Page 31 of One for the Money
It’s been four years since we got together. He must be thinking about marriage, right? He has to know that I’d say yes. I moved across the country for him. He’s my everything.
Every step has my chest tightening with excitement. Is this it? Is he going to propose to me tonight?
It would be a beautiful place to do it, with the twinkling candles and scent of fresh flowers in the air. We pass a wall of expensive wines, and I wonder which we’re going to open after I accept his proposal.
Today is going to be the beginning of the rest of my life, and I couldn’t be more excited.
I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.
We turn a corner into a dimly lit and secluded portion of the restaurant, and the waitress gestures at a table, indicating that it’s ours.
But it’s already occupied with two huge men.
Rich pulls a chair out at the table, and must see the confusion on my face, because he covers my hand with his. His eyes are soft and sweet, and I find myself relaxing into his touch instinctively.
“Alex, I’d like to introduce you to Tripp and Greg. My pack.”
My phone blares,waking me out of a fitful sleep. My clothes are stuck to my sweat-drenched skin, and my hair is tangled from thrashing.
As I pull it up to answer, I notice the time is only a little after three in the morning. I haven’t even been out that long.
“Yes?” I say, my voice thick with sleep.
“There’s been an injury. You’re needed at the dress tent immediately. Hurry”
The line clicks, and it takes me a moment to orient myself and remember where I am after that trip down memory lane my dreams took me on. After a few moments and a couple of slaps to my cheeks to wake me up, I slide on my flats and grab my bag, not caring that I’m braless, not worrying about the fact that every inch of my legs is on display.
This is why they hired someone with experience in emergency medicine. Someone is hurt, and I need to bethere quickly. I don’t have time to change. In an emergency, a few seconds can make all the difference.
I rush into the dress tent to find it empty.
I turn on one of the lights that are connected to the portable generator, and frown. It looks exactly as it did when I last saw it. Two metal tubs, filled with the now tepid water from the twins’ ice baths, a few crates, a wardrobe, and a desk with a mirror for makeup application. It’s a bare bones tent, but functional—a transitional space.
And there’s no one here—no sign of a disturbance or blood on the ground from an injury.
I pull out my phone, intending to call the person back, assuming that in their fear for their colleague, they told me the wrong location, but the call was from a blocked number. I must’ve missed that in my half-awake state.
I still would’ve answered it, but maybe I would’ve been on higher alert of the situation I was walking into.
Turning to leave, I startle backward when three men in clown masks block the entrance to the tent.
How long have they been there? I didn’t hear them come in. I was too preoccupied with trying to parse out the emergency.
These aren’t sweet clown masks that they’re wearing. They’re horrifying, with fake blood and exposed bones, sinister expressions twisting their features.
“Ha ha, very funny,” I say woodenly. “Wonderful hazing. You totally got me. I’m terrified.”
They don’t speak.
They press forward in synchronized steps.
Leave it to the circus to give me a trio of well-rehearsed attackers. I wonder if they practiced this moment.
I take several steps backward, every part of me screaming to put more space between me and them. I don’t need to read their expressions on their face to interpretthe messages their bodies are broadcasting loud and clear.
I’m not safe.
Alarm bells that I had spent so long ignoring, wondering if they were even still functional, flare to life, and I’m not going to make the mistake of disregarding them again.
