One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) (18 page)

We all look at her.

“I will pray for you,” Lila tells her very seriously.

I snort.

“What are we talking about?” Phoebe asks, returning to the table loaded down with three different kind of cupcakes and two iced lattes balanced in her hands.

“Getting some,” Gemma informs her cheerfully, snagging a chocolate cupcake off the plate.

“Oh, Nate gives it to me on the regular,” Phoebe informs us happily.

“Fine! Whatever!” Shelby crosses her arms over her chest. “So, I’m the only celibate one. Fabulous.”

“Have a cupcake,” Lila suggests.

Shelby looks aghast. “Oh yeah, an extra five hundred calories that’ll go straight to the cellulite on my ass will certainly help matters.”

“Wait…” Phoebe pauses mid-bite, her large red velvet cupcake poised in the air, and glances at me. For a second she looks elated… but then her face contorts into a nauseous twist. “That means you and Parker….
Oh
. I don’t know whether to be happy or grossed out.”

“A little of both,” Gemma says around a massive mouthful of chocolate.

“That was supposed to be for Zoe,” Phoebe tells her sister.

“I can’t help it.” Gemma licks her lips. “I’m starving today.”

There’s a beat of silence before they all explode. I feel utterly confused as every other woman at the table except Gemma starts bouncing in her seat and practically squealing.

Gemma looks at me and rolls her eyes.

“Dog whistle?” I ask.

She laughs. “They do this every time I eat anything in front of them. They all think I’m pregnant.” She glares at her friends. “Which I am
not
. For the record.”

The squealing stops.

“So…” Phoebe looks at me. “Guess this means you’re officially part of the fam, Tink.”

I blanche. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just sex.”

Gemma looks thoughtful. “I doubt that. If it was just sex, you wouldn’t be here trying to befriend his crazy family.”

My mouth opens; I search for a reasonable explanation and come up empty.

“You like him!” Phoebe starts bouncing in her seat again. “This is the best day ever.” She pauses. “Well, no, best day ever included Nate taking my virginity. But this is a close second.”

“Wait,” I protest. “Just—”

It’s no use. Phoebe is on a roll.

“This is great. Parker’s finally in love.” She sighs happily. “Do you realize what this means?”

“Phoebe, just—”

She cuts me off. “Parker will finally settle down and stay here! He’ll actually be around!
Permanently
!”

“That would be pretty awesome,” Gemma chimes in.

“So, Tinkerbell lands the man-child.” Lila shakes her head. “Impressive. I didn’t think it was possible, after the nonstop bimbo parade we’ve had to watch for the past two decades.”

My throat feels like it’s closing.

What is wrong with this family?

Why do they insist on doing everything at hyper-speed?

“It almost won’t be the same, without the Victoria’s Secret models to mock on a regular basis,” Chrissy murmurs. “Who will make us feel bad about ourselves, without Parker’s stream of skanks?”

“Should we send out a memo?” Shelby wrinkles her nose. “ATTENTION, slutty Instagram girls everywhere: Parker West is officially off the market.”

I can’t breathe
.

“This is just so exciting!” Phoebe claps. “Parker is in love. All is right in the world.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Lila drawls.

“Do you think—”

My hands slam down on the tabletop, cutting off Gemma’s statement.

“STOP!” I yell, heart pounding too fast. Everyone looks at me with alarm, including the two couples at other tables across the cafe.

“Sorry,” I say much more softly. “But please… just stop. You don’t understand.” I swallow hard. “Parker and I haven’t even talked about this. For all I know, he’s leaving tomorrow.”

Phoebe’s face contorts into a concerned mask. “Oh, Zoe, I’m sure—”

“I’m sorry.” I push back my seat and rise to my feet. “You all seem very nice. But don’t pin all your hopes and dreams on me for keeping your brother around. As far as I know, him dating me, seeing how fucked up I am? That could be the thing that makes him leave here for good.”

With that, I turn and walk out — away from the women who’ve offered me their friendship, away from the first real shot I’ve ever had at a female support system, away from something that, for all intents and purposes, would be a good thing. A great thing, even.

The saddest part is, as I let the cafe door click closed at my back, I know it’s fucked up.

I know
I’m
fucked up.

But recognizing a problem and actually changing it are two entirely different beasts.

I wander down the street, ignoring the buzzing of my phone and feeling more alone than I have in a very long time.

See
, a tiny voice whispers at the back of my mind.
This is what happens when you let people in. It gives them power over you.

You’re better off without them.

A lone wolf.

Retracting your claws and playing nice for a day doesn’t make you one of the dogs. You’re just as dangerous as you’ve always been.

They don’t need someone like you in their lives.

No one does.

As hard as I try to drown out that voice, I can’t seem to muffle it as I walk through the park toward my apartment, eyes unseeing and feet on auto-pilot.

Maybe that voice is right.

Maybe I’m better off alone.

S
ometime during my walk home
, the skies open up.

It’s just a drizzle, at first, but it quickly turns to a downpour and before I know it, I’m soaked through from the Toms on my feet to the heavy mane of my hair, dripping steadily down my back.

Boston isn’t a big city — that’s one of the things I love about it. No matter where you are or where you need to go, for the most part you can get around on foot in less than an hour.

Somehow, I turn what should be a twenty-five-minute walk through downtown into a four-hour trek.

I wander alone through the streets — cold, wet, shivering — until I’ve walked from the North End down through Back Bay, over the foot bridge to Seaport. By the time I finally circle back to my neighborhood, the temperature has dropped with the sunset, turning rain to sleet and sleet to snow.

I trudge through a slushy puddle, barely feeling the icy water through my thin shoes. Rounding a corner, my building comes into view, its sagging profile dimly illuminated by snow-covered street lamps.

There’s an edge of panic in my thoughts.

Maybe it’s the timing, maybe it’s the lonely feeling inside my gut, maybe it’s the damn snow falling on a street the day before the anniversary of my parents’ murder. I don’t know, exactly. But paranoia settles over me as flurries coat the shoulders of my jacket. Whispers from the back of my mind say I’m being followed, stalked by some unseen predator.

The thoughts are absurd — every time I glance back, I’m alone on the desolate streets. No one is out in this weather. Especially in my neighborhood.

Pull yourself together.

When I finally reach my door, I’m shaking from more than just the cold. My mind feels as numb as my frozen body. I’m reaching for the entry panel to punch in the security code, willing my blue fingers to cooperate, when something slams into me from behind.

Hard.

I’m not a big woman. Most people would call me petite, and they’d be right. It doesn’t take much force to lift me or send me flying. So I know it’s intentional when a palm lodges between my shoulder blades and shoves me up against the brick wall of my building like a bug against a windshield.

The impact forces all the air from my lungs. My scream comes out as a rasp, barely echoing in the snow-dampened air. Hauling in a breath, I try again but a giant hand clamps over my mouth and muffles my cries before any sound escapes.

“Shut up,” a deep, unfamiliar voice growls by my ear.

I feel my eyes moving frantically inside their sockets, whites flashing with fear as his body presses into my back. I’m flattened so tight I can barely draw a breath through my nose. His grip has constricted all air flow and I feel myself starting to get light-headed, the longer I go without a proper breath.

I struggle against his hold, but it’s no use. My thrashing limbs are no match for the strength in his. He’s too strong.

My struggles cease completely when I feel the razor-sharp edge of a knife press into the hollow point at my throat. The blade cuts into the thin skin at my jugular, precariously close to my carotid. The slightest slip and I’ll bleed out into the snow.

Just like my parents.

The pressure increases fractionally, slicing into my flesh, and I feel a stream of warmth against my chilled skin as a rivulet of blood starts to drip down my neck, into the collar of my jacket.

If I could speak, I’d tell him to take anything. Everything.

Money.

Phone.

Purse.

Laptop.

Anything
.

But there’s no way to tell him that with his hand over my mouth. There’s no way to form words or even coherent thoughts as panic overrides my system, blending reality with memory. Flashes of another night are seeping into my consciousness — fragments of another time, almost twenty years to the day, when blood ran red into the snow.

I can’t block them out. Can’t separate
then
from
now
.

The man shifts closer, knife tightening against my skin.

I’m five again, clutching my bouquet as though the petals can protect me from the stranger in the dark.

Blood drips faster. My lungs are scream for breath.

Or is that a woman screaming?

The man at my back shifts closer. “Don’t fight me.”

“Run, Zoe!” My mother’s hands, pushing me to safety. “Run, honey, run!”

His mouth scrapes my earlobe. His breath is hot against my frigid skin. “Listen. You listening, bitch?”

“Run, baby!”

His knife shifts.

Or is it a gun? A black, blunt weapon, firing in the dark. One, two, three, four, five, six shots. First Dad, then Mom as I duck between two parked cars.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The growling voice is back. “But I will.”

People rush outside, drawn by the sounds of gunfire. The man stops chasing me before they spot him. Vanishes into the dark.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop digging.”

A stranger in a uniform pulls me from between the cars. Picks me up, puts a hand over my eyes.

“You’re messing with the wrong people. Powerful people.”

He tries to block my view, so I don’t see them there, butchered in the snow. But between cracks in fingers, over shoulders, under flashing ambulance lights… I see the blood and I know. They’re gone.

“You want to make it through this Christmas, don’t go back to the fucking factory. Don’t send any more of your boyfriends there. You hear me, bitch?” The knife presses in again. “Nod so I know you hear me.”

Mommy. Daddy. Gone.

“I said
nod
if you hear me, bitch!”

I try to nod, but the world is going black around the edges. I can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t see.

They’re gone.

“Good.” The knife pressure lessens slightly. “You tell your damn boyfriend to stay away. Stay out of it. Make sure he knows, he tries anything, you’ll pay the fucking price.”

Gone
.

Then, before I can turn to get a look at him, the weight at my back vanishes and he disappears. I fall to the ground, gasping for air, my eyes pressed tight closed as I curl into a ball in the snow.

Weeping.

Bleeding.

Remembering
.

A voice in my head is telling me to get up, to call for help, to go inside so I don’t die here from frostbite and exposure… but it’s faint. And it’s getting farther away by the second, replaced by much darker thoughts that whisper maybe I should’ve died with them, all those years ago.

They’re gone.

Maybe you should be, too.

I curl in on myself a little tighter.

Feel the shadows close in a little darker.

And for the first time since I was five years old… I stop fighting.

“
N
o
, no, no, no, no. Zoe! Goddammit, Zoe, open your eyes!” Arms are sliding around me. Lifting me from the snow. Cradling me tight against a chest. “Honey, look at me! Are you still with me? Fuck!”

The voice sounds desperate. Almost shattered. There’s something about hearing that voice breaking on words, filled with worry and panic, that makes me sad.

His voice was made for laughter and light. He shouldn’t ever sound sad.

I can’t focus on much of anything as I shiver and shake in a set of strong hands, hands that feel like fire against my cold skin. There are more words, but I’m slipping in and out of consciousness, barely able to hear over the rush of blood inside my aching skull.

“Nate? It’s Parker…”

We’re moving. He’s holding me one-handed like some kind of superhero and muttering frantically into his phone. I only catch some of what he’s saying.

“…snow… blood… shivering… skin is fucking blue… like ice… Luca… okay… see you soon.”

I hear the distant clanging of my ancient elevator. Feel the warmth of a man’s mouth at my ear, the pressure of his big hands on my back as he whispers words into my neck. I know, even in my disoriented state, that he’s not talking into the phone anymore. He’s talking to me.

“I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you.” There’s a pleading note in his voice. “Don’t you fucking leave me. Didn’t even know what I was looking for, until I met you, Zoe. I didn’t even think it was possible to feel like this about someone. So you stay with me, okay?
Stay
.”

I open my mouth to tell him I’m still here, that I won’t leave him, that he makes me feel more alive than anyone I’ve ever met, that his presence is enough to remind me why living in this brutal, ugly world is worth it, despite the pain and the heartbreak…

I find I can only manage one word.

“Parker.”

My murmur is so quiet it barely makes it past my numb lips. But he must hear me, because his arms crush me a little tighter against his chest and I hear his voice crack with emotion again when he says, “That’s right, Zoe. I’m here. And I’m not ever letting you go.”

The last thing I feel before I slip unconscious once more is his mouth ghosting over mine in a kiss that feels like a promise.

W
hen I finally wake up
, I’m in my bed. Every lamp in the loft is lit, basking the space in light as if to banish the shadows outside. Blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness, I hear several voices nearby, speaking in low whispers. The hostility in their tones is apparent despite the controlled volume.

Beneath the mound of blankets swaddled around my body, my hair is wet. They must’ve put me in a warm shower, at some point, but I don’t have any memory of that. Nor do I recall putting on the pair of yoga pants and sweater covering my limbs, which means they probably dressed me.

I don’t have the energy to feel embarrassed that any number of people potentially saw me naked.

There’s a bandage of some kind stuck to my neck, taped over the spot where my assaulter’s knife dug into my skin. It’s sticky and uncomfortable, placed at the point where my jaw curves beneath my ear, and I plan on removing it as soon as I can find my way out of the stack of blankets pressing me into the bed.

The voices are angry, biting words at each other in clipped, quiet tones.

“…maybe we should take her to the hospital…”

“…think I know what she wants better than you do, rich boy…”

“…need to focus on whoever attacked her…”

I can barely move, what with the seventy-five blankets on top of me, but I somehow struggle into a sitting position. The conversation across the loft goes silent instantly as the three men notice my movement and stride to the side of the bed.

Parker, Luca, and Nate.

They’re wearing identical expressions of anger and concern as they approach.

Parker reaches me first, settling in on the bed at my side and wrapping an arm around my back with such care, you’d think I were made of glass. Luca comes around my other side and stands by the edge of the bed, looking down at me with a mix of disapproval and worry. Nate stops at the footboard with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes locked on my face, hyper-alert and highly intelligent.

“Hi,” I croak, attempting to smile at the trio of badasses surrounding me.

They all frown deeply.

I sigh and feel Parker’s arm tighten around me. “Are you okay?” he asks intently.

“I’m fine.”
I think
. “How long was I out?”

Parker’s expression is still worried. “A few hours.”

“Babe.” Luca shakes his head. “Scared us.”

“What happened?” Nate asks.

I look up at the dark-haired investigator, straight into his black eyes, and feel my throat clench. Nathaniel Knox is
intense
. It’s miraculous to me that a man like him could love a woman like Phoebe, who can’t go ten seconds without cracking a joke.

Sometimes I guess two people really do complete each other — the jagged, broken pieces of their souls aligning perfectly, to create an undamaged whole.

The thought makes a fluttery, uncomfortable feeling stir inside my stomach.

“Zoe.”

Parker’s voice pulls me back to reality, and I realize I’ve been spacing out.

“Sorry.” My voice feels raspy and sore, so I swallow and try again. “I was walking home. It started raining, then snowing. I kept feeling like someone was following me, but every time I looked back I was alone on the street. And then… he grabbed me right when I reached the doors.”

They don’t interrupt. They just watch me in silence, waiting for me to finish.

“I never saw his face. He was big. Strong. Southie accent. That’s all I know.” I swallow again. “He had a knife. He — he put it to my throat so I couldn’t struggle.”

The air gets a little tense, when I say that. Parker’s arm tightens again.

“And…” I dart a glance at Luca. “He said…”
Breathe.

“What?” Nate prompts softly. “What did he say, Zoe?”

“He said to stay away — to tell my boyfriend to stay away. And to make sure he knows if he tries anything, I’ll pay the price.”

Before I can explain, Luca’s rounded the bed, grabbed Parker by the lapels of his button-down, and hauled him to his feet.

“
What the fuck did you do?
” he hisses.

“Go on, just give me an excuse to hit you,” Parker returns, his voice vibrating with anger. “Please.”

“Luca!” I yell, jumping to my feet –
ouch,
every bone in my body aches like I’ve been hit by a truck – and pushing my way between them. “Stop!”

Thankfully Nate is there to intervene, because there’s literally no chance of them listening to me. Emotions are running too high for either of them to see reason, at the moment.

“Come on,” Nate says, shoving the men apart with a rough jab to both their chests. “This really how you two want to play this? Upsetting Zoe even more, after what she’s been through?”

His words snap the two brutes out of it — they back off, but still eye each other with wary glares and angry expressions, each ready to go for the jugular at the slightest provocation.

“Knew you were terrible for her,” Luca mutters darkly. “Should’ve stopped it. Should’ve locked her up until she forgot about your stupid ass.”