I hurried along the recently cleared path to the sports center. The brisk wind nipped my exposed skin and found its way through my winter coat and jeans.
“Hey, you’re early,” Chris called out behind me. I turned to him, giving him a beat to catch up with me.
“I figured now that I’m healed, I should register for the self-defense class for this weekend, if there’s still room. Though I think by now I’ve had my lifetime quota for attacks.”
He winced at the truth of it, even though he didn’t know about the latest one. The police hadn’t yet identified the body and hadn’t yet disclosed to the media the connection between the attack in Westgate and the man’s death. They wanted to rule out first if he had been working with an accomplice the night he attacked me in Westgate—a detail I’d neglected to tell Nolan, since he already had enough to worry about with recording the band’s upcoming album. As it was, I still had no idea why I had been in Westgate and why the guy had tried to kill me.
“I don’t think that makes a difference, Hailey,” Chris told me.
I shrugged. “A girl can always hope.”
“Well, ya know, when in doubt, go for the nuts. That will buy you time.” He flashed me a pained look to prove his point and opened the door for me.
Blondes #1 and #2 must have sensed his presence. We’d barely stepped into the building before they converged on us.
Expecting them to do their usual flirting with Chris, I walked toward the registration desk to check on the class.
I didn’t get that far. Blonde #1 stepped in front of me. “You’re not dating Tyler Erickson anymore, are you?”
“I wasn’t dating him.” That much was true. “We’re just friends.” Who had sex together, but she didn’t need to know that.
“Is he coming back here?” Blonde #2 asked.
A loud bang startled me.
The sound of metal hitting metal slammed through my brain. I cracked open my eyelids but was met by darkness. From my cramped position in the enclosed space, I couldn’t tell where I was. My head hurt. That was all I knew.
The world swayed around me.
Someone placed an arm around my lower back, steadying me. “I’ve got you,” a man said.
I blinked him into focus. Blondes #1 and #2 were eyeing me like I was a dye job gone wrong.
“What was that noise?” I asked the man, whom I’d seen a few times in the sports center, working out or talking to his stepdaughter, who had a part-time job there.
“Someone accidentally knocked a chair over,” Lindsey’s stepfather said.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Blonde #1 pointed out.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing. I just remembered something.”
“You remembered something that scared you? What the hell was it?” Chris placed a plastic chair from the nearby waiting area next to me. “Sit.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
Blondes #1 and #2 looked more interested in pumping additional info out of me about Nolan than finding out why I’d been suddenly dizzy. Given I didn’t want to discuss him with them or anyone, I added, “I keep remembering things about when I was attacked.”
Chris’s eyes widened. “Do you know who it was?”
“No. Not yet. I just keep remembering bits and pieces of that night.”
“Other than that, how are you doing?” Lindsey’s stepfather asked, his gaze sweeping over my body. But not in a sleazy, checking-me-out kind of way. Not like what Blonde #2 was doing to him. “Sorry, hazard of the job,” he explained. “I’m a firefighter.”
I could’ve sworn Blonde #2 sighed as if she was about to swoon. Either she didn’t notice his wedding ring or she didn’t care that he was married.
While she might have been sizing him up as her next target, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Seeing that I was okay, he excused himself and headed for the main entrance without giving her a second glance.
“So, are you and Tyler still together?” Blonde #1 asked, returning to the original inquisition.
I let out a long exasperated breath. “Nothing’s going on between Tyler and me.” I didn’t wait for her to ask me another question. I told Chris I would talk to him later and walked off to ask about the class.
The guy working the registration desk checked his computer. “That class is full. But there’s space in the one after that.”
“When is it?”
“January fifteenth.”
“That’s fine.” Even thought I hadn’t told Kayla my plans, I registered her in the class too. She could thank me later.
As if sensing I was thinking about her, she sent me a text: Dylan’s got a work Christmas party Thursday night. You want me to bring over the popcorn? That was Kayla’s way of asking me if I wanted her to come over to watch a movie that night.
Sounds great.