Chapter 5 Lofton
LOFTON
“You have to get out of bed,” Brooke ordered across the phone. “It’s been three days, Lofton.”
“And?”
“And everyone’s worried about you. That Leo guy is ready to call in a team of doctors.”
I dropped my head back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. A small trickle of morning sun peeked through the cracks in the blackout curtains. “I’ve already seen a doctor. I’m fine.”
“Well, fine is only slightly above off-the-rails. But sure, believe what you want. Though I can promise, physically, you are trash. I can smell you from here.”
“Wow, thanks for the pep talk.” I lifted my arm, then quickly sealed it back down against my body when I caught a whiff of myself. “I’m so glad you work for me.”
“Me too. It’s really coming in handy right now. Did you know Stephen Lattimore has a twenty-five-person hot tub?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. I also know he has orgies in there, so keep Zoey out of it and see if Leo will call that doctor for you.”
She let out a low hum. “And how exactly do you know this? First-hand experience?”
“Dear God, no. Though I’m sure Sebastian has first, second, and third-hand experience and the STDs to prove it.”
“Well, that’s disgusting, but serves him right. Speaking of your piece of shit ex, he’s called me at least a dozen times to check on you.”
“Oh, yay,” I deadpanned. “Was he on my yacht when he called? You know, I always wonder how he gets herds of women to sail with him on a boat called Lofton at Last.”
“Uh, he doesn’t. He invites a bunch of young, dumb nineteen-year-old girls, who probably pose for selfies beside your name then pray they can blow him hard enough to get a yacht named after themselves one day.”
A laugh escaped my throat before I could stop it. “Better them than me. I still can’t believe Guardian put you up at Stephen’s while I got stashed away in Malibu Barbie’s Dream House.”
I’d never been to a safe house before, so when Leo told me that was where I was headed, my expectations were low. I assumed it would be cold and sterile. A place where windows came with bars and indoor plumbing was not a guarantee.
Boy, had I underestimated Guardian Protection Agency.
This place—or at least the little I’d seen of it—was seriously impressive.
The bedroom was spacious, with all whitewashed walls and pale wood floors.
One entire wall was alive with schools of hand-blown glass fish, frozen mid-swim in shades of turquoise, coral, and pink.
The dresser and nightstands were large and weathered with a driftwood finish.
Everything was tasteful and expensive without screaming pretentious.
However, there was one little problem.
“Oh, right, because you’re a weirdo who hates the beach,” Brooke said, no doubt rolling her eyes.
“You can call me a weirdo all you want, but what part of sand in every crack and crevice of your body, mixed with putrid saltwater, sounds like a good time to you?”
She sighed. “The part where I get to relax under a palm tree with a drink in my hand. All those exotic locations we’ve been to, and you always have to ruin it for me.”
“I’ve saved you from sun poisoning, sand fleas, and being peed on by toddlers in the surf. You’re welcome.”
“Wow, you really sounded like the Lofton Beck there.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
“No, it’s great. Seriously, use that diva energy and crawl your ass out of bed. You can’t wallow forever.”
“Says who?”
“Me and…” There was a rustling on the other end of the line as she switched to speakerphone, and I braced knowing she was about to use her forever ace in the hole.
“Hey, Tofton,” Zoey chirped distantly.
My chest warmed. “Hey, baby. Whatcha doing?”
“Playing with my ponies.”
“You brought Snickers into the house?”
She giggled. “No. My toy ponies.”
“Ah, gotcha. Much safer and less poop.”
“Get this, Zoe,” Brooke said. “Lofton hasn’t gotten out of bed in three days. She hasn’t showered or anything. I bet she has potatoes growing in her ears.”
“Yuck!” Zoey cried.
I played along. “I’ll have you know, there was only one potato, and I ate it for dinner last night. Pretty tasty, actually.”
“Ewwwwwww!” Zoey exclaimed before bursting into a fit of laughter.
Being raised in a world of fashion and glamour, she was pure princess, but at four years old, the gross stuff was always a hit. For several seconds, I drank in the sounds of her happiness, grateful beyond belief that things hadn’t been worse. If anything had happened to her…
Nope. I couldn’t go there.
We’d dodged the worst, even Marty, God bless his soul, would have agreed.
“I don’t have any clothes.” I blurted out to escape the spiral of emotions. I was still wearing the oversized black sweatpants and hoodie I’d been given when we left the hotel. They were comfortable, but based on smell alone, I had overstayed my welcome.
“What are you talking about? I packed your bag myself when that Johnson guy took me to get our stuff from your place. Which, by the way, do you think he’s single?”
“I have no idea. Please tell me you didn’t hit on him.”
Zoey giggled. “Mommy doesn’t hit!”
“No,” Brooke replied. “Mommy only uses gentle hands, especially with tall, dark, and tattooed men.”
I shook my head, but a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “If I agree to take a shower, can I go now?”
“That depends. Are you going to get back into bed as soon as you get out?”
I considered it for a moment. It was a really comfortable bed, but I couldn’t hide forever. My stomach growled in agreement.
Devon had been leaving meals on my nightstand—morning, noon, and night. But short of a few crackers, croutons, and water required for survival, I had no appetite, and the energy level to prove it.
I flipped on the sand dollar-shaped lamp and winced as the light felt like daggers in my eyes.
I guessed that was what you got for holing up in a dark bedroom for days at a time.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I forced myself to my feet.
My stiff body screamed its objections, and my head pounded, but I was upright. That had to count for something.
“Fine. I’m up. And I’m not getting back in bed for at least a few hours. Are you happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” she replied. “Tell Lofton bye.”
“Bye, Tofton! I love you.”
“Love you too, baby. Brooke, can you take me off speaker for a minute?”
“Yep.” There was some movement on her end, then the phone fell quiet. “What’s up?”
“How’s she doing?” I asked, fearful of the answer.
“Honestly? A lot better than I was expecting. We’ve been staying up late watching cartoons until we both fall asleep, and then she farts under the covers and kicks me in the face all night.”
Zoey let out a loud laugh, not even bothering to deny it.
God, I missed them.
“Good.” I breathed. “We need to get her set up with therapy or whatever they do for kids her age. Just because she’s compartmentalizing it now doesn’t mean it won’t sneak up on her later. Actually, book someone for yourself too.”
“And what about you? Are you finally going to talk to someone? Or are you just going to throw yourself into work like you did when your mom passed away, or when Sebastian cheated on you, or when he released your text messages, or when your dad—”
“Okay, okay. Stop. Yes, I’ll talk to someone too.” I paused before adding, “Eventually.”
“Always with the eventually,” she grumbled.
“I mean it this time.”
Clearly unconvinced, she muttered, “You always do.”
“Give my girl a kiss for me. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I was already halfway to the bathroom when I hit the end button and tucked my phone into the front pocket of the hoodie. In hindsight, it was a wise choice to secure my phone, because I got the jump scare of a lifetime when I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
Dear Lord, I looked like I’d survived a tornado.
No. Strike that. I’d survived a tornado mixed with a hurricane, before being swallowed by an earthquake, only to be shot back out through an erupting volcano. Slight exaggeration, but seriously, only very slight.
My eyes were swollen to narrow slits while the skin beneath them was dark with heavy bags.
My hair was a disaster of frizzy curls and tangled waves that I hadn’t experienced since my mother gifted me my first flat iron in middle school.
While I longed for the peace of the past, that was not the kind of nostalgia I needed.
Leaning into the mirror, I peeled the bandage off my forehead and inspected the newest addition to my face. The cut was still tender to the touch, but thankfully, it was no longer swollen and angry.
If only my heart and mind could heal as fast.
I blew out a ragged breath and spun in a circle.
The bathroom was just as gorgeous as the bedroom—assuming I could forgive the beach invasion.
A shower with dual shower heads took up over half the room, and when I spotted the tall shelf of designer shampoos and conditioners, I had to suppress a moan.
First, I needed to locate this mystery bag of clothes Brooke said she packed.
The house was quiet as I exited the bedroom, but the smell of something burning turned my stomach. I followed the faint sounds of movement until the space opened into a large kitchen. Light flooded in through the impressive floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.
I stopped when I saw Devon standing at the white marble countertop. He was dressed casually in jeans, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. Even from behind, I could tell his hair had been meticulously styled.
“Morning,” he said, without ever turning to face me.
“Morning,” I replied.
He finally turned my way, his expression neutral. “You want a bagel?”
“Not if that’s what’s on fire.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure the toaster has settings below Satan’s lair.”
Surprised, I stared at him. Apparently, his clothing choice wasn’t the only thing casual about him that day. “Was that…a joke?”