Romi
"Well," Dad muttered when Sketch was gone. Rubbing his jaw, he stared at the closed hospital room door and sighed. "At least he's back to being civil again."
"Yeah," I breathed, instantly on edge again.
A wave of unease swept through me, the prospect of being alone with my father and Victoria more unnerving than it should be.
This was my father, the man I loved and adored my whole life, a man who had never laid so much as a finger on me, and I couldn't relax around him. I couldn’t trust a single soul. Not with Chris's words of warning on a constant loop in my mind.
The events of his final night on earth burst to the fore point of my mind, and unlike every other time I thought about that night, I didn’t automatically force the memory away and block it out. Instead, I pushed myself to open my heart up to a tsunami of pain and remember…
"I need to leave, babe," Chris announced out of thin air as he tapped furiously against the screen of his phone.
With his brows knitted in concentration, he shook his head and tapped out what I could only assume was a text message before shoving his cell into his pocket.
"Something's come up," he added, meeting my panicked eyes. "I need to go right now."
"Go?" I squeaked out, dropping my spoon in my soup bowl. "Go where?"
"Stay here," was all he replied. "Wait for me to text you. If you don’t hear from me in one hour, I want you to call Presley to come get you."
My mouth fell open. "What?"
"Smile," he whispered, offering me a megawatt smile of his own. "Just keep smiling."
"What's this about, Chris?" I demanded, mortified when he rose from his seat and shrugged on his jacket. "Oh my god, you can't just leave me here on my own," I whisper-hissed, leaning across the table to clasp his hand in mine. "Don’t do this."
We were sitting in Chez Wrabel, one of the most up-scale Italian gourmet restaurants in Lake Charles. It was over an hour's drive from Pocketful to the city and it had taken months for Chris to get us a reservation without mentioning his father's name. It was our one-year anniversary, the day before Christmas Eve, and my boyfriend was fixing to leave me here on my own, surrounded by romantic candlelight and loved-up couples.
"Just do what I told you to," Chris replied, smile still firmly in place. Slipping his hand from mine, he rounded the table and leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek. "Don’t follow me. Stay right here until I contact you, okay?"
"No," I choked out. "It's not okay."
"Romi, please, come on," he sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "Don't make an issue out of this –"
"No, you come on," I argued, craning my head back to glare up at him. "You can't take me to a romantic restaurant for our anniversary and then expect me to sit tight while you run off to do God knows what."
"I'm not doing that." He smiled down at me, but it was forced. "Just trust me."
"No," I growled back, folding my arms across my chest. "Stay and I'll trust you."
My feelings of insecurity since my breakup with Sketch still crippled me, and watching Chris up and leave during our anniversary dinner only caused my emotions to spaz out of control.
"If you walk out that door, don’t expect me to be here when you get back," I warned shakily, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. "Because I'm not going through this again." My breath hitched in my throat and I quickly swallowed down the Sketch-shaped lump forming before forcing all thoughts of him to the back of my mind. "I mean it, Chris. Walk out that door and we're done. I'll call a cab and leave."
He continued to grin like a maniac. "That's not what's happening here."
I arched a brow. "Isn't it?"
Releasing a pained sigh, he crouched down beside my chair and took my face in his hands. "Look at me, babe."
I shook my head, not wanting him to see the tears in my eyes.
"I know you've been burned." Another sigh escaped him. "Badly. But I'm not him, okay?" he said softly. "I'm not my brother. I won't do anything to hurt you or put our relationship in jeopardy."
"Then stay," I begged, locking eyes with him. "Don’t leave me here."
"Ro, you know I would if I could," he whispered, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb. "You know how much I love you, babe."
I didn’t say it back, I never said it back – not because I didn’t feel it, but because what I felt for him was a watered-down version of the love I was capable of giving, and Chris didn’t deserve half my heart. "Please stay, Chris."
"Okay, I'm gonna tell you something and after I'm done, I want you to kiss me and smile." He continued to stroke my cheek as he spoke. "No matter how it makes you feel, you need to give me a killer smile, 'ya hear?"
I frowned. "Wh-what?"
"Just kiss me and smile," he urged, keeping a smile etched on his face. I could see right through it though. A lifetime spent together meant that I could see the fear in his blue eyes. "And no more tears, babe. Look happy. Look like you're having the best damn night of your life."
"Why?"
"Because we're being watched," he replied with that easy smile still firmly in place. "Smile, babe."
"W-watched?"
"Smile, Romi."
I did. Panicked, I slapped on my biggest smile. "By who?"
"See those men at the table behind me?" he said, leaning close to graze his lips against the corner of my mouth. "In the far corner. There's four of them."
In panic mode, I pecked him back and flicked my gaze to the table at the back of the restaurant.
Sure enough, a group of finely dressed men took up a table.
"I see them," I squeezed out, breathing quickening. "Oh God, I see them, Chris."
"Good girl, now look away," Chris instructed softly, keeping his lips on mine. "Don’t let them catch you staring."
To the outside world, we looked like a young couple in the throes of a tender embrace, when the truth was anything but.
"Why are they watching us?" I breathed, flicking my gaze to his, eyes wide and full of fear. "What did we do?"
"You didn’t do anything, Ro. They've been shadowing me," he explained. "Trailing and following me around."
"All night?" I strangled out, feeling my pulse flutter wildly in my neck. "Why?"
"For a few days now," he confirmed, tone grim but expression deceptively light. "Remember when you told me that you thought Vic-whore-ia was stepping out on your dad?"
I nodded.
"Well, I found something."
"About Victoria?"
"I wish." He sighed heavily. "No, babe, I found something else." He grimaced before confessing, "Something worse."
"Oh my God, what?"
"Don't you think it's strange that we live there?" he asked then.
"There?"
"Pocketful," he urged. "Don’t you think it's strange that our parents chose to raise us in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?" He shook his head and blew out a frustrated breath. "I mean, come on, Romi, our fathers are important people. They're successful and rich beyond most men's wildest dreams. They have businesses running the length and breadth of the United States, so why are they living in a town that hasn't progressed beyond the seventies? Why not live in Lake Charles or some other city? Why Pocketful, Romi?"
"I don’t know, Chris," I practically whimpered. "I've never thought about it."
"Well, I have," he replied quietly. "A lot."
"What's going on?" I demanded, fear clawing at my throat. "Tell me!"
"I can't explain it right now – I'm not even sure I can explain it at all," he replied. "All you need to know is that I got cocky, went digging around in shit I wasn’t supposed to, and uncovered something I had no business discovering."
"About my dad?"
He didn’t respond right away and that caused my panic to spiral out of control.
"Chris, what about my dad? What did you find? Is he okay?" Daddy had money. Lots of it. Dread filled my heart. "Oh my God, are those men coming after my dad? Is he in danger?"
"He's fine, I promise," he quickly assured me. "And no, they're only looking for me."
"Jesus Christ, Chris," I sobbed. "What did you do?"
"I told you. I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong and discovered something." Chris shrugged. "Something those men were sent to make me forget."
I visibly flinched. "Make you forget how?"
"I'm not sure yet," he replied calmly. "Which is why I need to leave." He pressed another soft kiss to my lips. "You need to let me go, Romi. It's the only way I can keep you out of this."
"No, no, no –" Smothering a sob, I clutched his forearms and held him to me. "Don’t go outside. They'll follow you."
"I know," he whispered. "That's what I want."
"Chris –"
"Romi, you need to listen to me and stay here where there are witnesses. You're safe in a crowd," he instructed sternly. "I'll lure them outside and lose them. I've been doing it for days now and they haven't caught me yet. And then I'll come back and get you, okay?"
"Chris, no!" I shook my head. "We need to call our parents."
"No," he growled and the anger in his voice stunned me. "Don't call them."
"What?" My eyes bulged as terror seized me. "Why the hell not?"
"Because we can't trust them," he bit out, eyes hardening into slits of blue steel.
My world stopped spinning. "Are you saying that our parents are involved in this?"
"I'm saying that nothing about Pocketful is as it seems, and nobody can be trusted," he replied. "Not a goddamn soul, 'ya hear?"
"But, but, but…" I let my words trail off and exhaled a ragged breath. "What about Sketch?"
Chris's eyes flashed with pain. "Sketch is safe. He and Presley are about the only two people I'm sure we can trust. But you can't tell Sketch about any of this."
"Why? Is he in danger, too?" My heart jackknifed in my chest. "Oh my God, are they following him, too? Is this about money? Are they after our fathers' fortune?"
"No, they're not after Sketch and I need it to stay that way," Chris ground out. "No matter what happens, he is kept out of this. I don’t care what happens to me, Romi, but my brother is not to be dragged into this."
"But we need help," I squeezed out. "Sketch can help you, Chris. You know he can. He's fearless –"
"Exactly," Chris bit out. "Which is how I know he'll run into this all guns-a-blazing and get himself killed. Something is going on here. Something that I don’t have time to explain right now, but it's big, babe. It's bigger and more unimaginably scary than I can comprehend, and the less you know, the safer you'll be." With his blue eyes locked on mine, Chris said, "So promise me, Romi. Promise me that no matter what happens tonight, you won't tell my brother about any of this." A small tremor racked through his frame when he added, "My brother has been through enough. You know how they've treated him his whole life. Sketch deserves peace and he'll never have that if he goes digging into this cesspool of lies. Trust me, nothing good will come of it."
"Okay, I promise," I whispered, panicked at his words and feeling the weight of them rest heavily on my shoulders. "I won't tell him."
Chris sagged in relief. "Thank you."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the men from the table rise to his feet, gaze honed in on us. "Chris, they're looking at us," I breathed, heart hammering violently against my ribcage. "I think one of them is coming over here."
"Then it's time for me to go." Pressing one final kiss to my lips, Chris rose to his feet. "Stay," he whispered, cupping my cheek with his trembling hand. "Wait for my text. If you don’t hear from me in one hour, call Presley. He'll know what to do."
"Chris, please don’t –"
"I love you, Romi." Exhaling raggedly, he tore his hand away from my cheek, tossed a couple of hundreds on the table, and then moved for the exit.
Frozen in place, I watched as all four men slowly filed out of the restaurant after him.
And then I waited.
One hour.
Sixty minutes.
Little did I know that one hour later would signal the beginning of the end of life as I knew it…
"Romi." Victoria's voice infiltrated my mind and I flinched, torn from the memory that plagued my subconscious without respite.
Repressing a shiver, I turned to find her frowning at me. It was almost as if her hawk-like eyes were trying to penetrate the walls of my mind, eager to uncover the secrets I kept buried deep inside.
"What did Holden say to you?" she asked.
"Say?"
"You're as pale as a ghost, dear," she explained, still watching me with a wary glint in her eye. "Did you have the talk?"
"The talk?"
"About Chris, dear." She sighed dramatically. "What else."
Like I would ever tell her that. "No."
She arched a disbelieving brow. "No?"
I leveled her with a scathing look of my own. "No." Turning back to my father, I asked, "When can I get discharged? Did the doctors say anything about when I can go home?"
"Tully House can't take you until Monday," Victoria answered for him. "You'll stay here until then – where you are comfortable and safe."
You would think my heart would be used to disappointment, but no, it still cracked and burned from her words. Not because she was speaking them, but because my father was going along with it.
"You're still sending me away." It wasn’t a question.
Dad opened his mouth to speak, but paused.
Taking advantage of his hesitation, I blurted, "You can't send me away because I have a witness."
He frowned. "What?"
"Proof," I strangled out. "Sketch was there." Jutting my chin out, I added, "He just told you what happened. He told you it was an accident. He'll back me up."
Victoria narrowed her eyes. "His word is as reliable as yours."
"He is not crazy," I spat, defensive.
"But he does have a vendetta against you," she was quick to point out. "I like Holden, but it is quite clear that he is a very twisted young man. It would suit him to let you roam around and hurt yourself."
"You're the twisted one, Victoria," I choked out. "God, I hate you."
"It's for the best," Dad finally said, voice strained. "You'll see, sweet pea. A little time away from Pocketful to gather your thoughts will do you a world of good. I don’t want to make this harder than it already is, but you will go to Tully House – willingly or not."
"You can both leave now," was all I said in return, too torn up to handle another second of this.
Dad winced. "Romi, I'm not doing this to punish you –"
"Aren't you?" I countered, breathing hard. "Because it sure feels that way, Dad."
"Do not try to make your father feel bad for making a hard decision – especially when it is for the good of your health," Victoria chastised me, her Italian accent thick and grating. "Cal is so terribly worried about you –"
"Do not speak to me," I quickly cut her off, mimicking her wording because why the hell not? I had nothing left to lose. "I am so very terribly sick of the sound of your nails-on-a-chalkboard voice."
"Excuse me?" she spluttered, cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson.
"You heard me."
Her eyes narrowed. "How dare you speak to me in such a way –"
"Let it go, Vic," my father intervened, moving to her side. Placing his hand on her lower back, the hand that had been recently void of my mother's wedding band, he ushered his well-kept whore to the door. "There's no point in trying to talk to her when she's in this frame of mind."
Yanking the door open, he ushered Victoria out before she had a chance to respond. Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to look at me.
"I know you're mad at me, but this is for your own good," he told me in a resigned tone. "One day you'll thank me for it."
"You think?"
"I know."
"Dad?"
"Yes, sweet pea?"
"If you're sending me away, fine," I croaked out. "I don't have a choice in the matter, but please respect my wishes when I tell you that I don’t want to see you again before I go."
Pain flashed in his eyes. "Romi, I –"
"Don’t come back here, Dad," I cut him off. "We're done talking."