Chapter 25 Lexi
Lexi
But an undeniable spark ignited on the dance floor.
It’s been so long since I had feelings for anyone, and it’s pretty damn obvious Justin is experiencing the same.
I saw the rage in his eyes with Conner. He knew I had things under control last night and still went after him.
This was not Justin helping a woman he thought was getting hurt.
This was Justin, jealous and raging for someone he cares about.
Which has led to a very, very dangerous situation.
Because of these stupid, blurred lines, Justin almost got hurt last night.
Is Conner responsible for charging me? Absolutely.
But am I responsible for blurring the lines so much that Justin felt the need to defend me? Also, absolutely.
I rub my eyes. Mascara flakes cascade down my cheeks, clearly ignoring the multiple face washings from the previous night, and my stomach is sick. I did this. I stumble out of bed, check my blood sugar levels, and select a few eggs.
As the eggs sizzle in the heated pan, I grab my phone, pull up a celebrity news site and my breath hitches. Shit. ‘Justin Greenwood Spotted with New Beauty’, ‘All Eyes on Justin Greenwood and His New Woman’, ‘Is Justin Greenwood Finally Over Willow? Who is this mystery girl?’
I exhale, refuse to acknowledge the fact that we look good together as a couple, and keep scrolling.
The hand-holding pictures from when we entered the club are bad enough, but not entirely unexpected.
I knew when I took this job that the public might draw the wrong conclusion.
But as I eat my eggs and yogurt, my gut twists, scrolling site after site, praying that no one caught a video of Justin fighting with Conner.
Because of me. The relief that the fight and aftermath was in a secluded spot is quickly overshadowed by last night’s events, and my mind wanders.
How the hell did I let things get so out of hand?
Since my divorce, I’ve not been interested in anyone.
For years, I wasn’t sure if I deserved a relationship based on how things ended with Katey.
I’m broken. And part of me thinks Justin could help me heal.
The balm that soothes my shattered soul.
Being around him, opening up, I’m starting to feel …
safe. And I hadn’t even realized I felt unsafe.
After eating, I throw on shorts and a tank, pop in my AirPods and jog down the cement stairs to get outside.
Staggered palm trees nestled on tiny yards flash by, and I pull in the warm morning air through my nose.
No matter how hard I run, I can’t shake what happened.
My stomach grows sicker with each thudding step.
Justin and Conner duking it out was stupid, dangerous, and it’s my fault. Everything’s my fault.
I skip over a large, jagged crack in the sidewalk and round the corner.
I don’t want to quit this assignment, but crossing these lines is not fair to anyone.
It’s been two months without any other stalker incidents besides the pictures and videos.
Last night, a stalker did not put him in danger. I put him in danger.
By the time I pull into the office and get on the mats to work out with Marcus, I’m seething.
‘I’m so over this job. Can the goddamn stalker come out already?
’ I land a brutal sidekick to a bag. Nothing can shake this guttural disappointment in myself.
Even an extra two miles on my jog this morning, while pushing myself to maximum speed, did nothing to relieve the dread.
I’ve contemplated a million sicknesses I could fake to get out of going to work this afternoon.
‘Wow. That’s a lot of aggression this early in the day.
’ Marcus holds the bag against my elbow strike.
‘What happened last night was unfortunate, but you’ve been in way worse situations.
From the debrief, it sounds as if you and Jack handled everything.
Aside from Jack letting Justin outmaneuver him by several minutes, everything was textbook.
And even that, I couldn’t blame Jack. The club is a chaotic, packed, uncontrolled environment. ’
Textbook? Everything was not textbook. Having these feelings, dancing, aching to have Justin’s touch return, is not textbook.
I pummel the bag with a volcanic eruption of hammer punches.
Justin and I playing basketball. Smack. The deep ridge of his torso.
Smack. Opening up after my divorce. Smack.
My lungs burn and I suck in heavy breaths.
Marcus whips the bag back and slaps the sides. ‘Doc, stop.’
Fine. I kick the bag one more time for good measure.
‘Why are you treating this bag like an actual threat?’ He drops the bag and hands me a water. ‘It’s an inanimate object. You’re not practicing your form. You’re just seeing how hard you can land a punch.’
Because it feels good. Because it’s taking my mind off Justin. Because I failed so hard I can’t even look in a mirror! I guzzle the water and stretch my hamstrings. ‘I’m just working out some shit. Ready for the floor?’
Marcus puts his hands on his hips. ‘I need five.’
‘Suit yourself.’ I pick up my gloves and return to the bag.
Laser-focused, I increase my speed and land strikes.
What if Justin had hit his head on the pavement?
What if Conner did? What if I wasn’t actually able to separate them and something worse had happened?
My heartbeat slams against my chest as I drill the bag.
My lungs seize. Dammit. I drop my hands and gulp air, blinking past the dizzying stars. My pulse slows and the throbbing in my veins relax. I point at the floor. ‘Mat time.’
I assume the sparring position. Marcus grabs me from behind, wraps his arm under mine and grips my shoulder. I push with my right leg, grab his arm and torso and flip him on his back.
‘Wow.’ He catches his breath. ‘You’re on fire today.’
He has no idea. I swing out my legs, reposition and focus, then repeat the same move. Fat beads of sweat drip down my forehead, and I swipe them with my shirt. Grab, flip, roll, up. Grab, flip, roll, up. I rush the move, repeating it at a breakneck speed, when Marcus catches my arm.
‘Another break.’
‘Not for me.’ My muscles ache, every limb fatigued and hot. But this is the best I’ve felt since last night. Just a few more hits and I’ll crack this funk. Roundhouse kick after roundhouse kick, my glutes and thighs beg for relief, but I ignore the voice.
‘Lexi. Enough.’
His stern voice and the use of my birth name stops me in my tracks. My chest heaves as I catch my breath. I slump to the floor and pull my knees to my chest.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Marcus asks.
What am I supposed to say? That I’m pathetic for developing a stupid crush on my client and deciding that my need for attention is more important than his safety and my job? ‘This glorified babysitting shit is getting to me. I’m totally burnt out. I think I need to be reassigned.’
I rest my forehead against my knees. Sweat drips down my nose and onto my shorts. How can I explain to my boss, my mentor, one of the people I respect most in this world that I compromised myself?
Marcus sits on the bench beside me. ‘Talk to me. Do you feel threatened? Is he treating you okay?’
Too good. Justin treats me like a friend, like potentially more than a friend, and I let him.
I let him like there’s no ramifications to my actions; I let him like this isn’t so deeply unethical I could get fired; I let him like I haven’t been in a situation where my client was fucking shot.
‘No, no, I’m good. I can take care of myself.
’ I grab another sip from the water bottle. ‘I’m just getting bored.’
‘I get it. Our jobs are a lot of waiting around for nothing’. He nudges me with his leg. ‘Let’s grab a snack.’
I lift to my feet and grab my mitts. ‘I’ll grab one in a sec. I’m gonna stay a bit longer.’
A ringing cell phone catches Marcus’s attention. He scans the screen and frowns. ‘I have to take this.’ He grabs a protein bar from his bag and tosses it at me. ‘Eat.’
I take a quick bite of the bar, then leap up and resume my bag hits. Fierce running, mat work and a punching bag usually provide me with relief, but not today. I go hard for ten more minutes before giving up.
An hour later, my belly tightens as I pull to a stop at Justin’s house.
Getting a molar pulled without Novocaine sounds more enticing than seeing Justin’s face.
He lost a friend because of me. He got into a fist fight because of me.
He could have gotten seriously injured because of me.
Starting today, firm boundary lines need to be drawn.
I rest my head against my seat and will my legs to move.
Jack’s five-minute debrief is uneventful – everything that happened last night we already discussed and wrote a joint report on until two in the morning.
Out of the corner of my eyes, Justin lingers in the sitting room, crossing and uncrossing his arms like an impatient kid.
The second Jack leaves, he beelines to me.
‘Hey, Doc.’ He clears his throat. ‘Can we talk?’
I can’t. Not now, maybe not for a while. This needs to end. ‘Do you feel like you’re being threatened, in immediate danger, or do you have a change in the itinerary today that would compromise your safety?’
He tilts his head. ‘Ah … no.’
‘Then we have nothing to talk about.’ Fine. Not the most mature way to handle my client, but I just can’t. My belly rumbles. I push past him to go to the kitchen to grab a snack.
Justin follows right at my heels. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened with Conner. I would’ve never, ever put you in an unsafe situation.’
‘You didn’t put me in an unsafe situation.’ I drop my lunch bag on the counter with a heavy sigh. ‘I mean, not really. You put yourself in an unsafe situation.’
‘Which … put you in one.’ He crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter. ‘He called last night after our fight. I told him he’s never allowed here again. Him and I are done.’
If there’s any amount of resentment or hesitation that he cut off a fourteen-year relationship, his face doesn’t show it. I should probably thank him or say it wasn’t necessary, or something, but my thoughts are slow, almost slurry.
‘Listen, I …’ He wrings his hands through his hair. ‘Last night, before the whole Conner thing … I should’ve never put you in that awkward position. We should probably talk about what happened.’
He needs to shut up. ‘You’re a client. That’s all. You’re not my friend, and I’m not your therapist. We don’t need to talk about anything.’ I yank open the fridge to add my lunch bag and slam it down on the shelf.
‘Wow. I guess that’s honest.’ He chews the side of his lip. ‘Listen, on the dance floor, I didn’t mean to take it that far. I, um—’
‘Stop. Seriously.’ God it’s so hot in here. Sweat beads pop on my forehead and I swipe them off with the back of my hand. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ What is he not understanding here? Does he really think I want to shine a spotlight on my failure?
‘I saw you guys on the sidewalk and I just saw red, you know. I didn’t know the kind of guy he was, but I should’ve …’
The words swirl like a hazy, thick vapor.
He’s still talking, I’m almost sure of it, but I can’t make out the words.
Conner, and fight, and long time coming and something else.
What? What’s he saying? A cloud of dust beats at my eyes.
I blink away the sensation. ‘I’m so … confused.
’ The room spins, a carousel of walls and appliances and fruit.
Fruit. Eat the fruit. I dig my fingers into the countertop for balance.
‘I mean, I wouldn’t normally call this out to staff, but you, we, we’re more than the whole staff–client thing, right?’
My fingers tremble against the counter. ‘Why are you still talking?’
‘Jesus.’ He winces. ‘Can I finish?’
My head’s detached, lobbing, an egg that someone’s trying to stand upright when gravity wants to push it over. ‘You don’t need … Shit,’ I sputter. Spinning. Everything’s spinning. I’m going to puke. ‘But, ah … my shoes?’
Justin’s panicked face turns blurry, his words incoherent.
My legs are boneless, and I brace against the counter. Fuzzy black and red spots fill the room. I rub a knuckle into my eye. Am I dreaming? ‘… Mom … my shoes, they here?’ My heartbeat jackhammers my head. I want to speak, need to speak, but cotton wraps my tongue.
Hands grab me. ‘Mees got there’s too meesh.’ The counter I’m leaning against no longer holds me. The ground thuds under me as I hit the floor.
Muted voices, hands cupping my cheeks, spots …
so many spots. I’m so tired. Something hard and cold reaches my lips.
Liquid seeps into my mouth. Get away from me!
Stop! The creepy, wet, gremlin ants crawl into my mouth, and I spit them out, slap them away, kill them before they can wriggle down my throat.
The world goes black.