Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
WINTER
He’s the last person I’m expecting to see.
I’ve had a series of visitors in and out all morning, though none of them were here because they wanted to be.
The doctors and nurses have been briskly professional. The security guard posted outside my door peers inside my room at regular intervals, his features stony and silent as he affirms that yes, I’m still here and haven’t made an improbable escape out of the second-story window.
When the counselor stopped in right after breakfast, which seems like poor planning—asking a person to talk about their traumatic experiences while still trying to digest runny eggs and over-buttered toast—it definitely wasn’t a pleasant visit.
Officer Nelson came back, and she was the closest to friendly of anyone I’ve seen. At first, her visit was almost nice. She asked me how I was feeling and if I needed anything and even offered to go by my house to pick up some clothes for me. I was actually feeling pretty hopeful until she gave me the news I’d been dreading.
Thomas is still out there. Hiding. Probably staying with one of his creeptastic friends while he plots some sort of brutal punishment for me.
Then she asked me for more details about living in Thomas’s house, all about the locks and security cameras and the punishments he gave me. She wanted to know if I’d seen anything else illegal going on, aside from the kidnapping and assault I already accused him of.
Yes, there was other stuff. While I was there, I saw drug deals and stolen wallets and overheard conversations about things I didn’t want know about, like the guy Thomas was paid to beat up and the money he fleeced from a little eighty-year-old woman who hired him to replace her gutters.
As I went through it all, I felt sicker and sicker. Not only must Thomas be incredibly angry that I interfered in the robbery and escaped, but I know things he definitely doesn’t want the police hearing about.
If he catches me, I’m not so sure he’ll stop at just hurting me this time. I’m afraid he’ll actually kill me.
So, yeah. This morning hasn’t been the best. And that’s not even taking into account my concussion and the headache, dizziness, and nausea that comes with it.
I want to cling to the relief of being out of that house, but it’s hard when the walls feel like they’re closing in on me. It’s hard when the fear and loneliness crash into me in breath-stealing waves.
It’s not even safe for Aunt Linette to come here. She wanted to, but I convinced her it would be safer if she stayed in New Mexico. And it’s true. She’s much safer there. But it doesn’t make me feel any less alone.
Based on my crummy morning so far, when I see Enzo standing in the hospital room doorway, my expectations are pretty low.
In the sewers, really.
He doesn’t look angry, but how could he not be? Like Officer Nelson told me, while she believes my story, I’m still the one who was found at the scene of the crime. Until there’s more evidence to clear me—oh, please, let them find something—I’m a suspect.
A potential criminal.
Just because he was nice to me last night doesn’t mean he actually believed me. It just means Enzo’s the kind of man who would be kind to anyone who’s hurt. It probably has to do with his time in the Army, being a protector and all, and nothing to do with his feelings about me.
“Winter?” He hesitates in the doorway, his handsome features tight with concern. “Should I come back later?”
For a moment, I consider telling him I’m not feeling well and putting him off. I could avoid whatever uncomfortable questions he’s going to ask. I wouldn’t have to look at this man I’ve spent more time thinking about than I’d like to admit, feeling ashamed and guilty and afraid he hates me.
But I owe him answers, so I swallow hard and say, “No, it’s okay. Come in.”
As he comes into the room, I fight the urge to fix my hair, or smooth down the hospital gown I know is all messed up and wrinkled, or do literally anything to look better than I do right now.
I looked in the mirror when I used the bathroom this morning, and it’s not a pleasant sight. My skin is almost translucent except for the dark shadows under my eyes and the red and purple bruise on my forehead. Even my freckles are pale and faded—no surprise there since I haven’t been outside in months.
And my hair… ugh. I used to use hair oils and deep conditioning treatments to keep it shiny, but now it’s dull and dry and the ends are all ragged.
The last time I saw Enzo, I was wearing my favorite jeans that make my butt look good and a top that matches the color of my eyes. I’d spent a few days out in my yard, so I had a hint of color in my cheeks and some natural copper highlights in my chestnut hair.
And he was so handsome—his blue-gray eyes crinkling up as he smiled at me, a brush of stubble accenting his strong jaw, hair slightly tousled in a careless way, like he’d been running his hand through it. My eyes kept drifting to his exposed forearms, tanned and lightly dusted with bronze hair, muscles flexing as he leaned across the counter to talk to me.
It wasn’t that I’d gone there trying to impress him, but the brief look of appreciation he gave me felt really nice.
But it shouldn’t matter what I look like. Enzo’s not here to ask me out on a date. He’s here to ask me questions about my part in the robbery.
Once he gets to the side of my bed, his gaze sweeps across my forehead and his lips thin. His jaw gets tight. A tiny line etches into his forehead.
“How are you feeling?” His hand twitches toward me before he shoves it in his pocket. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Why does he have to be so polite? So concerned? So good looking?
Why does he have to be so tall and muscly, his blue T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and why do I feel this instinctive desire to burrow into his chest and let him protect me from everything?
It’s the concussion, clearly. How Enzo looks is the last thing I should be concerned about.
“Winter?” He’s eyeing me with growing worry, and I realize I’ve been staring at him instead of answering like a normal person would.
“Sorry.” My cheeks go hot like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. Which in his eyes, he probably thinks I have. In a rush, I say, “It’s fine. And I’m okay. It’s just a concussion.”
He frowns. “Have they given you anything for it? The headache? Nausea?”
“How do you know?—”
“I’ve had concussions before. Sometimes the nausea and dizziness can be worse than the headache.”
“Um.” His concern has me flustered and off-balance. It’s not what I was expecting. “It’s not that bad. The headache is the worst, really. But I didn’t want to take anything, since the police were coming, and…”
Enzo’s gaze darkens and I scold myself for mentioning the police and reminding him of the reason he came here.
But he surprises me. “Do you need anything?” His gaze moves around the small hospital room. I’m the only one in here, and aside from the small bag of clothing Officer Nelson brought earlier, it’s bare of any personal belongings or decorations. It’s a far cry from when Violet had her appendix out in college and her room was so packed with flowers and cards and stuffed animals, they covered every available surface.
Not that I’d expected anything like that here, and I’m more than okay with it. A barren hospital room is still a million times better than the windowless room I had to call a bedroom back at Thomas’s house.
Meeting his gaze, I ask, “What do you mean?”
An unhappy expression moves across his face. “I don’t know. Food? Something to drink? An extra blanket? Just… Do you need me to get anything for you?”
His unexpected kindness makes me feel like crying. Blinking away the dampness in my eyes, I say, “I’m okay. But… thanks. Really.”
“Are you sure? I know the hospital food isn’t great. When my uncle was here, I had to sneak in burgers from Burger Bliss for him.” Enzo pauses and two spots of pink appear high on his cheeks. “Nevermind. I don’t even know if you like burgers or if you’re hungry.”
The mention of his uncle makes my chest go tight. “Is the store… is it okay?”
“Pretty much. Some damage, but nothing that can’t be fixed. If there had been a fire, though…”
There it is. The part I’ve been waiting for.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. My heart speeds up so quickly I’m lightheaded for a second. “I know you want answers. I’ll tell you everything I know. But I swear, I didn’t have anything to do?—”
“Winter.” Enzo touches my hand, the heat of his warm fingers seeping into my chilled ones. “That’s not why I came.”
But his words don’t register. All I can think about is getting everything out. Somehow convincing Enzo I didn’t have anything to do with the damage to his store.
My words spill out in a rush. “I didn’t know what was going on. Thomas just grabbed me and made me get in the car. He didn’t say why. Not until we got closer and he said what he was planning. But I would never… as soon as I heard… I knew I had to do something. I knew it was your store, and your uncle’s, and he wanted to burn it down?—”
“Winter—”
“He wanted me to stay outside and be the lookout. Honk the horn if anyone came. And he made me touch the crowbar. So I’d be”—my voice catches—“an accessory. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be there. He took the keys and I couldn’t go for help and the only thing I could think of was to go in after him and try to call the police. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Winter. Stop.” Enzo’s voice is achingly kind.
But I can’t stop. The dam burst, and now everything is coming out in a torrent. “If I could have stopped him sooner… I heard the noises in the other room. Maybe I should have run out there. Distracted him. I was thinking about it, but then he found me. And he?—”
The memory of his face flashes before me. The rage in Thomas’s eyes. And then the bright lights exploding before everything went black.
I’m not even aware I’m crying until I taste salt on my lips.
“I didn’t want to be with him.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe the police told you. But I wasn’t Thomas’s partner. Not his friend. Definitely not his girlfriend. He kept me in his house. He wouldn’t let me go. I would never have helped him. Never. I swear it.”
Enzo grits out a low curse under his breath. His features are carved stone. A muscle in his jaw twitches. But he’s still holding my hand like it’s something fragile, his thumb stroking softly across my palm.
He takes several deep breaths before he says in a low, controlled tone, “I didn’t think you were responsible, Winter. Not last night, not this morning, and not now. I didn’t come here expecting an explanation. I just wanted to see how you were.”
“Oh.” My voice is tiny. “I just… I wanted you to know.”
“But now that you told me.” Enzo reaches behind him and drags the small chair over beside the bed, then drops down into it. He’s tall enough that our faces are level, and now I can see the flecks of dark blue and silver in his eyes and the tiny scar just below his hairline.
“Now that you told me,” he repeats gently, “I just have a few questions. If that’s okay. Not about the robbery. But about you and your safety.”
I brush the dampness from my cheeks with my free hand. The hand still enveloped in Enzo’s can stay there as long as he’s willing to hold it. “Okay.”
“So Thomas”—he says the name out like it’s a curse—“held you hostage for weeks? In his house? And he… did he hurt you?”
“I was there for almost a month.” Shame settles over me. “I dated him. For a couple months, not long after I moved here. Then… he hit me. And I broke up with him. I thought that was the end of it.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“No. One night… he took me. From my bedroom. And he locked me in his house.”
He grits out a low, “Shit.”
“I couldn’t leave,” I say softly. “I tried. But he caught me. Hurt me. Threatened me and my aunt. I didn’t know what to do. Until last night.”
My gaze drops to my lap as I admit, “I thought about running when he went into the store. About trying to hide in the woods. I’m sorry.”
A finger gently tips my chin up so I have to meet Enzo’s gaze. There’s no judgment in it, only sympathy. “Of course you’d think about running. I can’t believe… You stayed. Risked yourself to save my store.”
“I remembered talking to you about it. How it was your uncle’s. I could tell how much it meant to you. How much he meant to you. And after spending so many years defending our country… I couldn’t let Thomas take that away from you. I had to try.”
Enzo stares at me for a few seconds, emotion darkening his gaze. “Winter. I can’t tell you…” He pauses. His expression shifts to something more serious. Determined. Intense.
“If he’s still out there… where are you going after this? When you leave the hospital? You need to be someplace safe.”
Even though I don’t know Enzo well—apart from today, we’ve probably shared an hour of conversation—somehow I just know I can trust him.
It’s the craziest feeling at the most unexpected time. On the heels of everything that happened with Thomas, that’s still going on with him, trusting a man seems like the last thing I should be doing.
But as Enzo looks at me with so much concern and kindness and something else I can’t quite identify, I don’t hesitate to tell him everything.
“I’m staying at the Blissful Sleep Motel. The police said they’d have a patrol car outside.”
The line in his forehead deepens. “The motel outside town?” His voice dips disapprovingly. “And you’ll be alone there? What about your concussion? Shouldn’t someone be staying with you?”
Ideally, yes. But that’s not an option. So I try to brighten my tone as I answer, “It’s okay. The doctor seems to think I’m fine to leave this afternoon. So he must not be concerned about it. And if there’s a problem, I can ask whoever’s on patrol to help.”
If I’m being honest, the idea of staying in a motel room by myself scares the crap out of me. I’ve driven past the Blissful Sleep Motel and while it’s not exactly a dive, it’s not particularly nice, either. Plus, it’s surrounded by forest on three sides, which gives Thomas plenty of places to hide before he tries to break into my room in the middle of the night.
No. That’s not going to happen. A police car will be parked right outside.
I just wish I didn’t keep thinking about all the movies I’ve seen with the same setup that end up with a dead police officer in the car and the bad guy waltzing into the hotel room with a bloody knife or a smoking gun or…
“It’s fine,” I repeat as I try to arrange my mouth into something that looks like a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Enzo doesn’t look convinced. He scowls at the floor for a second before he says, “You can stay at my house. If you want.”
My heart skips a beat. “Enzo…”
“I know we haven’t known each other long. But it’s a big house; you’d have your own bedroom and bathroom.” His eyes meet mine, steady and earnest. “I wasn’t just Army, Winter. I was Special Forces. A Green Beret. I only got out last year and I’ve kept up with my skills. So I’m more than capable of protecting you against an untrained criminal like Thomas.”
“Oh. I couldn’t.” But even as my brain is saying no, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes. Part of me wants follow my instincts and go with Enzo to the farmhouse he described during our second conversation instead of the creepy and lonely motel.
Then again, I agreed to stay with Thomas and look where that led me.
Not that I think Enzo is anything like Thomas, but going to the hotel is the more practical choice. It’s the choice that lets me regain a sliver of my independence after months of captivity.
Or does it? Staying in a motel room, scared and relying on a person paid to protect me? Not being able to go out to get food or clothes without an escort?
Enzo is still looking at me expectantly. “Are you sure?”
I could say yes. But haven’t I caused him enough trouble already? And Enzo must be eager to deal with all the issues at his store—fixing whatever Thomas broke, insurance claims… He’s being kind by making the offer, but I think I’d end up being an inconvenience to him.
“I really appreciate it. Truly. But it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I squeeze his hand. “I know you have lots to do. Taking care of the store and all. I’ll be alright at the motel.”
He stares at me, his gaze narrowed and assessing, and for a moment, I think he’s going to push. That he’s going to try to convince me, and I might actually change my mind if he does. Even though I know it’s the smart thing to do, I’m not sure I could turn Enzo down if he asks again.
A big part of me wants to stay with him. He makes me feel safe. Protected. Even before all this, I was drawn to Enzo. He captured my attention from the first time I met him.
But he doesn’t push. He just gives my hand an answering squeeze and says, “I understand. But I’m giving you my number. And if you need anything, call me. I mean it. It doesn’t matter what time it is. Okay?”
A lump forms in my throat. And before I can stop myself, I lean over and hug him. “Okay.”