“Detective Blair,” I said hesitantly as I shook his hand.
“Hi, Eloise. You look like you’re healing well.”
I made a noncommittal sound. I hardly thought I looked much different than I had when he saw me last, and I still felt mostly miserable. But at least I wasn’t flat on my back in a hospital bed. That was a small improvement.
“Would you like to sit down?” Gabriel asked, moving toward the couches, his concerned gaze focused on me.
I gave him a wobbly smile and we all took a seat. Detective Blair laced his hands on his lap. “We arrested the three men who assaulted you.”
I blinked in surprise, a trickle of numbness moving through me. I glanced at Gabriel, who was holding himself stiffly, still looking at the detective, seeming as shocked by the news as I was.
“How …?” I asked, my voice sounding hoarse. I cleared my throat.
“One of the men turned himself in and then named the other two.”
“Oh,” I whispered, recalling the hesitance in the black-haired man’s eyes, remembering as he tried to stop them, though not with much force. I had to assume he’d been the one to turn himself in.
“I have Officer Sherman here with me, waiting outside, and he’d like to administer a photo lineup. Is that okay?” I nodded, swallowing, feeling suddenly ill.
“Okay, good. Just one second. Mr. Dalton, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room with me while Ms. Cates looks at the photos.”
Gabriel gave me a questioning look, but I just nodded at him and watched as the detective went to the front door, where he let in a uniformed police officer. After a quick greeting, Officer Sherman took several photo arrays out of a file and laid them before me individually. I took a deep breath and looked down, my eyes moving from one face to the next.
Guess we’ll just have to take what we want.
Hey, bitch.
“These three,” I breathed, my finger identifying each of them one by one. I felt cold and gripped my icy hands in my lap. I was surprised I’d been able to pick them out so easily. I’d always been good at forgetting the faces of the men I served at the Platinum Pearl. And yet, I could still picture these men clearly. Perhaps it was because the anger they’d inspired—an intensity of which I’d never been able to muster up before—had branded their faces in my brain forever. Or maybe it was because the memory had been very literally beaten into me.
Officer Sherman nodded, picking the pictures back up. “Thank you.”
After the detective and officer had left, Gabriel helped me back to bed, saying softly, “You’re safe.” I realized I was shaking slightly and made an effort to smile and nod. I did feel safe at Gabriel’s house, but it was a reminder that I wouldn’t be there forever.
The next morning, I woke up early, realizing I’d left the shade open the night before. The rising sun was just creeping over the horizon, the room awash in a pale gold hue. I stretched carefully, realizing that, although I was still very sore, it was the first morning I didn’t feel awful. I pulled myself gingerly out of bed, grabbed my crutches, and hobbled to use the bathroom.
After I finished, I brushed my teeth and pulled my hair up into a messy bun. The term messy bun had always been a style choice before; now it was very much a reality. My hair was a complete rat’s nest.
The swelling had gone down on my face, although I still sported several bruises of varying colors. I touched them gingerly, assessing the damage, finally sighing and turning away from the mirror. Not wanting to wake Gabriel, I opened my bedroom door quietly.
As I made my way down the short hallway into the main living area, the rich, delicious smell of coffee hit my nose. I drew in a deep breath. I hadn’t had coffee in a week. I hadn’t had much of a taste for anything specifically except the reduction of my pain. But now, the smell made my mouth water.
The coffeemaker sat on the counter, half-full. I opened the cabinet directly above it and found mugs there, including a travel cup with a lid. After adding a generous amount of sugar from a dish on the counter, I tightened the lid and took a sip, sighing as the strong sweetness filled my mouth.
Limping out of the kitchen with the cup held carefully in one hand, I caught movement outside the French doors and leaned forward to look through the glass. Gabriel was outside, sitting at a table on a large patio, leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced behind his head, his own cup of coffee in front of him.
I hesitated briefly but then hobbled my way outside. At the sound of the door opening, Gabriel turned, looking momentarily surprised before a smile took over his face. He stood, taking my coffee from me. “Hey, good morning. You’re up. How do you feel?”
I set my crutches aside and started lowering myself carefully into the chair next to him. He placed my coffee in front of me and helped guide me into the chair. I sighed when I was finally seated and turned my head to Gabriel. His face was inches from mine, and when our eyes met, his widened, his breath quickening as we locked gazes. I took a big inhale, taking in the familiar scent of him: some subtly manly-smelling soap that brought to mind the woods in winter—cool and piney. I had the sudden thought that I’d forevermore equate that scent with feeling cared for … with the hand that calmed and comforted in the midst of pain.
The idea startled me and left me feeling exposed—though he couldn’t read my mind—and I turned my head away from those soulful hazel eyes holding me suspended. The movement seemed to snap Gabriel back to the moment as well, and he returned to his own chair.
I looked out to the horizon, where the sun was glowing as it rose over the trees. My eyes lingered on it for a moment before I answered the question he’d asked a minute ago. “I feel a little bit better this morning,” I said, breaking the strange tension that had suddenly developed between us.
He smiled. “Good. You look better.”
I let out a short huff before taking a sip of coffee. “Oh yeah, I’m a beauty.” I looked at him, and he was watching me with a small smile on his lips. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I always get up this early. I do my best work in the morning.”
“Your work …”
“I’ve been working in the garage this week.”
“Oh.” Right. I’d almost forgotten he worked at all. A rock sculptor, he’d said. “Can I … see what you do later?”
He glanced at me. “Sure, if you’d like.”
I nodded, taking a sip of my coffee, sighing from the pleasure of it. It was the first time I’d felt really human since that night in the parking lot. I started to push that memory away, but it made me think of what had happened just before, why I’d been so filled with self-hatred. I’d hurt Gabriel and detested myself for it. I’d provoked those men on purpose and ended up … here. With Gabriel. Ironic. I snorted at the cosmic joke.
“What?” Gabriel asked, looking at me briefly and then staring back out at the rising sun.
I studied his profile for a moment—the strong line of his jaw, the shadow of scruff on it. He hadn’t shaved in several days, presumably because he hadn’t left the house. I liked it. “Why did you come when Kayla called you? After what I did to you?” He turned his head, and my eyes darted away, but when I glanced back he was only looking at me thoughtfully, no anger in his expression at the mention of how I’d used Rita to set him up.