Page 78 of Fighting for You
But just as I round the corner, getting a full view of her front door, I notice a bouquet of fresh flowers on her doorstep. Flowers I know I didn’t send. So who the fuck did?
The closer I get to her front door, the more pissed off I feel. Has she been seeing someone else this whole time? Or did she just move on insanely quickly? The bouquet is huge, definitely not a cheap one from the grocery store.
I do my best not to look at the card once I’m standing right in front of it, no matter how tempting it is. I may be pissed, but I’m not going to invade her privacy. Bringing my fist up to the door, I knock three times.
While I stand there, waiting for her to answer, I start counting. I’m tempted to knock again already, but I want to wait a reasonable amount of time. After a full sixty seconds, I knock again, louder but only twice this time. Another sixty seconds goes by and nothing.
The panic is setting in, so I knock four times and yell, “Margot, answer the door, or I’m breaking it down.” Almost instantly, I hear shuffling from inside, then the frantic hurriedness of unlocking all seven bolts. The door swings open, but the woman who greets me looks nothing like the Margot I know. This girl has deep purple bags under her eyes, her complexion is so pale her freckles stand out more than usual, and her eyes are red-rimmed like she’s been crying.
I start to reach for her but then remember the flowers and the possibility of her seeing someone else. For a moment, it’s like she’s in a trance, but then she comes to and throws herself into my arms. “Fuck, Margot, what—”
“Oh my God, I’m so happy it’s you,” she says, but her voice sounds weak, almost hoarse.
“You… are?” I’m so confused, I thought she hated me. She hasn’t answered my calls or texts in almost two weeks. Why would she be happy to see me? But all she does is nod her head against my shoulder. Her body is warm against me, and her arms are locked around my neck like steel bands. A part of me wants to accept it and move on, but the other part is worried I’m the one being played this time. “Margot… who uh… who are the flowers from? Are you seeing someone?”
Her face pulls away from my shoulder, and I notice she’s white as a ghost. “Wha—what are you talking about?”
I lean back so she can look down beside us. Her face twists, but she grabs the card without saying a word. The second she turns it over and sees whatever is written there, her hand flies to her mouth, a sob breaking loose. I bring her back to my chest, caressing the back of her head with my hand. “What’s going on, Freckles?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Margot
I’m not entirely sure the Brooks standing at my door isn’t a figment of my imagination. I’ve spent the last week locked away and barely sleeping. My vision is blurry, and I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or if I’m crying again. The instant and overwhelming relief I felt seeing Brooks on the other side of my door is obliterated as soon as I read the card that came with the flowers.
Feel better, pretty girl.
Yours, J
He’s so handsome standing there, but his expression is worried as he takes me in. I’m sure I look like a mess, I haven’t been able to take care of myself all week. Wrapped in his arms, I feel safe for the first time in what feels like forever. I want to stay like this, I know he won’t let anything happen to me if we just stay likethis. No matter what happened between us, between him and Tiffany, I know I can count on him to protect me from anything.
“What’s going on, Freckles?” he asks softly against my temple. His words drag me back to my current reality, and I stiffen.
Too anxious to look around the yard, I grab Brooks’ hand and pull him inside, quickly sliding all the locks into place, holding my breath until I’ve checked them over and made sure they’re holding.
Brooks gently places his hands on my shoulders, and I nearly jump out of my skin, turning around to face him.
He takes a step back, hands up, showing me he means no harm. “Whoa, what’s going on, Margot? You’re okay. It’s just me.” I wrap my arms around myself and shiver. I don’t know how to control my body, my emotions are frayed, and I’m hanging on by a thread.
“I—I… I need help,” I force out. “I’m so scared. Please help me.” Tears begin to pour down my face, I’m surprised I have any left. “You have to help.” The last of my words end in sobs, and he pulls me into him. I go willingly, letting him envelop me. One of his large hands wraps around my head, stroking my hair, the other is around my waist.
“What happened? I’m here, baby, I’ll help. Just tell me what happened, please.” His voice is soft, but the worry is evident, and I sense a tinge of anger in his words as well, but he’s restraining himself. I can’t get any words out, just heaving sobs. I’m shaking all over and unable to calm down.
After a few minutes of him letting me cry on his shoulder, Brooks says, “Just tell me if someone hurt you. Are you hurt?”
I shake my head, but words won’t come. It must be enough for him though because he says, “Up you go,” as he hoists me up, one hand under my butt, the other around my back. My legs wrap around his waist, and I bury my head into the crookof his neck. He carries me upstairs pausing just a second in my bedroom, most likely taking in how I’ve been living—shades drawn, clothes strewn across the floor, food containers littering my bedside table and dresser. I can’t imagine what he thinks of me right now.
He keeps moving into the bathroom and tries to deposit me on the vanity. “No, please, don’t let go,” I say, my fingers grasping his jacket and digging into his back.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just want to turn the water on for you. Can you let me do that?” he soothes.
I loosen my grasp, and Brooks unwinds my arms from his neck. I miss his warmth as soon as he takes a step back, but he keeps his hand on both of mine as he stretches to turn the shower on. It takes a minute for the water to turn hot, and steam starts to billow around us, the humidity of the room increasing by the second.
I’m staring at his hand holding mine when his other one gently tips my chin up so he can see my eyes. Intense concern lines his blue gaze as he searches my face for any hint of what happened. I want to tell him everything, but my teeth are chattering, and I can’t form a coherent sentence. His thumb comes up and swipes at the tears I can’t control. “Shh, it’s okay,” he says gently before pressing a small kiss to my forehead. “Let’s get you under the water, alright?”
I manage to nod. With slow, measured movements, Brooks releases my hands and pulls my scrub top over my head. I wince as I get a whiff of the shirt. I feel like I should be embarrassed about my state, but all I feel is deep shame. I should be able to take care of myself. It’s what I do for a living, but here I sit, completely incapable of even the simplest of tasks. I guess I’m more like my dad than I thought.
Brooks must sense the change in my emotions because he takes my face in his hands and says, “Hey, hey, look at me. I’vegot you, baby, I promise. Can you stand up? I need to take off your pants.”
