Chapter 28 The Atomic Bomb
THE ATOMIC BOMB
EMERY
A dull, static pain pulses at my temples as Quin paces back and forth on the phone with his attorney.
It’s remarkable how easily money can solve problems. Fifty thousand dollars and a new camera, and suddenly it’s all fixed.
Truthfully, I think that bastard could’ve demanded more.
Why settle for fifty grand? Why not ask for a hundred?
Two hundred? Hell, half a million. It’s not like Quinton doesn’t have the money.
This might’ve been the only opportunity for that paparazzi scum to retire early and spend the rest of his pathetic days drinking shitty beer on a shitty beach.
I shake my head, a sour taste coating my tongue.
If only money could solve my problem. If only I could chuck a million dollars in Damon’s direction, and all would be well.
All would be right. But money doesn’t fix everything.
It doesn’t piece back together the shattered fragments of our past. It doesn’t scrape away the filth of our mistakes.
It doesn’t paint over the tainted canvas, making it white and stark and fresh. It doesn’t do shit.
Quin sighs, hanging up. “At least that’s settled.” He glances down at me, frowning. He knows better than to ask me if I’m okay. He knows better than to try and attempt to cauterize the giant, gushing wound that’s penetrated my soul with a flimsy little Band-Aid. “Would you like some tea?”
I expel an airy snort. He’s trying so damn hard to keep me from falling apart. I wish I were stronger. I wish I could get a fucking grip and realize that I’m not alone. Because I’m not. He’s right here. Standing before me. And the defeated look on his face breaks my goddamn heart.
If Quin were a weak man, he'd ask me why he’s not enough for me. He’d ask why I can’t appreciate what I have versus dwell on what I’ve lost. He’d be angry, resentful, jealous that the tears I’ve cried didn’t spell out his name.
But Quin is not a weak man.
“Darling.” He kneels down in front of me, clasping my hands.
His thumb glides against my skin in short, tender strokes.
So delicate. So soft. Again, because he fears I’ll break.
“I’m going to make you a cup of tea, but then I have to head back to the office.
” He pauses, searching my eyes for a semblance of life, of coherence.
“I could cancel my meeting, though. If you need to—”
“Don’t be silly,” I whisper, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine.” My gaze drifts to my purse on the side table. “I-I’ll be fine.”
He brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses promises onto my flesh. I promise to love you. I promise to catch you. I promise to stay. He warily disappears into the kitchen, and I stare off into nothingness.
I can’t keep going like this. I can’t continue to push him away.
I’m not trying to dig a trench between us, but I am.
Every day, the hole gets bigger, wider, deeper.
Sooner or later, he won’t be able to jump across.
He won’t be able to reach me. And my shovel will be responsible for the damage, for the distance. I need to do something.
I need help.
Fishing out Amir’s sister’s business card from my purse, I chew on the inside of my cheek as my fingers hover over the keypad on my phone.
Anything you tell her, she’ll keep private. Anything.
Amir’s words replay over and over in my head.
The last thing I want to do is reveal Damon’s secret to someone who could use it against us, who could call the police and open an investigation.
But damn it, I need fucking help. And I-I trust Amir.
I don’t know how it happened, or when, but…
but we’re friends. He might be the first friend I’ve ever had.
With a deep breath, I dial the number, inwardly wincing as it rings.
“Dr. Hadid speaking.”
I clear my throat. “Umm, hi. Uh…” Great start. “This is Emery Jones calling. I got your number from—”
“Yes. Amir mentioned I should expect a call from you. I am fairly busy today, but I have an opening in my schedule from 3 p.m. to 4 p.m. My office is located in building C, fourth floor. Room 565. Don’t be late.”
And she hangs up.
I blink at the screen, taken aback by her curt demeanor. Given Amir’s playful personality, I expected his sister to be a bit more…welcoming.
With a resigned sigh, I shake off the less than desirable first impression and start toward the bathroom to shower.
This better not be a giant mistake.
My heart pounds with each step I take through the quiet halls of Columbia University. It's eerily silent, devoid of the usual chatter of students. Maybe because it’s a Sunday and they’re all off campus, enjoying life. I squint at the ascending room numbers as I meander down the hall.
As I approach Room 565, voices drift out from inside. I pause, catching snippets of a conversation.
"Dr. Malcolm, while I'm flattered by the Bureau's relentless pursuit of my time and expertise, I have told you that I am not interested."
A deep, masculine voice responds. "Dr. Hadid, I understand that you’re busy but—”
My shoulder bumps against a clipboard hanging on the bulletin board outside her office, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath.
"Come in, Miss Jones," Safia's voice calls from inside the office. I hesitate. “I know it’s you, Miss Jones. Come in. Now.”
I step inside, sheepishly examining Dr. Hadid's office. Dozens of books line the built-in shelves. Degrees hang on the walls. A few plants. Fake plants. It’s very…sterile.
Safia's gaze meets mine, and she gestures toward the man standing across from her. "Miss Jones, this is Dr. Hayden Malcolm, a former classmate of mine. Dr. Malcolm, Emery Jones, an associate of my brothers.”
Dr. Malcolm gives me a quick nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Safia. "Please reconsider, Dr. Hadid."
Safia's smile tightens. "Goodbye, Dr. Malcolm."
Once he leaves, Safia's demeanor shifts slightly. She sighs and glances at today's newspaper on her desk. She flips it over, lip twitching.
Clearing her throat, Safia turns her attention to me and extends her hand. "Miss Jones, it's nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Safia Hadid."
I blink, momentarily mesmerized by her misty green eyes as they study me.
I swallow, unable to stop my keen gaze from soaking in her striking features.
Gorgeous, flawless skin. Thick, dark hair.
A body that would make a killing at Lux.
This is definitely not who I expected to meet after that icy reception on the phone.
The resemblance to Amir is prominent. Both siblings are inarguably attractive.
Safia nods to two armchairs in the corner of her office. "Shall we sit? Or would you prefer to continue staring at me?"
I struggle to find my tongue, feeling flustered by her presence. “We can sit.”
“Then please.” She gestures to the chairs. “Do it.”
As we settle into the chairs, Safia's gaze remains steady on me. "So, Miss Jones, what brings you here today?"
I fiddle with my fingers. “Well…”
Where do I start? Do I tell her everything? Every sordid detail? Or just the highlight reel of my grief? Of Damon’s? Should I double-check that she’ll be discreet? That she won’t say a word? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should leave.
Safia lets out a loud sigh. “Miss Jones, I don’t have all day. If you want to talk, then I suggest you open your mouth and begin to speak. Words exist for a reason. Use them.”
I blame the hormones. That’s the only logical explanation as to why giant crocodile tears begin streaming down my face.
She wasn’t mean. Or rude. I actually like her no-bullshit personality.
It reminds me of my own. Except, I’m no longer in charge of my emotions.
Not for the next several months, at least.
Safia winces, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I-I apologize. I didn’t mean to…” She reaches for a tissue box and walks it over to me. “Here.”
“It’s not you, I’m just—”
“It is me,” Safia says, retreating back to her seat.
She crosses her legs, the hem of her pencil skirt riding up.
“I told Amir this was a bad idea. I closed my private practice for a reason. Evidently, I am not great with people. I-I understand their minds, their behavior, but I can’t…
I can’t necessarily apply that knowledge to my own interactions.
” She pauses, shrugging. “And that is why I teach.”
Sniffling, I wipe the snot from under my nose. “I’m pregnant, Dr. Hadid. I promise it’s not you.”
“Congratulations?” It comes out as a question.
Stabilizing my breathing, I skim Safia’s various degrees. “What do you teach?”
“Behavioral and criminal psychology.”
I stiffen. “Oh.”
A ghost of a smile spreads on her face. “I gather whatever it is you wish to talk to me about isn’t particularly…
legal?” She cocks her head when I don’t respond.
“Miss Jones, I took this meeting as a favor to my brother. You work with Amir. Do you honestly think that man hasn’t crossed some illegal thresholds in his life?
Do you see him in jail?” She leans back into the chair.
“I have fifty minutes left before my next meeting. I would advise you to use those fifty minutes wisely.”
Our eyes connect for several charged beats as I attempt to ascertain her intentions, whether or not I can trust her. I try and try to find hints of deceit, of malice, but all I find is honesty with a flicker of annoyance.
“It all started last year when…”
She’s a witch. A sorceress whose power is to suck truth and secrets from unwilling prey.
Thirty-five minutes tick by and my tongue works overtime, not taking a single break as I disclose every single salacious, scandalous, and deadly detail of my life.
Safia merely nods and hums, and occasionally blinks, but she doesn’t utter a single word.
She doesn’t comment. She doesn’t ask for clarification.
She does nothing but sit there and listen.
When my throat is dry, and I’m out of breath, she tilts her head and says, “You seem to underestimate the toxic people in your life.”
I blink. “I’m sorry?”
“First with Damon.” I open my mouth to protest but she doesn’t let me. “He stalked you, blackmailed you, forced you to quit your job, quit dancing. He was possessive, angry, and displayed violent tendencies. Yet, you fell in love with him and thought he would never leave you.”
“He’s not—”
“And then there’s Antonia.” My heart clenches. “She kidnapped you, chained you, hurt you, vowed to get revenge, and yet you deemed her…not dangerous? Is there a reason you seem to fall in love with people who hurt you?”
I balk. “I did not love Toni.”
“Love comes in all shapes and sizes, Miss Jones. It’s not a one-glove-fits-all situation.
Whether you admit it to yourself or not, you loved her.
You loved her and she almost killed you.
” A breath. “You loved Damon.” She corrects herself before I have a chance.
“You love Damon, and he’s abandoned you after promising never to leave.
What you’re feeling is normal, Miss Jones.
You feel betrayed. You feel betrayed by the people who you gave the benefit of the doubt.
You chose to see the good in them, and in turn, they showed their true colors. ”
I shake my head, frustration oozing. “You’re wrong.
Damon… Damon is good. He’s a good person.
He-He’s been through so much. He just… He can’t handle it.
He doesn’t know how to process his emotions properly.
His leaving wasn’t showing me his true colors.
He left because… He left because he wanted to protect me. To—”
“You seem to make a lot of excuses for him,” she muses. “Would he make the same excuses for you? Would he rationalize your poor choices and behavior?”
My mouth gapes open. “This is ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know him. You’ve never even talked to him. How dare you sit there and make assumptions about the type of person he is—”
“And what kind of person is he, Miss Jones?” Safia asks, an air of nonchalance about her. “Tell me. Who is Damon Cavanaugh?”
I abruptly stand up, hands vibrating with rage.
“We’re done here.” Without looking back, I storm out of Safia’s office, dialing Amir’s number as I march through the halls toward the exit.
He answers on the third ring. “Your sister is a fucking bitch! I can’t believe you suggested I go and talk to her. She’s impossible.”
“Uh oh…” He chuckles faintly. “What happened?”
I huff, the spring breeze greeting me as I step onto the sidewalk. “She said that I underestimate the toxic people in my life and that I feel betrayed, and that Damon showed me his true colors, basically saying that he’s not a good person and—”
“Well, I mean, no offense to Damon but he’s not.”
My rage intensifies. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not saying he’s a bad person, Emery, but Damon isn’t a Boy Scout.
We both know that. He’s volatile and destructive, oftentimes self-inflicted, but he’s always been like that.
But you knew this. I know you did. So maybe what Safia meant to ask was…
Why are you so drawn to people who…” He pauses.
“People who have the potential to hurt you?”
I grit my teeth, turning the corner down a busy street littered with cafés. “Because no one is entirely good, Amir. Not Damon. Not Toni. Not me.”
Amir’s response fades out of existence as I freeze outside a restaurant. I tilt my head and stare through the window.
Seated at a two-person table in the back is Damon.
And he’s not alone.
My gaze floats to his hand resting on the table. And then to her hand. Holding it. Stroking up. Touching it. And then she smiles at him. And he…he smiles back. It’s faint, the corner of his lip lifting a mere millimeter, but it’s a smile.
A smile that was once reserved just for me.
Anger explodes through me like an atomic bomb, fragments of shrapnel bursting outwards, every single nut and bolt that kept me together gone.
Fucking gone.
“Never mind,” I whisper to Amir. “Your sister was right.”
He’s not a good person.
And I’m done making excuses.