Chapter 14 Episode 14

“I have insurance,” I remind him. He picks up Anton’s phone lying on top of the duffel bag. “This piddly little thing is not going to save you.” “It’s the kingpin’s secret Bat Phone,” I say confidently. “He wants it back.” “Exactly!” Chris says, getting more and more frustrated. “He definitely wants it back. Which means that if he wasn’t going to check up on you before, he absolutely will now.” “And when he does, he’ll realize I’ve stashed it somewhere and if he wants it back, he can’t touch me.” “How long do you think that little plan will work?” I shrug. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.” I head for the door, but Chris steps in to block me. “You’re being way too blasé about all this, J. This is not Law & Order. You are not Mariska Hargitay.” I sigh. “I’m not being blasé, and I don’t even know who that is. I’m just being… realistic. I’m trying to manage this in a way that lets me get on with my life again.” He frowns and squeezes the bridge of his nose, mumbling something under his breath that I choose to ignore. “Look, I know I sound insane right now,” I concede. “But, Chris, what else am I supposed to do? My world blew up two days ago. I need to find a new normal. The thought of getting back to some kind of normal is the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now.” His expression softens a little. “You’re better off without that motherfucker. Or, you know, maid-of-honor-fucker.” I smile sadly. “You saw through Dane from the beginning, didn’t you?” Chris nods. “I probably should have said something sooner, but the truth is I just assumed you’d realize what a scumbag he was and end things before I ever needed to say anything. And then it just got to be too late to butt in.” “Well, you severely overestimated how smart I am.” He shakes his head. “You were in love.” “I thought I was,” I correct. “Not sure if that’s the same thing.” “Either way, you figured it out before you walked down the aisle. I know that doesn’t sound like much of a consolation—” “Actually, it does,” I say. “The timing was… uncomfortable, to say the least. But at least I don’t have to deal with a messy divorce. It’s cleaner this way.” Chris nods. “Can’t argue with that.” “I never did apologize to you,” I say quietly. “No, I’m serious,” I say, holding up my hand. “I need to get this out. Back when we got engaged, I was really upset at the way you reacted. And I said some things.” He shrugs and runs his fingers through his hair. “You were hurt.” “I was wrong,” I say firmly. “I should have listened to you.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Water under the bridge.” “Even after all the months of silence?” I ask. “The fact that I didn’t even invite you to the wedding?” “All of it,” Chris says confidently. I shake my head. “You’re a better person than me, Chris Eckhart. I don’t think I could forgive a friend who treated me the way I treated you.” “Yes, you could. And you wanna know why?” “Because our friendship is real, Jessa. It’s not that bogus s**t you had with Salma.” I nod, barely holding tears at bay. “She was just a place-filler, you know. Because I couldn’t have you there.” I walk forward and force a hug on him. He stiffens for a moment before he wraps his arms around me and hugs me back. “I… I really wish you’d just stay,” he murmurs into my ear. “I’ve disrupted your life for long enough,” I insist. “I can’t hide out here forever. And anyway, I don’t want you involved any more than you have to be. It’s bad enough I’m stashing the phone here with you.” Chris presses the phone to his chest. “I’ll keep it safe.” “I have no doubt,” I tell him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for everything, Chris.” “I’m just gonna change out of these absurd shorts real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair.” I duck into his bathroom and quickly swap out the pajama set for the only other adult-ish outfit I have on hand, which is the blue slip dress Anton gave me. I feel weird putting it on—as if I needed any more reminders of The Medusa or its owner—but I shove that feeling into the little black hole in my heart where unwelcome thoughts go to die. Then I step back out. Chris is holding the front door open for me. I give him another peck on the cheek and head out, the little duffel bag he lent me slung over my shoulder. I take the back entrance out of Chris’s building just to be safe and walk two blocks away before I call an Uber. It only takes fifteen minutes to get back home. When I see the familiar gray building, I feel a warmth spread through me. Despite everything, it feels good to be back. The forty-eight hours of distance from what happened on the yacht has done wonders to help calm me down. But as I step out onto the curb of my building, I realize that a lot of it had to do with the comfort of Chris’s company. Without him next to me, the city feels bigger and emptier and windier. “Buck up, J,” I tell myself in a bad imitation of Chris’s calm voice as my eyes slide down the familiar street. There’s no one around. A few cars with registration decals for the apartment complex parked along the street. A man walking his dog at the bottom of the shallow slope. A trio of pigeons bobbing and babbling beneath a street sign that reads Henning Street. I shudder at the memory of Anton reciting my address to me. That feeling of being seen in every possible way. Stripped naked, made vulnerable. It’s a hard one to get rid of. I shake my head and straighten up. Other than pigeons and pedestrians, there doesn’t seem to be much going on. A typical Monday night in a quiet part of the city. I let myself into the building and walk up the stairs to the third floor. It’s dark at first, but the moment I step onto the landing, the sensors catch my movement and the lights turn on. It makes me jump and stifle a scream for reasons I can’t quite explain. Maybe I’m not as relaxed as I keep telling myself I am. I put my head down, hustle to my door, and jam the key into the lock. It doesn’t turn at first, but before I can worry, the rusty tumblers give way and I go stumbling into my apartment. I close the door behind me, lean against it, and let out the breath I’ve been holding. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. The duffel in my hand falls to the floor with a soft thump. My apartment is exactly how I left it. Small, neat, open swoop of living room melting seamlessly right into the kitchen. Down a short hallway, my bedroom and bathroom await, promising a hot shower and as much sleep as I can possibly get. Usually, there would be mail stacked on the counter, an old coffee cup next to the sink, and my collection of polishes on the coffee table so I could paint my nails while I watch TV. But it’s all tidied away. I’d wanted to enter my new life as Mrs. Dane Dempsey with as little clutter as possible. Now, I’m just going back to what I’ve always had. Somehow, it’s not as depressing as I feared it might be. I sigh and start to head towards my couch so I can collapse face-first into a dreamless coma, but before I get far, I hear footsteps right outside my door. I stop and turn my ear to the sound. A second later, the door handle twists. “Oh God!” I gasp, jerking back. He’s here. I know it. Anton or one of his minions has been waiting for me. Why did I take that phone? Why did I think it was a good idea to steal from a Bratva don? Chris was right—he’s going to bust in here and slice me up and make me scream until I tell him everything and beg for his mercy and then he’ll— I pause. That is definitely not Anton. The voice on the other side of the door is distinctly female and distinctly not-Russian. There’s a scraping sound that suggests that whoever it is is trying to force a key into my lock. “Come on, dammit,” the slurred voice says again. I catch a whiff of an accent. Scottish, maybe? I creep towards the door and take a quick look through the peephole. The image is cloudy, but I can make out the figure of a petite woman with dark hair. She looks innocent enough, although I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to listen to my instincts in that department for a long, long time. I unbolt the door and open it. The woman almost falls right on top of me, but she manages to catch herself in time.