Chapter 4
LILA
I stumble into my apartment, kicking off my boots and collapsing onto the couch. My hands are still shaking despite my best efforts to tell myself everything is all right. Fuck.
Tonight was... a lot. That's the understatement of the century, Lila. Good job.
I close my eyes, but it's like someone hit the replay button on the world's shittiest movie. There he is again, that overgrown frat boy with his meaty paw around my wrist. I glance down, wincing at the angry red marks blooming on my skin. Great, a souvenir.
As if the memories he reawaked weren't enough of a parting gift.
My fingers trace the outline, feeling the heat radiating from my skin. It's not bruising yet, but tomorrow? That's gonna be one hell of a bracelet. I let out a hollow laugh. "Guess I'll be rocking long sleeves for a few days. So much for that cute blouse."
The absurdity of worrying about my wardrobe hits me, and I snort. Leave it to me to focus on fashion in the middle of a meltdown. But hey, if I don't laugh, I might just scream.
Another memory flashes… Dane's fist connecting with that frat boy's jaw. The sickening crunch. The way the guy's friends jumped in, and how Dane moved like... like it was nothing. Like hurting people was as natural as breathing.
My stomach churns. I bolt to the bathroom, barely making it before I puke up the meager contents of my stomach. Mostly bile and the one beer I allowed myself during my shift. Some "dinner."
Slumped against the cold tile, I let out a bitter laugh. "Well, this is familiar."
God, I thought I was past this. Thought I'd left all that fear and shame back in New Orleans. But here I am, shaking like a leaf because some meatheads got fresh without my permission. Then Dane practically stalked me, waited for me outside to offer me a ride, or so he said.
It's his fault this memories came back.
But it's not the same, I try to tell myself. He wasn't...
I cut myself off, but my traitorous mind fills in the blank. Dane is not Marcus Colton.
"Fuck!" I slam my fist against the floor, welcoming the sting. Pain grounds me, reminds me I'm here. Now. Not back there.
I drag myself up, avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I know what I'll see, that scared little girl I've spent years trying to bury, and who springs to the surface at the slightest reminder of things past.
I splash some cold water on my face, trying to wash away the memories along with the taste of bile. As I pat my skin dry, a new thought sneaks in, unbidden but persistent.
DANE. IS. NOT. MARCUS COLTON.
He stood up for you.
I freeze, towel halfway to my face. Yeah, he did. A complete stranger saw some asshole manhandling me and actually did something about it.
It's... weird. Good weird, but still weird.
Back in New Orleans, when shit hit the fan with Mr. Colton, my so-called friends scattered like roaches when the lights came on. Even Melissa, my ride-or-die since kindergarten, ghosted me faster than a Tinder date who realized I wasn't putting out.
But Dane? He didn't even hesitate.
I wander back to the living room, collapsing onto my secondhand couch. It creaks ominously, like it's about to give up the ghost any day now. Join the club, buddy.
"So what if he helped?" I mutter to the empty room. "Doesn't mean jack shit. He's probably just one of those white knight types. Bet he's expecting a gold star and a blow job for his trouble."
Even as I say it, I know it's bullshit. The look in Dane's eyes wasn't expectant or self-congratulatory. It was... protective. Fierce. Like he'd seen something that pissed him off on a fundamental level and wasn't about to let it slide.
I groan, burying my face in a throw pillow. "Stop it, Lila. You're building castles in the air based on one good deed. Next thing you know, you'll be planning your wedding and naming your firstborn."
But the traitorous little voice in my head won't shut up. It keeps replaying how effortlessly Dane took down those meatheads. How he checked on me. He helped unleashed the bad memories, but only because it put in perspective how a stranger jumped in to help me while my friends abandoned me.
"Fuck me sideways," I grumble into the pillow. "I'm actually grateful. What fresh hell is this?"
I sit up, running a hand through my messy hair. Okay, fine. I'll admit it. Having someone in my corner for once... it didn't suck.
"Thanks, Dane," I whisper to the empty apartment, and this time I really mean it. "Wherever you are, you weirdly intense, stupidly handsome bastard. Don't let it go to your head."
I pause, then add with a snort, "And don't think this means I'm gonna start trusting people or some shit. I've still got my standards."
But as I drag myself to bed, I can't quite shake the warm feeling in my chest. It's unfamiliar, almost forgotten.
It feels a lot like hope in humanity.
I grab my phone. Three missed calls from Tessa. Shit. I hit redial.
"Where the hell have you been?" Tessa's voice is sharp with worry. She's a night owl like me.
"Sorry, I?—"
"You better have a good explanation for ghosting me after texting 'SOS' and then radio silence."
I texted her right after Dane left the bar, right after the rushing memories nearly crippled me. Wincing, I say, "There was... an incident at the bar. I'm fine, I swear."
"Bullshit. You don't sound fine."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "Okay, fine. You want the highlight reel? Some drunk frat boy decided my ass was public property. When I told him to back off, he grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go."
"Jesus, Lila," Tessa breathes. "Are you okay? Did you call the cops?"
I snort. "Yeah, 'cause that worked so well last time." The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. New Orleans cops are so crooked. "Sorry, I just... no, I didn't call the cops. But get this… some guy stepped in."
"Wait, what?" Tessa's voice perks up with interest. "Spill. Now."
"I just met him tonight. He tried to hit on me earlier.
His name's Dane. Ex-Marine, built like a brick wall, and apparently has a thing for playing hero to damsels in distress.
" I roll my eyes, even though Tessa can't see me.
"He told the guy to back off, and when Frat Boy and his buddies decided to get cute about it.
.. well, let's just say Dane redecorated their faces. "
"Holy shit," Tessa whispers. "That's... kinda hot, actually."
I laugh, but it's hollow. "Yeah, it was impressive. And terrifying. And... I don't know, Tess. It brought up a lot of stuff. Made aware our self-defense classes might have been useless, considering the way I froze."
There's a pause on the other end of the line. When Tessa speaks again, her voice is gentle. "You mean about Mr. Colton?"
My throat tightens. "Yeah."
"Oh, honey," Tessa sighs. "I'm coming over."
"No, you don't have to?—"
"Shut up, I'm already pulling on sweats.
I'll grab takeout 'cause I bet you've been surviving on coffee and air.
Slumber party it is! It's Saturday, so we can sleep 'til noon, stuff our faces with greasy breakfast, then tackle that beast of a project for Ryland's class.
Remember, we're supposed to 'revolutionize investigative journalism' or whatever?
Yeah, that'll be a breeze." I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling.
"Maybe we can crack the mystery of why our professor thinks we have unlimited time and resources while we're at it. "
I manage a watery chuckle. "You're the best, you know that?"
"I know. Now, tell me more about this Dane guy while I drive. Is he cute?"
"He's..." I hesitate, searching for words. "Intense. Like, if danger and sex had a baby, and that baby grew up to be a walking, talking 'bad idea' with biceps that should be illegal." I snort, shaking my head. "God, listen to me. I sound like I'm narrating some crappy Lifetime movie."
"So... that's a yes on the cute thing?"
I groan. "He's stupidly attractive, okay? But that's not the point. The point is, he saw some creep hassling me and actually did something about it. Nobody's ever done that for me before."
"Not even in New Orleans?" Tessa asks softly.
"You know damn well what happened in New Orleans," I snap, then immediately regret it. "Sorry, I just... no. Nobody stood up for me then. They all believed him over me."
"I know, babe. I'm sorry." There's a pause, then: "So, are you gonna see this Dane guy again?"
I laugh, surprising myself with how genuine it sounds. "Jesus, Tess, way to pivot. I don't know, maybe? He frequents the bar, apparently. But I'm not looking for anything, you know that. Besides, he's older."
"How much older are we talking? Like, creepy old dude territory or just a few years?" Tessa presses.
"I dunno. Maybe He's thirty-two. So, seven years older or so?"
Tessa's laugh crackles through the phone. "Oh honey, that's nothing. That's actually perfect. Guys take forever to grow up, you know. At thirty-two, he might finally have his shit together."
"Yeah, because that's totally what I'm looking for right now. A mature relationship with a guy who has his life figured out," I snort. "Have you met me? I'm a walking disaster."
"You're not a disaster," Tessa chides. "You're... a work in progress."
"Gee, thanks. I feel so much better now."
"So, tell me more about this not-so-old guy."
"There's nothing more to tell, just that I need to stay away from him. He may be thirty-two or whatever, but those eyes of him suggest he's much older, like he's seen some shit. Plus, when he looks at you, it's like... I don't know, like he's seeing right through you."
"Ooh, mysterious. I like it."
"It's not mysterious, it's unnerving," I protest, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
"You said he was ex-military, right? That should explain that lived-in look."
I pause, considering. "Yeah, maybe. But it's more than that. I don't know. Maybe I'm imagining things."