Chapter Eighteen
Lula
I’d been present—but not—all during the trip to the clinic, then the ride to the hotel.
But then Raff had to go give me the soft voice. That was it.
The floodgates opened.
And I was pouring.
It felt like it went on forever, my already sore face hurting more with each passing moment as my face contorted, as my tears flowed.
All the while, Raff just held me, ran his hands up and down my back, pressed soft kisses to my temple.
Until, finally, I was wrung dry.
“Well, then,” he said when I was done, forcing his tone to be light. “Now that that’s out of the way. Let’s get you into a bubble bath and fresh clothes, yeah?”
Before waiting for a response, he took off across the space and disappeared down a short hall.
Yes, a hall.
This hotel room had a hallway.
Because it wasn’t just any hotel room; it was a penthouse suite. Which, as far as I could tell, took up half of the upper floor. Meaning, it was enormous.
It looked recently redone, too, with its crazy textures and darker woods—giving it an elevated but cozy vibe that made you want to sink your toes into the plush carpet and curl up on the couch with a book or movie.
There was a whole kitchen with dark wood cabinets and marble counters with brown and gold veins.
The floor-to-ceiling windows let in the lights of Miami, the sky behind it taking on a deep blue that said sunrise wasn’t far behind it.
I walked over toward them, staring out at the town, wondering if Drake was out there somewhere, if he knew his man had failed yet. Would he run? Would I ever be able to find him?
Maybe it had been a pipe dream to think I could have some grand confrontation scene in the first place. What did I hope to accomplish? Even if he had the money, what were the chances that he’d give it back?
“Goddess? I mean, Lula?” Raff called, making me roll my eyes before turning.
Only to find him standing there with a small trash can.
At my pinched brows, he shrugged. “You can ditch the gauze now,” he told me.
“I can’t get your script filled right now, but the club gave me the leftover pills from the last time one of them got fucked up.
I’d like to get one in you before your bath. Get it working so you can sleep.
I leaned over the trash and spat the gauze out, surprised how willing I was to do something like that in front of anyone else.
But, I guess, road-tripping with someone kind of stripped away all those little self-conscious concerns.
It was hard to be perfectly pretty, controlled, and polished when you spent nearly every hour the day with someone.
Raff could handle the less glamorous parts of me.
“How’s it feel?”
“Weird. But it’s not bleeding.”
“Not bleeding is usually the goal. So, will you take the meds?”
“Yeah. I could use some good sleep after tonight. And I don’t think I’d get it without some painkillers.”
“Good. Now, you go on and take yourself into the primary bath. I’ll be there with the meds and some water in a second.
He walked toward the kitchen and I made my way into the primary bedroom—finding more dark wood, cream, windows, and a bed that looked so comfortable I almost wanted to cry again.
Because everything hurt now.
I guess once the emotions were worked through and the adrenaline had eased, I was able to feel every point of contact with the guy’s hands, fists, the pain from where I’d fallen to the hardwood floor.
My whole body felt like a bruise. But my face hurt the worst. And my throat was on fire from the strangulation, making swallowing my own spit feel like shards of glass.
The bathroom was covered in the same tile as the kitchen—looking luxe and inviting. There was a walk-in niche long enough not to require any doors. Then, of course, there was the massive soaking tub that Raff had slowly filling with steaming water.
Sucking in a deep breath, I turned and made my way toward the floating vanity, forcing myself to confront my reflection for the first time.
It wasn’t pretty, but it also wasn’t as horrific as I’d been telling myself it might be.
There were dark rims around both eyes. My cheek was swollen from the trauma to my jaw.
And, yeah, there were marks on my throat from the man’s hands that I was sure would only darken with time.
But, as a whole, it could have been so much worse.
A little carefully applied makeup and some ice and I could probably pass as my usual self.
I was still standing there, staring at myself when Raff came in, placing a glass bottle of water and a pill on the counter beside me before making his way to turn off the water.
I took the pill and set down the bottle again, still staring at myself.
I saw Raff making his way back before he moved in behind me. In the mirror, he sucked in a deep breath, released it, and pressed his chin down on my shoulder.
“You okay?”
“I feel like it should look worse. It felt worse.” My hand lifted to gently trace over my throat.
“Don’t let yourself try to downplay how bad it was just because there isn’t ‘enough’ evidence of it on your skin.”
My head tipped, leaning against his for a second.
Then we stood like that for a long moment or two before Raff’s head turned, pressed a soft kiss to my neck, then straightened and stepped away.
“Take your bath. There are some fresh pajamas on the bed. Can I make you coffee? Tea? A snack?”
“I’m just tired. But thank you.”
“Okay. Take a quick soak. By the time you’re out, the meds should kick in so you can knock out.”
With that, he left, closing the door as he went.
Alone, I stripped and slipped into the bath, feeling the almost too hot water ease the aches in my body.
As my eyelids grew heavy, I climbed out, dried off, put on the robe, then brushed my teeth with the brush and paste supplied, being careful not to touch the spot where I now had no tooth.
On the bed, I found a butter-soft sleep set with a T-shirt and long pants in a pale yellow.
But when I climbed into the bed that felt like a cloud, I couldn’t seem to settle, regardless of how slow and heavy the meds were making me.
On a grumble, I threw off the bedding and did exactly what my heart was begging me to do.
I walked out into the main area, finding Raff lounged on the couch—changed into a fresh tee and some black sleep pants. He looked exhausted but stared blankly up at the ceiling.
I didn’t say anything.
I just walked over to him, reached for his hand, and pulled until he got to his feet and followed me through the living room and into the main bedroom.
“Lu, you okay?” he asked as we got closer to the bed.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I admitted, unable to meet his eyes when I said it.
True to form, Raff made light of what he knew was something difficult for me to admit. This man leapt sideways onto the bed, landing with a bounce, and declaring, “In that case, I’m open for a snuggle.” He threw his arms open wide.
He was so good at that.
Making it easy.
Like he knew it was hard for me to seek solace from someone else. And wanted to ease that discomfort about it.
I turned off the light and slid under the covers before slowly curling into him.
His arms went around me, slowly and gently at first, but then much more tightly as I settled in.
“You know what I think?”
“Mmm?”
I was too distracted to manage more than that. His body was firm and warm. His heartbeat was a metronome against my ear. His arms were an anchor, keeping my negative thoughts from sweeping me away.
“Tomorrow should be full of nothing but food, bed, and movie marathons.”
“That sounds good.” It did, too. A day with nothing to do but eat and relax with Raff sounded like heaven after a night of hell.
“Including romance movies.” At my grumble, a laugh moved through him. “You loved the last one and you know it. Besides, they are the ultimate comfort watches.”
They were also dangerous.
I was already struggling with my feelings for Raff.
Watching a bunch of movies where couples had to overcome some sort of internal or external issue to wind up together?
It felt like that might break down what was left of my defenses and make me admit that the feelings I was having toward Raff felt less like simple attraction and more like something I’d insisted to him just days before that I didn’t think existed.
“You get two movies to try to convert me with.”
“I love a challenge.”
“Raff?”
“Yeah?”
“What did Arty say?”
“We don’t have to talk about that tonight. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I want to know.”
“Okay. Drake is the son of a sweetheart conman. He grew up around this shit. When his old man went to prison, he decided to continue the family legacy.”
“No wonder he was so convincing.”
“Yeah, he was trained his whole life. He went into real estate-type cons. Smaller scale at first, then getting bigger as he got more confident.”
“He was definitely confident.” It was probably what appealed to me the most. If he approached me with even a hint of uncertainty, a single ‘if this doesn’t work,’ I would have run away. But he was so certain. He made it easy to believe him, even if I rarely trusted anyone.
“Then what?”
If I wasn’t so close, I wouldn’t have felt how his body tensed. I wondered for the barest of seconds if he was going to lie to me.
But then he exhaled slowly.
“This is as far as Arty and I got before I got the call from York, so I can’t give you more details than this.”
“Okay.”
“One of Drake’s victims ended up murdered.”
“Huh.”
“Huh? That’s it? Huh?”
“I probably would have been shocked before tonight. But, clearly, he’s not above that kind of thing.”
“Yeah,” Raff said, arms tightening around me.
“Can we figure out more?”
“Absolutely. Maybe not tomorrow. He made it a point to say he’d be busy. But we wanted to binge eat. And you are very excited to watch more romantic movies.”
“Yeah. Me,” I drawled. Though, it was starting to sound really nice.
Raff’s hand started to slide up and down my back, short-circuiting my mind, making all other thoughts disappear.
“There’s a hopeless romantic in there somewhere, I just know it.”
Just this once, I didn’t argue against that.
Because that warm, swelling sensation in my chest? That felt a hell of a lot like the books, movies, and songs claimed.
And I drifted off to sleep before I could convince myself otherwise.