Chapter 1
ONE
“What happened?” I ask, shoving Clay aside to move closer to Chiara. Her eyes are red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with smudged mascara and tear tracks. “Chiara!” I shout, needing answers.
I can’t afford to show compassion for her now, not when my girl is in a hospital and Chiara still hasn’t managed to tell me why.
“Easy there,” Clay soothes, turning her toward him. “Where’s she at?” he asks, his tone calmer and more in control than mine.
“I’ll get the truck,” Xander announces, already heading to the driveway.
“Harlem Hospital Center,” Chiara manages to choke out between sobs.
That’s a twenty-minute ride, and I need to be there now. My heart is in my throat, and I want to shout for Xander to hurry the fuck up when he rolls up abruptly in the Ford. We scramble toward the truck, the urgency palpable in all of us.
The truck has a spacious front bench seat, and Clay helps Chiara get in while Sophia and I pile into the back.
Clay gets in after Chiara, and since she still hasn’t managed to stop crying, he puts an arm around her, pulling her close to soothe her trembling.
Meanwhile, Xander raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for directions.
“Harlem,” Clay states.
Xander floors the accelerator, exceeding the speed limit. I shoot him a warning glance and hiss, “Xan!” I want to get there as fast as possible, too, but I also want us to arrive there in one piece.
“Either look away or forget you’re a cop for a sec, Josh,” he snaps back.
I lean forward, my hand on the back of the bench seat, my heart pounding with worry, desperately trying to keep myself in check. “What happened? Please, Chiara, talk to me.”
“She… she fell down the stairs, hit her head,” she murmurs.
I glance at Clay, who’s already staring back at me over her head, disbelief in his eyes. “She fell?” he asks slowly and carefully.
Chiara doesn’t reply, and a horrible feeling sinks in my gut.
What the fuck happened?
When we arrive at the hospital, Chiara leads us to Carolina’s room. But just as she’s about to push open the door, a doctor steps out. She’s probably in her fifties and looks worn out, but her eyes light up when they land on Chiara.
“There you are. You okay, dear?” she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern.
Chiara just nods. She has finally stopped crying, but her eyes well up again with unshed tears, and her gaze drops to her shoes.
I try to move past the doctor, mumbling a quick “Hello,” but she stops me with a firm hand on my chest. “Visiting hours are over. Only family now,” she states, glancing at each of us.
“We’re the cops on her case,” Clay chimes in immediately, getting out his badge to show her, and I shoot him a surprised look.
What is he thinking?
“Didn’t realize cops investigated accidents these days,” the doctor’s tone is skeptical while she sizes up Clay.
“Please?” Chiara whispers.
She hesitates a second, but then her face softens. “All right.” She sighs, leading the way as she pushes open the door.
As I enter, my eyes fall upon Carolina, laying in a hospital bed. She lies motionless, her face showing signs of distress, her eyes closed, surrounded only by the hum of medical equipment. Her face is beaten up, but it is unmistakably my girl.
The surge of emotion catches in my throat, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself before I can walk over to her bed.
Taking her hand in my trembling ones, I can’t help but notice how her sun-kissed skin looks paler than usual. She seems fragile in the sterile white hospital room. The sight of her battered face fills me with a painful mix of emotions—fear, anguish, and a desperate need to protect her.
My voice quivers as I whisper, “I’m here, my Carolina.”
Gently, I press a kiss to her forehead, my lips lingering for a moment as if my love for her can somehow mend what’s wrong. I brush her disheveled hair back from her face. Turning to the doctor, I ask, “How is she?”
She eyes me critically. “Do you have more than a professional interest here, Officer?”
Internally, I’m seething. I want to shout at her to just tell me what the fuck is wrong with Carolina. But I bite my tongue, knowing that losing my composure won’t help Carolina in the slightest.
“She has a traumatic brain injury which led to cerebral edema. Her brain swelled after the impact, causing a subdural hematoma. She lost consciousness, but we’ve also given her sedatives to keep her calm, helping the brain heal and reducing the swelling.”
Cerebral edema?
Hematoma?
Brain swelling?
I’m trying hard to grasp the medical terms, but my anxiety and panic prevent me from having a clear enough head to truly understand what this means. But one thing’s for certain—it sure as fuck isn’t good. A sense of helplessness claws at me.
“Is she going to be all right?” Clay asks, moving closer to Carolina’s other side, flanked by Xander.
Both their faces are etched with concern, lines of worry deepening around Clay’s eyes. Sophia and Chiara stand beside me, their expressions mirroring my worry.
“The swelling should decrease in a few days. Once that happens, she’ll likely wake up and feel a lot better,” the doctor explains.
“And if it doesn’t?” Xander’s voice is tense with an edge I haven’t heard from him before.
“We’d then consider alternative treatments, possibly surgery. But we’re optimistic the swelling will subside in three to four days.”
I nod, my heart heavy with the weight of uncertainty, and I gently kiss the back of Carolina’s hand. I mumble against her skin, “You’re a fighter, Carolina. You’ve got this. We’re all here for you.”
“It might be good for someone to delve deeper into this. We discovered indications of long-term abuse.” The doctor looks thoughtful and glances toward Chiara.
Wait, what?
I straighten instantly, gripping Carolina’s hand tighter. “What are you talking about? What did you find?”
The doctor sounds somber as she explains, “There are several old fractures, none of which were treated properly. They could be from unrelated incidents, but there are just too many to ignore. Multiple ribs show signs of fractures that didn’t set right.
One appears to be a recent fracture. Her left collarbone seems to have been broken a few months back.
Her left shoulder seems to have been injured a few weeks back.
And there’s a noticeable cut on her temple.
But I’m most alarmed by the fresh cuts on her arm. ”
My head is spinning, and my heart pounds in my chest as her words sink in. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I kissed this beautiful body from head-to-toe last night. Was I so fucking blind?
I let go of her hand and stand. My fists clench involuntarily, and a surge of anger rises within me. How did I not notice any of this?
I can’t believe I missed all those injuries. How did I not see the signs of pain in her eyes? I grind my teeth together, the frustration building inside me. She trusted me enough to let me close, closer than anyone before, and I failed her.
The mention of fresh cuts on her arm sends a chill down my spine. I look at her, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
I should have seen it.
Should have been more attentive.
But I did see something, didn’t I? I noticed that something was off. I just did not want to press too hard and make her push me away.
I run my hands down my face, feeling the weight of my inadequacy crushing down on me. I need to do better, be better for her. She deserves more than this, more than a boyfriend who is too afraid to lose her by speaking up.
“Fuck!” Xander growls, bringing his hands to his hair and nearly pulling some strands out. “I should have done something. I told her to reach out, but I should have fucking done something.”
“What are you talking about?” Clay asks, placing a calming hand on Xander’s chest. “What should you have done?”
“I shouldn’t have let her go home yesterday! We have a spare room, for fuck’s sake!” Xander shoots a glare at Chiara and points a finger at her. “You’re not going back either.”
Chiara’s voice is barely above a whisper, “He only hurts her. She makes sure of it.”
My selfless, brave Carolina.
Xander’s fingers twitch into a tight fist, yet his touch is gentle when he reaches out to tilt Chiara’s face to the side, revealing a bruise on her cheek. “What’s this then?”
Fuck, I hadn’t even noticed that.
She pulls away, avoiding his gaze. “It’s nothing.”
Sophia steps forward, wrapping a comforting arm around Chiara. “You can stay with me. I have two guest rooms, and maybe you’d feel safer with another woman around.”
I’m grappling with the realization that Xander knew it first. Of course, there were signs, but she always had an explanation. She downplayed everything, and I trusted her word.
I am a fucking idiot.
I thought her uncle was just an asshole, and she sometimes stood in the line of fire when he did his drunken bullshit.
Not that he was abusing her with intention.
How could I have been so blind? I’m a cop.
I’ve been trained to spot these things. I know the patterns, the behaviors, and the excuses abuse victims often give.
As I reflect on it, instances where she winced when I touched her stand out in my mind. The twitchy movements should have raised a red flag, but I dismissed them, thinking she was maybe sensitive.
The cut on her temple haunts my thoughts. I remember how she brushed it off as if it was nothing. I should have probed further. Demanded an explanation. Clay insisted something was up with that cut, and I explained it away as a hangover from the domestic violence case we’d seen that day.
Fuck.
The lump she had on her head flashes before my eyes. She said her uncle hit her while falling, flailing his arms. I should have investigated, asked more questions, and ensured she was safe.
I don’t know where to go with all that guilt, so I lash out. “You knew?” My voice cracks, the betrayal evident as I confront Xander.