The Revolution (33 page)

“The accident hurt us—”

Rochelle’s voice raises just a notch. “It wasn’t an accident.”

Lara turns back to me, then closes her eyes. “How do you know?”

When she looks back to Rochelle, Rochelle replies, “Because the evidence suggests otherwise.”

“Ro.”

She looks at me. “I know the doctor said to wait, but I won’t sit here and let her believe that psycho wasn’t trying to kill her.”

A gasp draws our eyes to Lara. Her hand is over her mouth and her eyes wide. “He tried to kill me?” she stutters as the heart rate monitor blips faster.

Shit.

“He didn’t,” I say.

“He didn’t try to kill me?” she asks with the innocence of a child.

“No, he tried, but he didn’t succeed. You lived with no permanent damage.”

Rochelle says, “You’ve got to remember something, Lara. The police need to know any detail you can remember.”

“I only remember being at my place. Kaz was there. I took him to the airport to meet the band.”

“That was four days ago,” I say. “Do you remember anything after that?”

“Lane. We were at your house. Two chairs arrived and a buffet, your dining table, but only three of the eight chairs. Don’t worry though. I called the manufacturer. They’re going to rush the chairs.”

I smile. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I wanted those two rooms finished before you got home.”

Rochelle’s mood has lightened like Lara’s and mine. She asks, “Do you remember going to dinner with Holli and me?”

Lara shakes her head and looks down.

When Rochelle covers her hands, she says, “You will. Just give it time.”

“Why have I forgotten?”

Sitting down next to her, I take her other hand gently, but she pulls it away. I try not to let her reaction hurt me, and stay strong in the belief that she’ll come back to me. I try. “Because it was that bad.”

“My mind’s blocked it out.” Her bottom lip wobbles. “I don’t want to remember then.”

“You must,” I insist, my heartbeat lurches into panic mode.
I can’t lose her.
“Just give it time.”

“Take it easy,” Rochelle tells her.

Lara turns her back to me, pulls her hand from Rochelle, and closes her eyes. “I’m tired.”

“We’ll let you rest,” Rochelle says and walks to the end of the bed. Taking me by the arm, she gestures toward the door, knowing my heart’s just been ripped out. “Come on. We’ll get coffee.”

When we walk out, I look back once. Lara’s eyes—the beautiful blues I fell in love with—stare back into mine just over her shoulder. But there’s no love seen in hers, only curiosity.

And then the door closes.

MY MIND IS
playing tricks on me, but I see the truth.

Sort of.

Kind of.

I sigh, frustrated that I’ve lost days somewhere in the back of my mind. The memories are there, they’re just locked away, so I just have to find the key.

When I woke up, I was quiet, wanting the time to think, but Rochelle walks in with a nurse, both wanting to check on me. I’ve slept for hours. The nurse smiles and greets me, but goes about her business checking the monitor and my IV. “Are you in any pain?”

“A little on my left side.”

“You’re bruised, but your ribs aren’t broken. It’s a miracle you walked away.” Her eyes land on mine. “Well, not walked, but you’re in one piece and you’ll be good as new. That’s what counts. You have a concussion but we’re monitoring things. If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll be here all day. Shift change and you’re stuck with me.” A kind smile appears.

“Thank you. How long do you think I’ll stay in the hospital?”

She takes the chart and starts writing. “The doctor will check you out later. If all goes well today, I bet they discharge you tomorrow.” Looking to Rochelle, she asks, “You’ll arrange transportation?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The nurse walks to the door and says, “Buzz me if you need me.”

“Thanks again.”

When the door closes, Rochelle asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Some pain.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she rests her hand on my leg. “He’s in a lot of pain too. It may not be obvious, but he’s hurting out there.”

I look away, not able to bear the accusations in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt him.”

“You remember him. You remember how much you love him, but you’re scared of him. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” The pressure to find that key in my thoughts weighs on me and tears fill my eyes. “Why don’t I know?”

“Your brain is protecting you from something horrific. You’ve got to realize that you’re not alone. I’m here. Kaz is here.”

“My parents are here.”

She smiles. “Yes, they’re here.” When the smile fades, she rubs my leg to comfort me. “Your parents know what Mark did to you.”

“I figured. Has my dad killed him yet?” I cover my mouth and shake my head. “I shouldn’t have said that when he’s in a coma.”

She snaps, “Stop worrying about him. He’s going to live.”

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, but you need to hear me. Whatever Mark did to turn you against Kaz is wrong. You shouldn’t feel anything but hate for Mark. He tried to kill you, Lara. I know it. The police know it. You know it. You just can’t remember. You will though. And then you’re going to need that man out there in the waiting room who has stayed despite the pain he’s feeling from your rejection.”

“Don’t yell at me, Rochelle. I’m trying—”

“Try harder.” She stands. “I won’t sit by and let you defend that psycho while pushing away the guy who took care of you when you were abused by Mark Renner. Kaz was the one drying your tears. He was the one who had us check on you. He was the one that called the police. It was him that had everyone searching for you.” Walking to the door, she says, “I need fresh air and you need rest.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. It’s Kaz who’s been hurt.”

The door closes and I turn to the window. The sun is rising, the sky getting brighter. The start of a new day should bring hope. Not today. The door opens and I sit up when I see two female officers walk in. A dark-haired officer takes the lead. “Hi, I’m Officer Rodriguez and this is Officer Caprusso. Is it all right if we ask you a few questions? We need to fill in some blanks on our report.”

“Sure. I already told the other officers what I remember, but I’m happy to help if I can.”

After pulling out a small notepad from her shirt pocket, she reads, “We don’t have much information on Mr. Fabian. We do know he’s been living under the alias of Fabian, but his last name is Petrowski.”

Petrowski, I repeat in my head.
Petrowski.

Officer Rodriguez says, “He called nine-one-one. Would you recognize his voice if we played you the call? Can you identify it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind verifying it for us?”

“No. As I said, if I can help, I will.”

Officer Caprusso holds out her phone. “Just press play.”

The other officer presses play and the operator begins talking. When Kaz speaks, panic is heard in his voice,
“I need the police. I think my girlfriend has been kidnapped.”

The monitor speeds up along with my heart while I listen. I recall snippets of a conversation I had with him.

“When did you last speak to the missing person?”

“Maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

“Sir, do you know it’s illegal to file a false report?”

“It’s her ex. He’s hurt her. I’m afraid he’s got her right now, taken her against her will.”

“And why do think that if you just spoke to her?”

“She left her friends at the club. She left her purse there. How’d she get home? And she said ‘Later gator’ to me. She never says that.”

Later gator? Do I really say that? When it’s over, I close my eyes.

Later gator.

Later gator…

Later gator!

“He knew!” I say, popping up in the bed.

“Who knew what?”

“Kaz,” I tell the officer. “He knew I was in trouble.”

“How?”

“The code words. Later gator. We don’t say that. We always say goodbye. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“Just in case someone dies.”

Both of their gazes hit me. I wave my arm. “Morbid, I know, but we say it.”

“One other question. You said you don’t remember that night. Have you remembered anything? Any detail, even small, can really help fill in the blanks.”

Later gator.

“I remember talking to Kaz.” I close my eyes, the key to unlocking the events of that night within reach. I stretch my mind and take hold of it. “I remember. I talked to Kaz. I was in my closet and Mark was blocking the door.”

“Of your closet or his?”

“Mine. Kaz had a show in Atlanta and kept calling to check on me, so Mark told me to call him to get him to stop.”

“Did it work?”

“He knew.” My heart starts inflating again, filling with the love I held on to when my head couldn’t. “He knew I was in trouble and that’s why he called nine-one-one.”

Officer Rodriguez leans against the end of the bed, watching me intently. “Anything else?”

Looking off to the side, I try to focus internally. A shiver runs the length of my spine and I squeeze my eyes shut. The bruises. The pain in my side. My throbbing eye. Kaz. My hands start to tremble, but I fight the urge to close my mind off. I fist the sheet and persevere…

The phone rings and I look back. Kaz. I knew he wouldn’t give up on me.

“That’s him?”

I turn back to Mark, and reply, “Yes. He won’t stop until he believes I’m safe.”

“Safe from me?”

“Safe, in general.”

When his phone rings, he looks down at it. He turns his back to me and answers it, “Tell me good news, Coach.”

I back away and grab my phone from the floor. I’ve missed his call, but I can text.

A thunderous, “No,” scares me. It’s more like a roar. Mark punches the wood frame of the door. His death glare is latched on to me. There’s no escaping. I know it. He knows it. “No pay and they’re dropping my contract effective immediately.”

I’m trapped in here, so I try a different route. “I’m sorry.” All the moxie I had mustered a minute earlier is gone, like the fight from my body.

“I’ll lose my sponsors, my titles. They want my World Series ring back.”

Panic was understandable earlier. It was a reactionary emotion that could be dispelled by asking the right questions. What I see in Mark’s eyes is wild and untamed. There’s no going back for him. This is the moment where logic needs to win out.

“It’s just a ring. You’ll have the memories and the record.”

An anarchist fire burns in his eyes. He rubs his temple, then says, “Let’s go.”

Fear has returned, and knows no bounds. “Where?”

I thought the “No” earlier was stormy. He’s a hurricane brewing out in the wide-open ocean, looking to destroy our peace on earth. “Get in the fucking car.”

The voicemail on my phone chimes. I look back once wishing I could grab it but I’m yanked by the nape of the neck. We walk while I cry out, “Please. Stop, Mark. You’re hurting me.”

“Not for long.”

Not for long? He’s going to let me go.

I was a fool thinking he was going to let me go. He has no plans to do that. That much is crystal clear. We’ve been driving for twenty minutes. He’s mumbling in the driver’s seat, buried so deep in his head. “It will be okay. You’ll play somewhere else.”

“No, I won’t. No one will touch me now. My ball career is over.”

He tosses the phone to me and I look at the screen. The email he threatened to send earlier is up. “I’ll never take your side, but if you blame him—”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I can end you.”