Chapter 9 #2
The sight of Noelle bleeding makes my voice go rough. “I thought you were going to wear a glove in the shower,” I say. “That’s why I grabbed some extras from the diner. So your hand wouldn’t start bleeding again.”
Noelle’s chin takes on a defiant jut. “I tried. But I couldn’t wash my hair with it on. And anyway, the cuts aren’t that bad. They only bled a little.”
Even a little isn’t okay in my book, but I’m smart enough to know that now isn’t the time to argue. Instead, I wrap my arm around her waist and head over to the couch. “Sit. I’m going to put new bandages on.”
She remains standing. “The Band-aids are fine, Webb.”
But I’m already grabbing the first aid kit I brought in from my car.
Because no self-respecting security expert goes anywhere without an extensive medi-kit, just in case.
I might not be a medic, but I’m trained in CPR, rescue breathing, applying a tourniquet correctly, stitching up a wound, and even setting up a field transfusion.
“They’re not fine,” I retort. Then I gently tug Noelle onto the couch beside me.
I put her hand on my lap and carefully remove the Band-aids, then use an antiseptic wipe to clean the exposed cuts.
To my relief, my initial assessment still holds true—they don’t appear to need stitches, and should hopefully heal without scarring.
My jaw clenches again at the mere thought of a scar on Noelle’s small hand.
Breathing through a burst of anger, I work to keep my voice calm. “It’s just easier if I do it. And honestly… it makes me feel better.”
Her honey eyes meet mine, wide and questioning. “Why?”
“Because I don’t like seeing you hurt. I wish I could have stopped it. But since I can’t go back in time, this is the only thing I can do.”
“Oh,” she replies softly. “Okay, then.”
Noelle watches me in silence while I apply antibacterial ointment to her cuts and cover them with new bandages. When I’m done, I kiss her palm gently. “There. Now they’re all taken care of.”
She smiles at me, and this time it looks genuine. “Thanks, Webb.”
“Of course.” Rising, I hurry to the kitchen to grab the glasses of juice, then return to the couch and hand one to her. “I thought you might be thirsty. Plus—”
Her lips twitch. “The sugar. Right.”
“My mom would be so pleased to know I’m taking her advice,” I reply. “Either that, or she’d faint from shock.”
Noelle takes a sip of her juice. Then she stares at the glass for a moment before asking, “Did you tell your mom about me?”
It’s so far from anything I was imagining she’d ask, it takes me a second to answer.
“Never mind,” Noelle hurries to add. “I don’t know why I asked that. It’s far too soon to—”
“I did.” And my mom practically lost her shit when I told her. She’s been texting me pretty much every day since, asking how things are going and giving me advice. I have a sinking feeling she’s already making secret plans for my wedding and dreaming about future grandkids.
“I told her about you when we spoke last week,” I explain. “She was thrilled. I think she’d given up on me ever finding someone. And when I told her how amazing you are—”
“She wouldn’t think that if she saw that video,” Noelle says softly. “No mom wants her son dating a woman whose body is all over…” She looks down at her lap. Her chin wobbles.
“Noelle, sweetheart, that’s not true.” I take her glass and set it on the coffee table. Then I pull her into my arms. “My mom would be upset, not because of what she saw, but because it hurt you. Just like I am.”
Tears swim in her eyes as she looks up at me. “I’m so ashamed,” she whispers. “It was bad enough when it was just the texts. But now… everyone saw. I don’t know how I can go back, knowing…”
Ah, shit.
It feels like my heart is caught in a vise, and with every tear Noelle sheds, it wrenches tighter.
I don’t want to ask her about this right now. What I want to do is hold her and murmur reassurances until she stops crying. I want to do anything to take away the look of despair in her eyes.
But that’s only a temporary fix. Which is why I have to ask Noelle the hard questions about the things she’s been hiding.
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” Setting Noelle away from me, I take her uninjured hand as I hold her gaze. “At all. And don’t worry about what happened at the diner. We’ll work it out.”
“But everyone saw. Doug—”
“Doug is worried about you. He called again while you were in the shower, asking how you were. He’s not mad. He’s not going to charge you for the broken dishes. And he’s not going to fire you. Okay?”
She gnaws on her lip. “I’m not sure I can go back,” she admits. “The things I heard people saying. That it was disgusting. That I was disgust—”
“Noelle. No. You are not disgusting. You’re beautiful. And smart. And kind. And anyone who says something negative about you is an asshole of the highest order.”
Noelle stares at me for a second. “An asshole of the highest order?”
“Well. I could think of some other words. But I was trying to watch my language.”
She nods. “Asshole of the highest order sounds okay.”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly as I prepare myself for what needs to come next. “I need to ask you some questions. And I’m really hoping you’ll answer them.”
Noelle sighs. Her shoulders sag. “I didn’t want to complicate things between us. And I was hoping… it would stop. That he would stop.”
All my muscles tense. “Who is he?”
In a small voice, she replies, “Ken. My old boss.”
“The boss you mentioned the night of the barbecue?”
“Yes.” Noelle lets out a shaky breath. “I know I said it wasn’t a big deal. It’s just… we’re still so new. And I didn’t want to drag you into my crappy drama.”
Hurt pricks at me, even though I know I shouldn’t take it personally. After all, we haven’t known each other long—just over a month now—and she’s entitled to keep things to herself. It’s just… I wish she had trusted me enough to tell me.
“I’m sorry, Webb. I thought about telling you. But I wanted to have a good time at the barbecue with you. Meet your friends. Not bring up my gross, obsessive boss and mess up our whole night.”
Noelle’s use of the word obsessive sets my inner alarms ringing. “What do you mean by obsessive? What did he do?”
She goes silent while she takes a long sip of her juice, which I have a pretty good feeling is a delaying tactic.
Finally, she puts the glass back down and says, “It all started about three months ago. I was working late at the theater, so it was just me and Ken still there. Everything was fine—well, mostly fine—until I realized I’d forgotten my phone in the prop closet and I had to go back in to get it. ”
A sick feeling churns in my gut. “Did he touch you?”
She tenses. “Not like you’re thinking.”
I growl, “If he touched you at all without your permission, it’s not okay.”
“I know. I just mean… he didn’t assault me. So if you’re thinking that… it didn’t happen.”
If this fucking Ken is responsible for the video in the diner, I’d damn well consider that assault, too. But I decide to keep that thought to myself for now, instead, asking, “What did happen, then?”
Noelle shudders. “I saw him watching a video. Of me. In my office. Stretching. So my shirt was tight and my stomach… Then he made this sound…”
“What kind of sound?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies quickly.
“I gasped, he heard me, and I confronted him. I knew there had to be a camera hidden in my office, and maybe… Well, I wasn’t sure back then, but I accused him of having cameras hidden around the theater.
” Noelle stops before adding heavily, “In hindsight, I should have just left. Gone home and called the police before Ken had a chance to hide all the cameras.”
Bile rises in my throat. “All the cameras?”
Noelle grimaces. “Yeah. Once he started sending me photos, I realized he had hidden them everywhere. The prop closet. The costume room. The laundry…” She shakes her head.
“He’d send me stills from the videos. In some of them, I was just working.
Others, like the ones in my office, he’d find shots of me changing.
” Defensively, she adds, “I had my own office. Sometimes I’d change my shirt at the end of the day if I got dirty. It wasn’t like I was flaunting—”
“Of course you weren’t. Shit, Noelle. You were in your damn office. Of course you could change in there. You shouldn’t have had to think about it.”
“I know,” she replies. “I know. But sometimes, I wonder… did I do something? Somehow encourage him?”
“Fuck no!”
Noelle startles at my raised voice, which makes me feel like a total ass. “I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “I’m just… shit. I’m pissed. That’s all.”
“Me too,” Noelle says. “When I’m not totally freaked out, I’m pissed, too. Ken didn’t just violate my privacy. He screwed up my career.”
Silently reminding myself not to allow any more outbursts, no matter how angry I am, I ask in a carefully calm tone, “What did he do?”
Noelle takes another deep breath. And after a heavy exhale, she tells me the rest of it.
She tells me about how, in the beginning, Ken tried to convince her to come back. To discuss things, he said, because really, what she saw wasn’t a big deal.
Wasn’t a big deal.
The fucking asshole recorded Noelle without her permission, watched the videos like some sick pervert, and had the nerve to tell her it wasn’t a big deal.
But Noelle stuck to her guns, as she should have, and she called the police. Unfortunately, by the time an officer showed up to investigate, all the cameras were conveniently gone.
“I should have expected it,” Noelle says. “As soon as I refused to come back to the theater, Ken had to know I was going to do something. So, of course, he took all the cameras down. By the time the police arrived, there was nothing to see.”
“What about his computer?” I ask. “The files?”