One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) (26 page)

“What the fuck is this….” I hear him mutter.

I don’t wait another second.

Pushing back with all my might, I roll the desk chair toward him as I leap to my feet.

“You little bitch!” he screams as the chair collides with his legs. I see him stumble sideways to avoid it but nothing more, because I’m too busy running for my fucking life.

I burst through the office doors and sprint down the hallway, trying to find my way out through the maze of hallways and broken furniture. It’s dark — so dark I can barely see my hand in front of my face — and my progress is painfully slow as I lurch forward, almost falling several times.

I can’t afford to fall. With my hands bound, it’ll take me forever to get back up.

For a few mind-numbing moments, all I can hear is the sound of my own panting and the thundering of my pulse between my ears as I stumble forward. But eventually, another sound creeps in.

Footsteps.

Slow, steady footsteps, trailing me through the darkness like a spider in a web.

He’s coming.

Pure terror cripples my system as my teeth sink into my lips in a desperate attempt to stifle my panicked breaths. I feel blood fill my mouth as I break the skin.

There’s no choice but to keep going. I feel my way along the walls with my bound hands, trying to keep calm, telling myself I must be nearing the doors.

“Zoe,” Birkin calls in a sing-song voice through the dark, sounding uncomfortably close. “We both know how this ends.”

I bite my lip harder and keep moving.

“If you’d just cooperated with me, this could’ve ended differently.” His tone switches from playful to pissed so fast it’s hard to digest. “But you had to be a little fucking bitch. Tell me, who did you send that text to? Your friends at the FBI?” He laughs. “Trust me, they won’t find you. Or… they will. Eventually. But, probably not in the condition they’re hoping for.”

I push on.

“I was willing to play nice. But you broke the rules.”

I see the illumination of his cellphone creeping closer at my back. I hunch down into a crouch and try to move faster. The faint flashlight glow is a blessing and a curse. It means I can actually see where the hell I’m going... but it also means he’s getting dangerously close to me.

Squinting, I can see I’ve left the maze of exam rooms and offices behind. From what I can tell, I’m in the waiting room.

There must be an exit somewhere.

My eyes move along the walls until I spot the faint outline of a door on the opposite wall. I know it’s now or never. He’ll catch up to me in a matter of seconds if I keep hiding in the dark. If I run for it, he’ll know where I am… but at least I have a shot at escape.

I take a deep breath, steady my shoulders, and bolt straight across the open space to the exit. I can just barely make out shapes in the dark. Leaping over a broken chair, I nearly trip over my feet, but manage to right myself at the last moment.

Almost there.

I slam into the doors with a bang, my bound hands scrambling for the knob. For a second, I believe I’m actually going to escape. That I’m going to make it out of this horror show alive before he catches me. That I’ll be able to count down the minutes until midnight with my boyfriend and my best friends, as I’d planned to before everything went to shit.

That is… until I feel the wood beams crisscrossing the door, nailed on so firmly I have no chance of pulling them off without a crowbar. No matter how I tug at the knob, the frame refuses to budge.

Fuck.

I whirl, eyes desperately seeking another means of escape, feet already in motion…

And smack straight into Birkin.

His hands close around my shoulders and I see his grin in the dark.

“Poor Zoe.” He throws me against the wall with so much force, I feel a rib snap on impact. The world starts to fade in front of my eyes, which is strange because his flashlight is burning brighter than ever as he crouches down on the dirty floor in front of me. I try to breathe, but I only manage a wheeze of pain.

“Hurts, does it?” he asks, shaking his head as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the needle. “Don’t worry. In a few moments, you won’t feel anything at all.”

I
remember
everything about the day my parents were murdered so clearly. Maybe
too
clearly. It’s like watching a movie in high-definition. And it’s not just the horror or its aftermath; I remember it all. The walk to my recital, the way my mom laced up my ballet slippers and styled my hair, how my dad fumbled with the video camera, making sure there was fresh tape inside so they could immortalize my performance forever in an embarrassing home movie.

I was nervous when I saw the size of the crowd gathered in the auditorium. So nervous, in fact, about five minutes before I was set to take the stage, I informed my dance instructor Miss Sally in no uncertain terms that there was no fucking way I was going out there. I knew, down to my five-year-old bones, that if I went onstage in front of two hundred strangers, I’d forget all my steps and make a fool of myself. Nothing she said could convince me otherwise.

So, naturally, she called my mother into the wings as backup.

Mom found me, curled in on myself like a wilted flower in my taffeta costume, and pulled me to my feet.

“Zoe, baby, what’s wrong?”

I told her I was scared.

“Scared of what?”

Everything
, was my answer.

At five, I didn’t have words for my fears. In truth, I was scared to fail.

Scared to embarrass myself.

Scared to put myself out there.

But my mother said something to me, in that moment, that cut straight through the fear and wrapped itself around my heart.

“Honey. We’re all scared. That’s life. But the thing about having a family is, you don’t have to be scared alone. You’ve got me and your dad right out there in the front row, cheering you on. We can all hold hands and be scared together.”

She pressed a kiss to my forehead and looked into my eyes.

“If you live your life afraid of all the bad things that might happen, you’ll miss out on all the good ones that definitely will.”

I danced that night.

I nailed every step.

And when the music fell silent, I looked down into the front row and saw my parents there, beaming up at me with tears in their eyes, and knew, no matter what, I’d never be alone so long as I had them.

Thirty minutes later, they were dead.

I never recovered from that loss. For a long time, I carried my mother’s words around with me like a curse.

The thing about having a family is, you don’t have to be scared alone.

I didn’t have a family. I’d never have a family again.

Which meant I was cursed to always be alone.

Until, slowly, so slowly I almost didn’t notice it… I stared to build a new one.

We don’t share any blood. We don’t even have all that much in common. And yet… they’re my family.

Luca.

Colton.

Phoebe.

Nate.

Chrissy.

Shelby.

Chase.

Gemma.

Parker
.

So many faces. So many memories. So much love.

Lying there, dying on a dirty floor at the hands of a psycho, I realize my mother’s words were never meant to be a curse. She wouldn’t have wanted me to live my life alone. She didn’t want me to spend my days just surviving, plugging along, going through the motions for lack of anything else to do.

My parents wanted me to
live
.

To
dance
.

To grab life by both hands and take it for a ride.

I never really understood how to do that, until I met Parker. I was so afraid to get close to anyone again, I didn’t realize how dead I was inside.

Until he made me laugh, I didn’t realize I’d nearly forgotten how.

Until he pushed my limits, I didn’t realize how guarded I’d become.

Until he showed me love, I didn’t realize how desperately I needed it.

Until he taught me to fly, I didn’t realize how deep beneath the earth I’d buried my hopes and dreams.

And it really fucking sucks that I’m going to die without ever thanking him for that. Without telling him that he’s my family. Without admitting how much I need him.

How much I love him
.

I try to hold onto that thought as I drift into the darkness.

I always thought needing anyone else meant I was weak. In reality, it’s the opposite. Asking for help doesn’t make you spineless; it makes you
strong
. Leaning on people isn’t cowardly; it’s courageous.

It’s a shame it took dying for me to figure that out.

W
hen the darkness
starts to clear, I hear a familiar voice reciting a familiar story, his words occasionally catching on particular quotes as if it’s a struggle to get them out without being overcome by emotion.

“Never say goodbye,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he reads from the book in his lap. “Because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”

My eyes sliver open and I see Parker’s bronze head bowed over a thin green book, one hand gripping the pages and the other resting on my leg.

“Are you reading me
Peter Pan
?” I whisper, my voice cracking pathetically.

The book falls to the floor as he jumps to his feet, eyes flying to mine. There are deep shadows beneath them, as though he hasn’t slept in ages, and I read worry and fear clearly in their hazel depths.

“Zoe,” he breathes, his arms sliding around me as he hauls me to his chest. His mouth hits my hair as he whispers my name like a mantra. “Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.”

“Honey, I’m okay.” I reach a hand up to twine with his. “What happened?”

He pulls back to look down into my face, his big hands cupping my cheeks as he presses a flurry of kisses on my forehead, my nose, my lips.

“How do you feel?” he asks, totally ignoring my question. “What hurts? Should I call the doctor in?”

“Parker, I’m fine. Sore as hell, but fine.” I narrow my eyes at him. “What the hell happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember being lost in the dark with Birkin. I remember him catching me. I think he threw me against a wall and I felt something break.”

“Two ribs.” Parker grimaces.

“Ah. So that’s why it’s so tough to breathe.”

“The tube they put down your throat probably didn’t help matters,” he says softly. “They took it out yesterday, when you started breathing on your own.”

I blink, startled by this information. “How long have I been here?”

He hesitates.

“Parker.”

“Three days.”

“What?” I exclaim, sitting upright — and instantly regretting it, as pain slices through my broken ribs. “Ow.”

“Shhh. Don’t move.” He looks worried. “Maybe I should call the doctor.”

“Please, don’t.” I sigh. “I’ll behave. I promise.”

He shoots me a doubtful look. “You don’t know how to behave.”

I smile. “Yeah, but that’s what you like about me.”

His eyes soften. “I like everything about you.”

“You’re corny.”

“Yeah, but that’s what
you
like about
me
.”

A weak laugh escapes my lips. “Tell me what happened.”

His expression gets somber. “You had a concussion and a brain bleed. They didn’t have to do surgery, thank god, but they weren’t sure how severe the damage was. Judging by your ability to insult me, I’m going to assume you’ll be making a full recovery.”

I roll my eyes.

He kisses my forehead. “But I really do need to call the doctors now, so they can make sure.”

“But…” I take a shallow breath.

“What, darling?”

“You’ll stay, right?” I ask in a small voice. “You won’t leave?”

“Zoe.” His hands cup my face again. “I’m never leaving you. Ever.”

“Good.” I press my eyes closed as relief floods my system. “I guess you can call the doctors, now.”

A
fter a full examination
by a team of doctors who, according to Parker, have been watching me like a hawk for the past few days, I’m lying in my bed eating a chocolate pudding cup, listening to his version of what happened that night.

“We knew something was wrong almost immediately after you left. You’d barely been gone a minute when the match started — as soon as Luca walked down into the arena, we knew. Nate, Chase, and I headed for the exits, trying to find you. You were just… gone. Vanished into thin air. Eventually, we got surveillance video from the gym. Saw that douchebag hit you.” His jaw clenches.

“Steve,” I murmur.

“Yeah,
Steve
. He’s a dead man.”

“Birkin threatened his family. He felt like he had no choice.” I shrug lightly. “I get it. I don’t like it, obviously, but I get it.”

Parker glowers. “Yeah, well,
I
don’t fucking get it. I don’t care what the stakes are. You don’t sacrifice the life of an innocent woman. You find another way.”

“It was a shitty situation. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Understatement.” Parker runs a hand through his hair. “We knew Steve had you, but we didn’t know where. We didn’t know why. We figured it might have something to do with the case, but Lancaster and Linus were both already in federal custody. We contacted Agent Gallagher anyway, asked him to check the logs to see if either of them had made any calls, arranged for someone to attack you.”

“And you realized it was Birkin,” I murmur.

“Not at first. We suspected, but we weren’t sure. He was the one piece of the LC puzzle unaccounted for. We assumed he’d fled the country with a shit-ton of money. Didn’t foresee that his drug problem had made him desperate for more.”

“He wanted me to hack into the FBI network in under an hour, using only an ancient MacBook and the weak WiFi hotspot from his iPhone.” I shake my head. “The man was not thinking logically.”

Parker sighs. “Clearly. But, anyway, we thought he might have you. We knew for sure when that text came through, though.” His hand squeezes mine. “That was brilliant.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d understand it.”

“My sister is Phoebe West. She owns four Birkin bags.” He grins ruefully. “There was no chance I would misunderstand that text.”

I smile.

“Anyway, once we had his phone number, the boys at Knox Investigations were able to track its signal to Birkin’s old offices. Luckily, Nate and I were already on our way there. As soon as we suspected he might have you, we started making our way down the list of his known addresses.”

“Smart.”

“Not smart enough,” he says, guilt swimming in his eyes. “If we’d gotten there two minutes sooner, we could’ve stopped him before he laid a hand on you.”

“It’s not your fault, honey.”

“Yeah, well, when we got inside and saw you lying there, that fucking scumbag standing over you…” Parker’s expression darkens dangerously. “I would’ve killed him. I almost
did
kill him.”

My eyes widen as they drop to his bloody, bruised knuckles. “Parker…”

“Don’t worry. Nate stopped me.” He sighs. “Barely.”

I squeeze his hand gently. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him. You know what I—” I almost say
love
but I chicken out at the last second. “—like about you?”

His eyebrows lift. “I wasn’t aware you liked anything about me.”

I elbow him and he laughs.

“You walk through life with this lightness inside you. It shines like a beacon. Your laugh, your sense of humor, the way you see the world… You remind me that there’s still goodness and kindness out there. Even though you have your own slew of reasons to be bitter or negative… you always see the light.” My voice gets thick with emotion. “And when you share that light with me, it makes me feel like… maybe I don’t have to live in the shadows anymore.”

He leans forward and kisses me until there are tears rolling down my cheeks.

“Okay,” he breathes against my lips. “I’m calling the doctor back in here. Clearly, there was much more intense brain damage than they originally thought. I’m going to suggest brain surgery. Perhaps a pre-frontal lobotomy will restore you back to your former misanthropic self.”

I smack him on the shoulder. “You’re a jerk.”

“I’m
your
jerk.”

I roll my eyes. “Uh huh.”

“How tired are you?” he asks.

I’m instantly suspicious. “Why?”

“There are some people who’ve been sitting in the waiting room for the past three days,” he says carefully. “If you’re up for it, I think they’d very much like to see you.”

My eyes widen. “There are people here? Who?”

He shrugs. “Everyone.”

“But… why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He kisses me. “Because they love you.” His eyes soften. “
We
love you.”

My eyes fill with tears and I find I can’t say anything. Not one single word.

Parker doesn’t seem to mind. He just leans forward, brushes his lips against mine, and wipes away my tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“I’ll go get them.”

I nod.

T
hey come
in groups of two — I guess they think it’ll be less overwhelming, that way. Parker supervises from the corner, glaring at anyone who gets too close to my injuries like some kind of demonic guardian angel.

Phoebe and Nate are up first.

“Tink!” Phoebe throws herself onto my hospital bed, knocking the wind out of me. I wrap an awkward arm around her back and try not to wheeze as she crushes my sore ribs.

“Hi, Phoebe.”

“You’re hurting her,” Parker points out in a gruff voice.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Phoebe grimaces. “I’m just so relieved to see you sitting up, talking. You scared the crap out of us!”

“I didn’t mean to,” I say, laughing lightly. “Swear it.”

“You’re okay, though?” Phoebe’s voice is concerned. “Because, I hate to break this to you, but you’re kind of obligated to be a bridesmaid at my wedding. Mostly because I already ordered a dress for you.”

My eyes widen. “You just got engaged, like, last week.”

“It is never too early to start contemplating fashion choices,” she informs me very seriously. “So, what do you say?”

My eyebrows lift.

“Will you be my bridesmaid or not?”

“Oh,” I murmur, my heart squeezing. “Yeah. I suppose I could do that. But, I might not be any good at it. I’ve never been anyone’s bridesmaid, before.”