Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JULIETTE
W arren left the heat on too high. It’s the only explanation for why it feels like I’m sleeping next to a raging furnace. How many times have I told him not to touch the thermostat? He’s worse than my five-year-old when it comes to listening.
I open my eyes slowly. The room is bathed in an orange glow from the setting sun. Where am I? Because this is not my room. My heart starts to pound as I feel hands tighten around my waist. I turn and find Dean sleeping at my back.
“What the fuck?” I shout.
His eyes pop open and widen. “Bluebird?”
“No,” I snap. “What the fuck are you doing in bed with me?”
“Calm down, honey.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
I jump out of bed, regretting it immediately. A killer headache sets in behind my eyes, and I wobble on my legs.
“Juliette?” Dean comes to my side, steadying me by holding my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Just dizzy.”
“You need to take it easy, okay?”
I don’t resist as Dean pulls me back onto the bed. I’m acutely aware of his bare chest—the muscles on display would tempt a nun. Dean’s tanned skin is sprinkled with scars, ones he’s earned over the years protecting my brother and his businesses. He’s warm and somehow smells like fresh rain.
“Did you forget about the concussion?” Dean asks, sitting next to me on the bed.
It takes a minute for his words to sink in. Then, I go rigid. Floodgates of memories open, a torrent overwhelming me all at once.
Dean watches me before finally pulling his hands off. I find the loss of his touch bittersweet. It soothes one half of me while irritating another.
“You’ve got your memories back.”
All I can do is nod. I feel like a computer experiencing a data overload. It’s strange—remembering having no memories but now knowing ones I didn’t before. To say the least, I can’t think straight.
“Where is PJ?” I croak, looking around the unfamiliar room. But I can remember arriving at a hotel last night.
That tidbit reminds me of what happened to my house. A deep ache slices through me as I think about what I’ve lost. I’m grateful that Warren and PJ weren’t hurt, but everything we owned is gone. My only source of income—gone. What the hell am I going to do now?
“I’m going to guess he’s still with your mom. We should get dressed and go find them. Looks like our nap ran late.”
I glance down at my body and feel myself blush. It feels like forever ago, but I remember taunting Dean before I put this shirt on. What was I thinking? And why am I just as turned on now as I was then? I look at Dean just as he starts to pull a deep blue shirt over his head. The outline of his cock is so evident in his gray sweatpants, it’s almost obscene. My thighs squeeze together. It’s hard not to think about how good I know that impressive dick feels.
Dean smirks as he catches me staring. It kills some of the lust rushing through me. He always thought he had me right where he wanted me, and maybe back then he did. But not now.
“Don’t know what you’re smiling about,” I snap. “I’m just waiting for you to leave so I can get dressed.”
“Right,” he clears his throat. “Sorry, guess I got used to you wanting me around.”
His face falls, but it doesn’t make me feel better as I thought it would. The hurt in his voice deepens the dark cloud hanging above me. I don’t say anything to stop him from walking out the door.
A loud breath flows from the minute I’m alone. I fall back onto the bed, wincing as the move hurts my head. So much has happened in the last few days that I don’t know where to begin to process.
If I’m honest, I don’t want to think about anything other than how good it felt to kiss Dean again. That’s the only pleasant thing to come out of all this. What am I even saying? I can’t let myself fall for his sob story and apologies. It’s just not a good idea.
I cringe thinking about how I begged him for more than just a kiss. Thank fuck he stopped me from doing that. He was right—I would’ve regretted it all. Though I can’t seem to find any regret about the kisses right now.
Ugh, lying around the bed isn’t helping me figure any of this out. And I really want to see PJ. I can still hear his cries from that night in the kitchen. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget them.
In the drawers, I find some leggings and a crop top. I’m glad my mom knows me well. Going through my routine takes me almost twice as long. I’m slow moving with this headache. Getting dressed is a feat. Every step I take is a painful reminder of what happened to me.
I can’t even begin to understand what happened or why Arnie did what he did. I never believed Arnie was capable of something like that. And I probably still wouldn’t if I hadn’t been there. Growing up around my mother’s foundation, which helps domestic violence and sexual assault survivors, I always heard that abusers could hide their true selves well. I just didn’t realize how well.
Arnie really had me fooled. I don’t think there will be enough time on earth for me to absolve the guilt I feel over having that man in my child’s life. How could I have been that stupid? PJ could’ve been hurt.
Tears prick at the back of my eyes as I pull my hair into a braid. God, I have created such a web, haven’t I? I’m the one who ran away from Dean. I’m the one who kept PJ a secret his whole life. I’m the one who brought Arnie into our life. All this is my fault.
“Mom?” PJ says, poking his head through the door.
His eyes are so anxious when he finds mine. My heart crumples a little more at the sight.
“Hey, buddy.”
PJ runs into the room, flinging his body at me when he’s close enough to reach. Wrapping my arms around him soothes the last batch of frazzled nerves I had. He’s okay. I’m okay. Everything will be okay. Eventually.
His body shakes, making me realize he’s crying. I rub a hand over his back.
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
“I missed you so much.”
He clings to me.
“I missed you too,” I tell him, pressing a kiss to his head. “How are you? You hungry or anything?”
“Grandma fed me.”
“Well, I’m starving,” I say. “Want to keep me company while I get some food?”
He nods, sliding off me and standing by the bed. The two of us leave the bedroom hand in hand. I swipe at my eyes, clearing away the evidence of my fear. My throat aches to apologize, but my mind can’t find the right words. How do I tell my son how sorry I am for everything? I need to talk to Eva. Get her advice on how to handle all this with PJ. Maybe she knows some child psychology or something.
PJ squeezes my hand as we come out into the hallway, which opens to a living area where my mother and Kane are sitting.
My mom jumps up the moment she sees me. “Should you be out of bed? How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit with the biggest truck known to man,” I spout. “But I’m also starving.”
“We had some pizza delivered. Does that sound okay?” Kane asks. “I can grab you some.”
“That sounds great, Kane. Thank you.”
He gives me one of his signature grins. A loud growling sound emanates behind me. I don’t have to look to know it’s coming from Dean.
“Don’t look at my girl,” he snaps.
“Not your girl,” I mutter, plopping myself onto the couch with PJ coming to sit on my lap.
He snuggles into me like it’s been years since he’s seen me last. I don’t mind. The last few days have been a roller coaster—one with so many near-death experiences it takes all the fun out of it. Hugging my son is the only thing that makes me feel calm.
Dean sits right next to me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can feel his body heat. It’s unnerving. He tosses an arm behind my head on the couch. His woodsy scent envelopes me, reminding me just how much power this man still has over me.
A plate of melty cheese pizza appears in front of my face. It’s hard to grab with PJ in my arms.
“Hey, buddy, why don’t you come sit in my lap and let your mom eat?”
PJ shoots a wary look at Dean before looking at me. I hate that I put that look on his face.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
He sighs before switching laps. Dean almost looks shocked, as if the entire thing wasn’t his idea. The two of them are awkward and robotic as they adjust. Dean’s arms wrap around PJ, who is balancing on his knee.
Stuffing a big bite of pizza into my mouth, I try to distract myself from the scene. At this rate, I’m going to drown in my shame. Who did I think I was back then? Who gave me the right to take this from my son and his father? The guilt is worse after losing my memories. Or is it worse after gaining them all back? I don’t know anymore.
I can barely register the taste of the pizza in my mouth. Things are so messed up. Going back in time, so to speak, only reminded me of how I used to feel. It brought up all the feelings I tossed in a coffin and buried—feelings I don’t know what to do with. Because how the hell can I love and hate the same man?
It’s impossible. What am I going to do? Spend my entire life on a swinging pendulum, going back and forth every day between loving him and hating him?
Sneaking a peek, PJ has settled into Dean’s lap. His back leans against Dean’s chest as he fixates on a cartoon. I never even noticed someone turning the little box on or the annoying chime of music streaming from it.
PJ sings along with the song as the show goes into another episode. I can feel Dean’s eyes on me. His gaze always makes my stomach tingle. But I pretend not to notice and just keep eating. The longer he stares, the bigger the butterflies in my stomach grow. Why do I have to be like this? Why can’t I be a normal girl who falls out of love with the guy who broke her heart? Not deeper in it. Something is really wrong with me, and I don’t just mean the concussion.
“Juliette,” my mother’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “The police are here to speak to you.”
I feel Dean bristle next to me. It only makes me more nervous. I set the plate down on the table next to the couch and stand up.
“I’ll be right back, PJ,” I tell him before moving toward my mom.
“Take Dean with you,” PJ yells back as if I’m going off to war or something.
“What?”
“If he’s with you, you’ll be safe.”
I glance at Dean for an explanation. He shrugs.
“I promised him I’d keep you safe.”
“I’m only going to the door. I will be fine on my own.”
PJ’s lip starts to quiver, and that’s when it hits me. He wants me to take Dean because the last time I left a room and announced I’d be right back, I ended up in the hospital. This kid is trying so hard to protect me, and that’s not fair. He shouldn’t have to do that. I should’ve made better choices.
“But,” I say, “if it makes you feel better, I’ll take Dean with me.”
My son smiles at me. “Thank you. He can punch.”
“Yes, I can,” Dean says proudly. “I’ll punch whoever you want.”
“Really?” PJ’s eyes light up.
“Not really,” I interject, giving Dean a look. “Let’s go get this over with.”
“I’ll stay with PJ,” my mom says. “Kane is at the door with the officer, and he’ll stay during your interview.”
I wave her off. It’s one cop; I don’t need two bodyguards to have a conversation. The cop at the door is cute—in a silver fox kind of way. He’s at least fifty, but you can tell he keeps himself in good shape. He’s dressed more like a businessman than a cop.
“I’m Juliette McBride.”
It feels good to say that name again. Feels like forever since I’ve gotten to use it.
“Keith O’Donnell with Interpol,” the man says. “Nice to meet you, Miss McBride.”
He looks at Dean behind me. “And you are?”
“Dean Walsh.”
Agent O’Donnell’s face lights up. “Any relation to Jamie Walsh?”
“He’s my grandfather.”
The agent launches into a speech about being the boxer’s number one fan. Though I think PJ would have something to say about that. Knowing how long men can take to discuss a sport, I find a spot at the breakfast table and wait for them to join me. The windows behind me are dark. My hours are all messed up thanks to all of this. It’s going to fuck up PJ’s bedtime.
Dean, Kane, and Agent O’Donnell don’t keep me waiting half as long as I thought they would. The three of them sit down at the table—Dean taking the seat next to me while the cop sits straight across.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m here about the fire last night, Miss McBride.”
“I was in the hospital when that happened. You may have better luck speaking to my brother.”
“But you were the victim in an incident the same night, correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Does she have to?” Dean interrupts. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the fire.”
“We don’t know that,” Keith says.
I tell him everything that happened with Arnie and how he’s in the hospital, so it couldn’t have been him.
“The night you were hurt, some officers managed to get fingerprints lifted off Arnie’s cup. Results were interesting, to say the least.”
“You going to share those with us or just talk about it?”
Keith slides a folder across the table—one I hadn’t realized he had. My observation skills suck today.
Dean opens it and growls. Arnie’s mugshot is the first page. I squint my eyes. The lifeless evil behind his face is so obvious now. How did I miss it before?
“I thought he was a cop,” Dean says. “But he has a record?”
Keith shakes his head. “He was never a cop. Every woman he meets gets a new story, a new job, a new identity.” He stops talking and looks at me. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”
“I’m the lucky one?” I ask, pointing to my chest. “How?”
“Because you’re the only one still breathing.”