Frayed (Connections #4)

Frayed (Connections #4) Page 40

I glance down at his hand and give him a slight smile.

“I think I should call your mother.”

“No!”

My panicked reaction seems to surprise him and he glances over to me. “Hey, you didn’t do anything wrong. You know that. Right?”

“Please don’t tell my family.”

“S’belle, he attacked you. You have to call the police.”

“He didn’t attack me.”

“I saw him.”

“It wasn’t an attack. He would have left me alone.”

“I’m not sure of that and I don’t care what it was. He’s a f**ker!” Ben yells, and slams his hands against the steering wheel.

I flinch.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” He moves his hand to the towel. “Press a little tighter. Okay?”

I do. We both stay silent the rest of the drive.

When he pulls into the hospital, he puts the car in PARK and turns to me. “S’belle, I really think you should call your mother.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right, and pull my phone from my purse where I tucked it when we got in the car. “Will you call her? I’ll just cry and she’ll think it’s worse than it is.”

He nods. “Sure. But let’s get you inside first.”

CHAPTER 27

Counting Stars

Ben

Charlotte and Jack Tyler arrive just as the doctor finishes the last of S’belle’s five stitches, both of them speaking at the same time.

“Bell, darling, are you okay?” Charlotte exclaims.

“What happened?” Jack questions her.

I release S’belle’s hand. “Hey, I’m going to arrange to have someone pick up your car.”

“You don’t have to leave¸” Charlotte says to me.

I give her a slight smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Jack extends his hand and I shake it.

When I get out into the hallway I lean against the wall and bow my head, noticing there’s blood smeared across the corner of my shirt. Tate Wyatt has obviously been harassing her for a while even if she didn’t see it. Who knows what he would have done to her tonight? The situation could have been so much worse. And I accused her of sleeping with him. I take a few more deep breaths and squeeze my eyes shut, cursing my own stupidity.

After a few moments I pull out my phone to call Trent and Caleb and ask them to pick up her car. After explaining what happened and that I tucked the key in the wheel well, I get off the phone and make my way down the hall. Jack is standing outside the door of her room. When he sees me he starts walking my way.

He claps my shoulder, the one without the bloodstains. “Bell told us what happened. I think she’s downplaying it. What did you see?”

“What did she tell you?”

“She said he was drunk and that he didn’t really mean anything by it.”

I stare at him. Eye to eye. Man-to-man. “That could be the case. But he was being forceful with her and she was trying to shove him back.” I can feel my stomach lurching.

His face heats in anger. “Oh, Christ.”

“I don’t know how far he would have taken it. I don’t know if he’s done anything like this before. But I know she was scared even if she won’t admit it.”

Jack runs his hands through his hair. “She’s worried he’s going to press assault charges against you.”

I shrug. “Let him. Let him try to explain why I had to shove him off her to begin with.”

His eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I worry about her, you know. She wants everyone to like her. She wants to make everyone happy. But I never thought this guy was like that. I got her the job, for Christ’s sake.”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know what he’s like. But I saw him with her over the summer and he rubbed me the wrong way. Of course he didn’t push himself on her then.”

He clasps my shoulder again. “I don’t know what you were doing there, but I can’t thank you enough.”

My eyes find his before I respond. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I will make sure Wyatt knows I’m aware of what went down. You can be sure of that.”

“I hope he gets what he deserves—one way or another.”

He bobs his chin toward the room. “Come on, let’s get back in there before Charlotte has a breakdown. The doctors ordered a CT to rule out a concussion.”

“Did they do one?”

“They took her down when I was waiting for you.”

My pulse pounds as concern courses through me. She’s sitting up drinking a small container of apple juice, making a slurping noise, when we enter the room. I feel slightly uneven as I slow and take the last steps toward her bed, but when she smiles at me around her straw, it eases my worry.

“What did the doctors say?” My voice comes out hoarse.

She sets her drink down, but Charlotte answers, “They said there were no signs of a concussion, but they want her to stay awake for at least the next six hours and—”

“Mom, I got all the instructions. You don’t have to repeat each one,” Bell says.

My palms are sweaty and I wipe them on my pants.

“You should come home with us tonight,” Charlotte says.

“I can make sure she gets home,” I blurt out, not wanting to be away from her.

S’belle’s eyes dart to mine.

“If she’d rather be home, I mean,” I add, not certain what she’s thinking.

“Oh, we appreciate that, but I think she needs to be with us.”

“Charlotte, why don’t we go make sure the front desk has the correct insurance information?” Jack takes her hand.

“Oh yes, of course.” Charlotte picks her purse up off the table.

They both leave and I sit beside S’belle on the bed.

S’belle’s eyes search mine. “You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine.”

I take her hand. “I want to stay with you.”

“What if I’m not sure I want you to?”

“S’belle, why do you always to have to fight me?”

“Why did you run into the arms of another woman the night I told you about the baby?”

I blink at her in confusion. “I didn’t. I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

“Tate told me he saw you at Beck’s that night.”

“I did get really drunk and some chick talked to me, but Beck and Ruby brought me home. I swear.”

“So you were going to sleep with her?”

I shake my head as definitively as I can.

She searches my eyes. “Why did you come tonight?”

I draw in a ragged breath. “I wanted to talk to you. No, I wanted to tell you I was sorry, S’belle, sorry for the way I acted when you told me. I was an ass**le. And you were right—I do seem to always think of myself, but I promise . . .”

Her eyes drop to the white sheet on the bed. “Ben . . . we can’t do this. Just go.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Just go home!”

“I can’t do that.”

Her gaze lifts to mine. “Why?”

The question makes me laugh a little, under my breath. I have to think for a moment how to explain my feelings. I lift her chin in my hand. “Some part of me is drawn to you. No matter how long we’re apart, I can’t stop thinking about you. I know you feel it too. And I’m not walking away.”

Silence sweeps the sterile space around us.

She reaches out her neck and kisses me softly on the lips—and the gesture feels like a new kind of kiss, a new beginning.

I smile at her. “So I’m coming home with you.” It’s not a question.

She nods. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

A strange feeling runs through me as I take her hand. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel the connection I always feel when I’m near her grow stronger than it’s ever been.

She pushes some hair from my eyes, and the feel of her fingers on me makes my body burn.

“You have blood all over your shirt,” she says.

I shrug and lean closer to her. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

She takes my face in her hands and pulls me even closer.

“Okay, honey, that’s all set. We can go now,” Charlotte says, walking into the room.

I quickly jump to my feet.

Jack clears his throat.

“Mom, Ben will take me home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Charlotte, Bell is old enough to make her own decisions. She’ll be fine,” Jack reassures her.

Charlotte turns toward me and hands me a bottle. “She’s to take two of these antibiotics a day, plus Tylenol every four hours, she’s not to fall asleep for six hours, and if she feels nauseated she’s to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll take care of her, Mrs. Tyler,” I promise.

She seems surprised. “Charlotte.”

“Charlotte,” I acquiesce.

She steps closer and gives me a little hug, whispering, “Thank you,” in my ear.

I catch her eyes and nod. I see her throat working to hold back the tears. Obviously Jack filled her in.

Jack takes my hand and covers it with his. “You call us if anything happens.”

“I will,” I assure him.

As soon as Bell is dressed Charlotte and Jack walk us to my car and stand in the parking lot watching as we drive away. I did my best to reassure them, but I think the concern goes beyond her head wound. I get that.

We’re both quiet as I drive from Malibu to LA. My thoughts keep flipping back to what might have happened to her if I hadn’t gotten there in time.

“How long has he been harassing you?” I ask because it’s driving me crazy.

She turns toward me. “He wasn’t really harassing me. But ever since I ran into you I think he could sense I was interested in someone and sometimes he’d make inappropriate comments, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

“Inappropriate how?” I ask, my stomach plummeting.

“I really don’t want to think about it. But I promise, today was the first time he actually got physical.”

I shudder at the word physical. The thought of anyone touching her sickens me. I take her hand in mine.

“He wouldn’t have hurt me. I know what you’re thinking.”

I hope she’s right, but it’s over now and we never have to find out. “How about some food?” I say, deciding to lighten the dark conversation.

“I am kind of hungry.”

“Good, because I am too.” I turn and grin at her and then look down at my shirt. “Takeout okay with you?”

“The Kettle has the best broccoli cheddar,” she says.

“You want soup?”

“Yes, when you’re sick you’re supposed to eat soup.”

My head snaps to hers. “Do you not feel well?”

She presses her fingers to her bandage. “I feel fine. You know what I mean.”

I try to control my laughter but feel my shoulders shake. “Sure I do.”

“I can call ahead.”

I grin over at her. “I thought you didn’t eat vegetables.”

Her eyes light up. “Cheese goes with everything.”

This time when I look over at her, I let my laughter fill the car.

CHAPTER 28

Talk Dirty

Bell

While Southern California is being battered by the powerful Santa Ana winds, Ben and I pick up the soups and he takes me to the ridge to look at the city view while we eat.

“Do you believe me about Beck’s?” he asks.

“Strangely enough, I do.”

I place my spoon in my golden cheddar soup deliciously nestled in a bread bowl. “Want to try some?” I ask, pulling the spoon now laden with soup toward my mouth.