happened, Nico.”