8. Another day, another visitor
Chapter 8
Another day, another visitor
LETTIE
D ay by day, the panic recedes. My chaotic mind rambling has dialed back a few degrees. And like a big girl, I now let James about five feet away from me without wanting to chase after him and super glue him to my side.
Best of all, this morning, I woke up without launching immediately into fight-or-flight mode. It only took a few days of freedom to feel partially human again. Woohoo!
At this point, I’m taking the wins where I can get them.
My body aches also seem to be lessening, thanks to James. He’s been giving me ibuprofen and acetaminophen on an alternating schedule without prompting. And every few hours, he rubs my back and legs with that wonder cream. I’d make a joke about how rich I’d be if I could bottle that stuff, but that’s dumb since someone else has already cracked the code to prosperity by doing that.
Unfortunately, all the hard-won progress I’ve made these last days is apparently built on a foundation of match sticks. One visitor—one I adore with my whole heart—and I’m ready to crawl into a ball and hide.
After about four hours of hemming and hawing, I finally agreed to let Freya come over for a short visit. I need some things from my place, anyhow. Not to mention, it’ll be a special treat to see the world through the correct strength contact lenses.
But now that she’s on the way, I’m less enthusiastic about seeing her.
It’s not that I don’t want to see her, because I do. I miss Freya. My apprehension over this visit stems from one thing and one thing alone.
The old ball and chain.
My platonic life partner—guilt.
It’s never fun to face your fuckups. Although I know Freya won’t judge me too harshly, I’m buried up to my titties in angst. With all my emotional baggage, I’m about to greet her at the door and come face to face with the suffering that I caused her.
I suppose my feelings are to be expected, considering how I was raised.
Don’t be a bother.
Don’t be too demanding.
Don’t create drama.
And for the love of Pete, don’t be the source of someone else’s unhappiness.
Just keep your problems to yourself.
Related: Who is Pete? And why do we love him so much?
Is he the Texas hot sauce guy? Or St. Peter? Or just a random, all-around cool dude named Pete? Next time I need an ADHD distraction, I’ll dissect that one more.
Beside me on the couch, James grabs his work phone when the annoying hourly alert chimes. He taps in his code, then sets it back down.
I’m indulging my delusional side and pretending it’s not odd that each time this happens, he angles his phone away from me ever so slightly.
Totally normal behavior.
He squeezes my knee “Are you doing all right, sugar bear?”
“I’m just a little nervous.”
“About what?”
“I’m worried about seeing her pretty face all droopy with sadness. She’ll probably cry, and then I’ll cry. In the back of my mind, I’ll know I’m the cause of her grief.”
His lower lip rolls into a tiny pout. “Lettie, she’s not mad at you. Sure, she was worried, but she doesn’t blame you. Nobody does.”
I lose focus on what he’s saying. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m too spun up in my guilt to accept the free pass. My eyes look toward the television, but I have no idea what’s on. It’s a mess of shapes and colors.
His posture stiffens when a different sound emits from his phone. “She’s here.”
My pulse spikes. I take a cleansing breath and suppress my wince. Every time I show my physical pain, it affects James. And I’m sick of hurting him too.
“Coming to the door or waiting here?” he asks, his palm extended to help me off the couch if I choose to join him.
He knows I need to stay close. Not once has he let me feel an ounce of shame for it, either.
“I’m coming.”
He helps me to my feet, waiting for me to be steady before leading us toward the front door.
I love how he cares for me. “Thank you.”
Playfully, he mimes adding another tick onto his invisible Lettie’s Thank You tally sheet. He’s long since given up on tracking it on his phone. He does it in the air by flicking his pointer finger and making a clicking sound. My inner brat enjoys doing it just to mess with him.
As the humid summer air wafts through the open door, I put on a brave face to welcome Freya, despite the frantic racing of my heart and sweaty pits.
Once she’s in the foyer, she opens her arms and lifts her shoulders toward her ears. It’s an odd gesture for her since she’s normally so confident and assertive. Despite being a sub, she has dominant tendencies. Especially around me. Probably since she sees me like a little sister.
Eager for her hug, I take a step away from James. Then another.
And one more.
Then I let go of his hand.
I can’t quite explain it, but there’s something symbolic about leaving the safety of his presence. And I recognize it’s only possible since another pair of comforting arms waits for me.
Closing the distance between us, I accept her embrace.
Tears pool in my eyes as her familiar scent engulfs me. I flipping knew I would cry. Dang it. Judging by her sniffles and the tremble in her chest, she’s crying too.
At least neither of us has to cry alone.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, wordlessly hugging in the foyer. All the while, I feel James’s calming presence behind me. He never wavers.
By the time I’ve soaked her shirt with my tears, we break the hug. She takes a visual sweep of the bruises and cuts on my face, and her expression crimps.
Mouth rounded, she sucks in a tiny gasp. “Holy shit, Lettie. What the fuck did those monsters do to you?”
Everything.
But I can’t say that.
“It looks worse than it feels,” I fib.
Her expression changes from shock to sadness, her lips turning downward and her brows pinching. “You don’t have to do that, Lettie.”
“Do what?”
“Minimize it.”
Drats. She’s already onto me.
Seriously glad she didn’t see me a few days ago when it was much worse.
Standing behind me, James kisses the top of my head and places his hands on my shoulder. “Freya, can I get you something to drink?”
Freya perks up, shoulders shimmying. “I brought sweet tea.” Without waiting for a response, she takes three steps back to the front porch and grabs my duffel bag off the floor, along with a pitcher of yummy goodness.
My lips spread in a beaming grin that’s more real than fake.
Having lived with me for just shy of a year, she’s perfected my sweet tea recipe.
Not that it’s hard. It’s just five simple steps. Brew the tea. Add heaps of sugar. Stir. Taste. Add more sugar.
Follow me for more life-changing recipes.
After leading us into the kitchen, James pulls out a chair for me. “Are you having tea, sugar bear?”
You know how they say there are no dumb questions?
False.
“No doy, babe.”
Grinning, he just shakes his head at me and grabs a few glasses from the cupboard.
That type of quip usually earns me extra spankings during fun time.
Not sure we’ll be having any of those for a long while. Guess that means I have a free sass pass.
And that’s how you look on the bright side. Papa would be so proud.
After serving us, James pours himself a tea, then immediately spits it into the sink because it’s too sweet for him. Lame. Ultimately, he gets himself water instead.
The three of us engage in amiable conversation like we typically would.
Everything is just . . . normal.
Eventually, though, the conversation dries up. I suspect Freya wants to ask me about what happened. She deserves to know. But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.
Avoiding it, however, feels disingenuous to our friendship.
The vibe grows stilted. I sense it’s up to me to break the silence.
Grab them chesticles and woman up, Lettie Holt.
“Welp, Freya, I’m sure you’ve got questions for me. No sense beatin’ all ‘round the bush. Let ‘er rip.”
“Don’t be silly, girl. I didn’t come over here to make you relive it.”
The relief shooting through me is nearly tangible.
Freya takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “How about you unpack the clothes I brought so you can make sure I didn’t forget anything? If you need something else, I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
My eyes dart down the hall, and a shiver runs down my spine at the thought of walking down there alone. It’s just a bedroom. I should be able to go in there on my own.
But there’s no way.
Dodge rammit . I’m gonna end up embarrassing myself in front of Freya by asking James to accompany me.
After being perceived as weak for most of my life, I don’t want another person to view me that way, regardless of the circumstances.
James must recognize my indecision for what it is—cowardice. Without prompting, he grabs the duffel bag. “I’ll carry it for you, sugar.”
Wordlessly and with a lump in my throat, I watch him ease around the table. Before he leaves the kitchen, he throws a wink over his shoulder at me.
Tears fill my eyes again.
He knows I’ll feel more comfortable if he’s in there.
Freya puts her hand on top of mine. “I’ll help you.” She must sense something off with my reaction.
Nodding, I let her pull me from the table, and we follow James down the hall.
Once we’re inside the bedroom, James sets my bag on the bed and unzips it.
I wave him off. “No worries. I’ll handle it. Why don’t you go relax?”
He tries to hide his shocked reaction, but I see it in the twinkle of his widening eyes. “I’ll go grab your drinks. Be right back.”
Instead of leaving the room at a normal clip, he backs away at a snail’s pace, holding my eye contact as he goes. I read his actions loud and clear. He’s ensuring I’m okay with him leaving the room.
Rather than answering verbally, I smile and shift my gaze from him to Freya and back. With that, he tips his head and makes his exit.
My heart does a pitter-patter, and I’m unsure if it’s from nerves or how much I love him.
As he disappears, my chest constricts. To calm my quickly spiking anxiety, I remind myself that if Freya’s presence doesn’t soothe me like James’s does, I’ll yelp like a dying giraffe, and he’ll come running. Or I’ll pass out. Hopefully, Freya has good reflexes and catches me if it comes to that.
Oblivious to my chaotic thoughts, she pulls some clothes out of the bag. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s start with pajamas. I brought three sets.”
She holds them out for me, leaving them dangling between us.
My mind goes blank.
All I can do is blink.
Thoughts can’t permeate the barren expanse of my head.
Nary a llama in sight.
She must assume my reaction is a joke because she rolls her eyes and chuckles. After setting the stack of PJs down, she saunters over, takes me by the hand, and leads me to the side of the bed. “I’ll figure it out. You sit .”
Fighting a smile, I comply. “Woof.”
“Fuck, I missed you.” Wistfulness soaks her tone. Her chin wobbles, and her eyes turn glassy. “Lettie, I’m so damn sorry. I don’t want you to have to talk about it, but I hope you know how fucking sorry I am. It’s all my fault.”
Her tears pour freely, and her arms wrap protectively around her midsection.
Ready to talk about it or not, it’s happening. I won’t let her suffer this way.
“Come here,” I offer, spreading my arms wide.
With a quick nod, she wraps herself around me. Since I’m seated and she’s standing, my face burrows into her stomach. Lovingly, she cups the side of my head.
And for a few moments, we just cry.
James returns before we finish our tearful hug.
Freya and I both whip our heads in his direction. As he takes in our weepy states, discomfort coats him like he was dipped in wax. His features harden, his eyes triple in size, and his throat bobs with a tight swallow. Even the poor man’s hands are frozen in front of him, holding our glasses of tea out like they’re explosives.
Bless his heart.
His wide eyes bop from Freya’s to mine.
A chuckle erupts from deep in my belly, and I cup my mouth to muffle it.
He arches a brow in my direction, his face finally softening.
“Sorry to laugh at you, babe,” I croak. “It’s just that you look so... I mean, you look?—”
“Like he’d sooner jump out of a plane without a parachute than wade through the emotions in here,” Freya finishes for me.
His spine loosens, and he rolls his eyes playfully.
“Babe, you don’t have to deal with our feelings. Freya and I are gonna have a talk now.”
One side of his face lifts in an attractive grin. He sets the drinks on the dresser, kisses my forehead, and turns to go. “I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls. I’ll be in the other room.”
Freya drops beside me on the bed, close enough that our thighs touch. I take both of her hands in mine and prepare to discuss the worst night of my life.
As much as I wish I could, I can’t hide from it forever. Although it’s only been a handful of days, I have to face it sooner or later.
Tomorrow morning, a detective is coming to take my statement. If I can’t get through a truncated version with one of my best friends, how will I tell the gory details to a perfect stranger?
A male, no less. Eww.
I’ve already decided I’ll tap into my hatred of those monsters to help me power through the interaction with the cop. Plus, James will be by my side the whole time.
Freya opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she can begin. “First of all, we are not doing the thing where you blame yourself. I told you to leave that night. It was my decision, and I made it in the right frame of mind. I mean, it was stupid, but I wasn’t impaired or anything.”
Unless you consider my general state of being as an impairment. Sometimes I do. Given I’m so accident-prone I could trip on a cordless phone, I wouldn’t hold it against anyone who did.
“Lettie, I know you’re an adult. And yeah, I realize you were sober when you told me to go. But I broke the girl code.”
“That’s the thing, Freya. You didn’t break the code. You honored it with Vanessa. She was the one who needed you the most at the time.”
Since her expression doesn’t turn to ice at the mention of the backstabbing tart, it’s safe to assume Freya doesn’t know about Vanessa’s treachery yet.
For now, I’ll tiptoe around that since anything I say will likely result in a hostile detour off-topic.
“So was it those Russian guys? Did they put something in your drink?”
“Yes,” I barely choke out, then clear my throat. “One of them was there when I woke up the next morning. The shorter one.”
“Do I need to describe them to the cops? I remember what they look like.”
Losing some of my confidence, I let go of her hand to tug at my ear, which suddenly feels warm. She grips my other hand tighter, likely seeing I’m short on strength.
“Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
She cricks her neck, eyes questioning.
“I-I haven’t spoken to the cops. Yet . There’s a detective coming tomorrow to interview me. So far, James has kept them away to give me time.”
A sad smile affixes itself to her face.
“You’re the first person I’ve spoken to about it other than him,” I add.
“Not even Stella?” she half shrieks.
Shaking my head, I fight a shame-filled cringe. “I’ve texted her a few times but haven’t brought it up. She doesn’t know I was taken yet.” My neck kicks back. “ Wait . You haven’t spoken to her, have you?”
I gave them each other’s numbers a while ago in case of an emergency.
“No. You were found just a few hours after we knew you were missing. I didn’t have time to do anything other than file the police report, panic, and cry. In that order.”
My vision clouds with a sheen of fresh tears. “I’m fine now.”
She pulses her hand around mine. “I can’t imagine how horrible this is for you. Please forgive me. I’ll never let you down like I did that night. And I’ll damn sure never forgive myself.”
“You sound like me,” I tease, attempting to create normalcy despite nothing about this being normal. “But you’re already forgiven because this wasn’t your fault.”
For the next five minutes, she peppers me with questions, cushioning them with you don’t have to answer this, but ...
I get it. This is like true crime TV in your own living room. It’s natural to be curious. But the more I tell her about what happened, the worse she’s going to feel. So, after a while, my answers get shorter.
Our tears ebb and flow with the conversation.
When I finally get the gumption to explain Vanessa’s involvement, Freya becomes appropriately enraged and swears she’ll rip the hair out of Vanessa’s head if they ever cross paths again. And she’s vehement about how I need to ensure the cops know the full extent of her involvement.
Fortunately, Freya doesn’t ask too many questions about the actual rescue. I don’t know how much information about his job James wants to get out there . He must have a good reason for shielding me from the full picture for as long as he has.
Speaking of which, as the clock ticks us farther away from Monday night’s chaotic rescue, my questions start to pile up about his job and what I saw that night. It’s like there’s a whole side to him I know nothing about.
I want to press him for answers. But I also know it’s not the right time. That conversation will require brain power and patience I simply don’t have right now. I’m giving myself permission to look the other way.
But I know he’s hiding things.
Big things.
My only hope is that he’s hiding them for a damn good reason, and when I find out why, it doesn’t destroy us.
Or me.