Play It Again (25 page)

I try to swallow my shriek as Tara spins on
me, but the sound leaks out as a high-pitched gargling mess when
she takes a threatening step in my direction. She’s a mess. Her
clothes, stained and torn, her hair, tangled and greasy, and her
eyes ... oh God, her eyes are crazy and wild, and she has a grin on
her face that terrifies me. It’s twisted and wrong, making her look
deranged and almost feral.

She stalks toward me, muttering incoherent
words, and I scramble backwards, my hands up in front of me,
warding her off.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, hating the
tremor that seeps out in my voice. “You shouldn’t be here,
Tara.”

Tara’s footsteps falter and she stalls in the
hallway, running obviously agitated hands through her knotted hair.
She’s watching me skittishly, as though she thinks she’s the one
who should be terrified, and not me.

“No,” she says, shaking her head frantically,
and pulling at her hair. “No, no, no. You don’t get to ask me that.
You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here. I told you to stay
away. I told you!”

“You need to leave,” I say. “Kim is on her
way here, and Jimmy is going to be home any minute.”

“I don’t care!” she screams. “Jimmy is my
boyfriend, not yours. He wants me here, not you.”

“He’s just my friend,” I say, edging back
another step, because I really don’t want to risk letting her get
close enough to put her hands on me again. That one shove was hard
enough that I’m pretty sure I’m going to end up with a nice bruise
on my shoulder. “That’s it, Tara, just my friend.”

“We were happy,” she says. “We were going to
get married and start a family, but then you came along and ruined
it all. Ever since he left me for you, my life has been going to
shit and it’s all because you’re a little whore.”

“He didn’t leave you for me,” I say, folding
my arms over my chest, attempting to hide the terror I’m feeling as
I move back slowly, carefully. She continues to watch me, as though
she thinks I’m seconds away from attacking her, and she’s mentally
calculating how she can stop me.

It puzzles me and I’m not really sure what to
do. She’s the one who forced her way into the apartment. She’s the
one who’s advancing on me, but the look in her eyes, it’s as though
she thinks she needs to defend herself, or maybe defend Jimmy’s
place.

“Yes he did,” she spits out. “I’m not stupid.
I’ve been watching both of you. I know you two don’t actually
work
when you’re together. I’ve seen the way he touches you,
the way he hugs you, the way he looks at you ... We’re having a
baby together, you bitch. Why couldn’t you just find your own
man!”

Crap. Jimmy is right. She’s crazy, completely
out of her mind nuts.

“Tara, I know you’re not pregnant,” I say,
struggling to keep my tone even. “I know you can’t have kids. This
isn’t the way to get him back. I can help you, though. I
will
help you. All you need to do is calm down and stop
lying, okay?”

She lets out a sudden manic laugh, ringing
her hands together, as her wild eyes dart around the apartment. She
takes another step toward me, and I take another back.

Then, I shriek because I guess telling her
that I can help her was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it was the
comment about her not being pregnant. I’m not sure.

But at the moment, it doesn’t matter.

All at once, she screams and lunges at me,
her hands swinging at me, her fingernails coming dangerously close
to my eyes.

I scramble back into the living room, and
unfortunately, in my haste to get away, I’m not paying attention to
my footing, and I topple over one of the boxes in the room, landing
hard on what sounds like a box filled with glass.

Tara lands on top of me, her hands
frantically clawing at my face. We struggle on the floor, the glass
crunching within the box under me, as more boxes topple over all
around us. I can feel blood bead up on my skin as her fingernails
dig into my cheeks, my neck, and my arms.

“You think I want your help?” she screeches.
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help. All I need is
you gone. Gone and out of the picture.”

I need to get away from her. I need to get to
my phone, and call for help. No, scratch that. I need to get to my
phone, then get to the bedroom or bathroom, lock the door, and then
call for help.

I wince as her nails dig hard into the side
of my jaw, scraping along my neck, and I struggle to get my arms up
over my face to protect it from her attack. I buck and kick, trying
to dislodge her from my center, clawing and flailing, but it seems
useless. She’s stronger than I am, bigger than me, and I can’t get
her off.

We’re making quite a ruckus, I realize, as a
mixture of angry and frightened tears burn my eyes. The contents of
the boxes crashing onto the floor, the thumping of our limbs, our
shrieks and screams. Someone is bound to hear us, and then they
will come to investigate.

If I can just hold her off, stop her from
doing too much damage, maybe, just maybe ...

Suddenly Tara shifts, putting all of her
weight on one of her knees, planting it right in the center of my
stomach, lifting herself up, and bouncing, pushing all the air from
my lungs. Panic rises up fast in my throat as I struggle underneath
her, my hands flailing around, searching for something—anything—I
can use as a weapon.

She’s reaching for something, too, I realize,
as she mutters all kinds of things, about how her and Jimmy are
going to get married, and how she isn’t going to let some little
whore like me stop her, completely unaware of my hand as I clasp
onto the handle of a frying pan. I wrap my hand around the handle,
good and tight, and without hesitation, I swing at her as hard as I
can, hitting her firmly on the back, hard enough to dislodge her,
and she falls, face first onto the floor, letting out a startled
shriek.

Jumping up to my feet, my body screaming at
me from the sudden movement, I scramble toward the door, the frying
pan still clutched in my hand. I only make it a few steps, before I
hear Tara coming after me and a second later, I feel a sharp
burning sensation as something slices into my thigh, and I cry out,
spinning around, blindly swinging the frying pan.

Vance

I’m sitting at a table in Heaven Here Coffee
with Jase and Wes, waiting for a client to show up, when my phone
rings. I pick it up off the table, glancing at the screen.

Kim.

My brow furrows. She’s supposed to be at
Jimmy’s right now with Piper. I answer it quickly, feeling on edge
as I bring the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”

“Don’t freak out, but you need to get over to
the hospital.”

“What?” My stomach coils. “Why?”

“Um …” She lets out a shaky breath. “Tara
attacked Piper.”

My heart skips a beat before hammering hard
in my chest as my mind starts to race, my thoughts scattered.
Adrenaline washes over me, mixed with panic, and every muscle in my
body constricts.

“What the fuck do you mean Tara attacked
Piper?”

Silence.

Helpless anger flares through me. “Jesus
Christ, Kim, tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“Piper’s okay,” Kim says hesitantly, her
words sounding broken and strained. “She needs some stitches, but
she’s okay. Tara came at her with a knife, but Pipes knocked her
out with a frying pan. The cops have Tara now, and Pipes is being
loaded into the ambulance.”

I blink.

Tara came at Piper with a knife.

Tara came at Piper with a knife.

Tara came at Piper …

My heart does something weird. There’s a
squeeze. There’s an odd beat and skip. And my throat … my throat
closes up.

My girl is hurt.

My girl.

“Fuck!” I blink again, and then I’m on my
feet. “I’m on my way.”

I hang up on her, shoving the phone in my
pocket, and run my hands over my face roughly, when my heart
squeezes and pulls and twists.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

My eyes dart across the table when one of the
guys clears his throat, and I see both Jase and Wes staring at me,
eyes concerned and questioning.

Another blink.
Fuck.

“It’s Piper,” I say. “I’ve gotta go.”

I don’t give them any more and I don’t wait
for a response, striding out of the coffee shop and sprinting for
my truck.

I reach it quickly, and I don’t know how, but
suddenly Jase is there, blocking my path. He’s standing in front of
me between me and my truck, a concerned expression on his face.

“Get out of my way, Jase,” I say, moving to
step past him. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Just tell me what’s going on first,” he
says, his expression serious.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Kim said Piper got
cut when Tara came at her with a knife. Cops have Tara, and Piper’s
on the way to the hospital.”

His brow furrows. “Wasn’t she at Jimmy’s?
Where the fuck was he when this happened?”

“I don’t know,” I say again, my voice coming
out as a frustrated growl. “I can’t do this, Jase. I’ve got to
go.”

He hesitates, frowning at me, and then nods,
stepping aside. “Go. I’ll call Cruz and get the details. We’ll be
there soon.”

I step past him and get in my truck, tires
spinning as I speed away. I don’t know how long it takes me to get
to the hospital.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

It takes too goddamn long, before I see the
signs for the emergency entrance. I pull in and park, which feels
like it takes a fucking century to do, and then I sprint to the
entrance.

It’s just a cut,
I tell myself.
She’s okay. Kim said she’s okay.

Another century passes as I wait at the
reception desk, trying to find out where my girl is. I text Kim,
try to listen for her and Jimmy, scan the area for police, anything
that could give me a hint of where she is, as I wait.

Nothing.

I hear nothing.

See nothing.

My stomach twists tighter.

Another few minutes pass by before I’m
finally told where she is, and a nurse leads me to her room. I
pause at the doorway, staring at the bed. Piper is on her back,
with Kim by her side, squeezing her hand. Jimmy is in the corner,
looking distressed as he stares at her, and the doctor is here,
hovering over her leg. His back is to me and I can’t see what he’s
doing, but by his arm movements, it looks like he’s stitching her
up now.

I swallow thickly, taking a step forward into
the room.

She looks pale—paler than normal—and she
grimaces with each movement of the doctor’s hand.

Fuck.

I watch quietly waiting for the doctor to
finish, not wanting to disturb him.

Another year passes by.

Jimmy looks up, noticing me first, and gives
me a shaky chin lift. “Vance …” His voice cracks with distress, and
he wrings his hands together. “I wasn’t even gone twenty minutes. I
was just grabbing a pizza.”

I nod. I don’t know what to say to him.
Logically, I know this isn’t his fault.

None of it is.

But fuck if I don’t want to hit him right
now.

Piper leans to the side, looking around the
doctor. She smiles brightly, wiping her eyes when she sees me. “I’m
getting stitches again.”

Her voice is just as bright as her smile, and
even though there is a hint of pain beneath it, it instantly puts
me at ease. “I heard. You’re gonna be a pro at this in no
time.”

She laughs, and then cringes when the doctor
tells her to hold still, and puts in another stitch.

Kim leans in, whispering something to Piper
that I can’t hear, before letting go of her hand, backing away. She
grabs Jimmy and drags him from the room, flashing me a smile as she
walks past.

Once they’re gone, I move further into the
room, taking up Kim’s place beside Piper. She reaches her hand out
to me, and it shakes slightly when I grasp onto it, squeezing it
with both my hands.

The next two hours are a blur of doctors and
police officers. Cruz takes her statement, and as I listen to her
recount the incident, I don’t know whether to be amazed with her,
or furious with Jimmy.

Mostly, I’m pissed off at myself for not
being there to protect her.

Cruz assures her that Tara’s in lock-up.
There’s a chance she’ll make bail and someone will post it, but he
guarantees that an emergency restraining order will be put in place
to protect her. Not that it matters; I’m not letting her out of my
sight anytime soon.

Jase and Wes show up sometime during the
statement taking and Elena is with them. I’m not entirely sure how
Piper feels about the audience, but she seems to take it all in
stride, smiling at everyone, thanking them for coming and telling
them not to worry.

When she’s finally released, I help her out
to the truck. She’s limping and I try to carry her, but the
stubborn woman keeps shoving me away, telling me she’s fine.

“You scared me, freckles,” I say quietly,
once I have her alone in my truck.

She looks at me, and her smile wavers. “I
scared me, too. Hitting someone with a frying pan is harder than
you think. I almost dropped the damn thing.”

“Don’t joke,” I say. “This isn’t funny.”

“Vance …”

My mouth tightens as she tries to say
something, and I hold up my hand and look her right in the eyes. “I
love you. I didn’t realize how much, how deep, until I got that
call from Kim, but fuck, Piper, I love you.”

She returns my look, her eyes holding steady,
and she smiles.

That smile … It’s so damn pretty.

And then she says, “I know you do.”

About three months later …

Piper

Vance shifts beside me and his hands slide
between my thighs, pushing my legs apart.