Page 124 of Your Sharpest Edge
“No.” Anastasia stopped everything.
I threw the phone on the bed and ran over to her, grabbing her as her knees buckled. I held her in my arms as tears streamed down her face.
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
I needed to fix this. My heart pounded outside my chest. I felt like I was being transported all back to the day that I couldn’t protect her, but it was worse, so much worse, because it was Damien I couldn’t get to. Though, if I panicked, it wouldonly make things worse for her and the situation, so I needed to remain calm.
“Ledger?” I called, still holding Anastasia. “I need you to call 9-1-1. We’re going to get an Uber, and we’ll be there in no longer than five minutes.”
“Even better. Dirks texted me, and I told him you needed a ride. He’s meeting you downstairs now.”
“Perfect.” I paused. “Please hang up.”
“Wait,” Anastasia called. “There’s a restraining order. Tell the police there’s a restraining order against both of us.”
Good. Thank fuck. That was one of my first questions. I knew they had scheduled phone calls with Dimitri, but I needed to make sure some sort of protection was already in place.
The phone disconnected, and I turned to Anastasia. “I need to be able to get our stuff. Can you walk?” I asked, and she nodded shakily.
“Give me a second though. I need to steady myself.”
I was trying to think of all the ways I could carry her bags and her, but there was too much. I could at least get the stuff.
“I need your brain to stop.”
“What?” My attention snapped back to her as if I had been jolted back to reality.
“I can see your chest rising and falling rapidly and your eyes darting frantically around the room. I need you to be calm because I’m starting to panic, and I can’t let my anxiety feed off anything.”
I nodded. Yes, I could be calm. I needed to be calm for her, if that’s what she needed from me.
“I can do that,” I breathed.
I grabbed our bags and then her hand and headed out the door as calmly as possible. She was crying, and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to fix this or make it any better. All I knew was I needed to be better than I was last time.
“Tell me about your restraining order so we can tell the police when they show up,” I asked, keeping my tone even.
“What do you mean?” she asked as we walked into the elevator.
“What are the parameters of the order? Is someone supposed to contact you when he gets released?”
She nodded. “Yes, the lawyer was supposed to inform me when he gets out. He wasn’t supposed to be released or up for parole for a couple of years.”
I swallowed, trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. As the elevator continued its descent, a thought struck me.
“Check your missed calls.”
She was shaking as she picked up her phone, her breath coming out in uneven gasps. Her hands trembled so much that she struggled to unlock the screen. She gripped the elevator handrail for support, her knuckles white with the effort.
“Check your missed calls from yesterday,” I instructed gently, trying to keep my voice steady to calm her.
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear as she began scrolling through her phone. Her fingers moved clumsily, and she had to swipe several times before she could focus enough to find the call log. The elevator continued moving, the walls seeming to close in around us.
Her breathing grew more erratic, and I could see the panic rising in her eyes.
“Take a deep breath,” I said softly. “You’re doing great. Just keep going.”
She nodded again, visibly trying to steady herself. With a final, shaky exhale, she found the missed calls from the previous day. Her eyes scanned the list frantically, her face paling as she reached the bottom.
