Page 58 of Desperate Haste

“Bailey, slow down, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Like I said, it wasn’t a date and we’re just having fun. He isn’t my boyfriend, he’s just my?—”

“Fuck buddy who you sometimes do platonic things with,” she cuts in.

“Sure, we can go with that.” I sigh, tired from this conversation.

She studies me for a beat, perched on the barstool with a grin that is just dying to break into a full-fledged smile.

“What?” I ask, afraid of what her answer might be.

“I’m just happy for you. Is a girl not allowed to be happy for her best friend?” She brings a hand to her chest and acts as if I offended her. I look at her and feel a nagging sensation in my stomach. She must have noticed because she reaches over and places her hand on my knee. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”

I didn’t even realize I was making a face. Taking a breath, I decide to tell her. “Malcolm knows…about me. About my past. All of it…”

All of the muscles in her face fall at once and her mouth forms a small ‘O.’

“Everything?”

“Everything.” I nod.

“Wow, Ophie. That’s a big step for you. I’m really proud of you.” Her voice is soft and a stark difference from the loud and excited tone she spoke in before. “What did he say?”

“He told me he would keep me safe and that nothing that happened to me was my fault.” My lips wrap around my teeth as I remember how gentle he was with me as I cried. How he pulled me into him and just let me get it out. No shame or guilt. Just safety and comfort.

“I didn’t know he had that in him,” Bailey scoffs with a half smile.

“Yeah, me neither.” I laugh along with her. The more time I spend with him, the more I’ve come to realize that Malcolm is more complex than he lets on. That, underneath the shaggy hair and tattooed arms, he’s just looking for someone who will accept him for who he’s been and what he’s been through.

How oddly familiar.

“He’s been through some stuff, I don’t know if Hank has said anything to you. But he’s shared things with me that it just felt like I was being dishonest with him if I didn’t share about my stuff too.” I shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve been there. It’s a good sign when they can handle the things you share with them.” She looks at me with a hopeful smile. “When was the last time you talked with your mom?”

I pause at her question and cast my eyes to the floor. My mother and I don’t talk often and only ever exchange emails. Nothing much, just a few here and there to let her know I am alive and okay. “Couple weeks ago. Kept it short like I always do.”

“I’m glad you have that. I know things with your parents are hard. I’m proud of you for holding your boundaries with them.”

“Thanks.” I give my friend a tight smirk and lift up the cardboard cup only to realize it’s empty. “Damn. I’m getting a refill and then do you want to go? We could go for a walk or something.”

“Yeah, a walk would be nice.”

I hop down from the stool and head to the counter to order another coffee. Once it’s in hand, Bailey and I head outside and down the sidewalk. The city is nearly empty for a Saturday morning, but this is how it normally is during this time of year. During the summer months, Charleston is packed with tourists and you can’t walk more than a block without spotting a carriage carrying people down the old historic roads. Now though, it’s just a few stragglers like Bailey and I who are brave enough to walk around when it’s hardly fifty degrees outside which is practically freezing for those of us who live here year round.

We make our way down to a pier where boats are docked and the shrimp boats bring in their morning haul. As I find a trash can to toss out my freshly emptied cup of coffee, I feel my phone buzzing in the cross-body I was wearing. Pulling it out, confusion catches between my brows as I read the contact name.

“Who is it?” Bailey tilts her head quizzically.

“It’s Malcolm.”

“Ooohhhh, your hot man friend is calling you for a booty call.” She shimmies my arms and does a dance and I laugh her off.

“No, it’s weird, he should be at the bar right now. He never calls me when he’s at work.” I don’t know if it’s the dreary weather or the fact that the ocean looks angry, but something about seeing his name on my phone makes my stomach sink. I take a quick breath and swipe my thumb across the screen.

“Hello?”

His voice comes out hurried and panicked and by the way the call comes over, I can tell he is calling me from his truck. “Ophelia—something’s wrong with Marshall. They’re taking him to the hospital.”

“Where?” I ask, not needing to ask any other questions to know that he needs me.

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