Page 18 of Beneath the Midnight Sky
Based on the DMV information and the hospital dates, she would’ve been around nineteen in the first set of photos. Her face was swollen and bruised, and her lip split open. The next set of photos was from another date, months later, in which her ribs were bruised. The next one was a broken wrist, then broken ribs, then more split lips and black eyes. I could feel my temper rising as I tried to control my anger. The next set of photos were another few years after the first set, only she was unconscious in them. Lying in a hospital bed, her leg was broken, three broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a concussion.
All the police reports in the beginning claimed falls, trips, accidents—but this last one apparently had security footage included. Samuel Wallace, the boyfriend, pushed her down two flights of stairs in their apartment building. One note said that a duffel bag had been found at the scene, and it was speculated that she was trying to leave, but she never corroborated that story.
After that, there are no more hospital trips or police reports. Good, she must’ve left him.
I checked the dates again; they all occurred over the span of two years. Two years. She was twenty-three now, and the last hospital record and photos show she was twenty-one. Where was Samuel now? Did she leave two years ago? Did she stay and just not go to the hospital anymore? Was he just not caught again on camera? Did she come here to run?—
“Rowan,” Wyatt said gently, pulling me from my internal spiral. I looked down, realizing I was gripping the last photo of her in the hospital bed so hard my knuckles were white, and the photo was crumpled where my hand clutched it.
I took a deep breath and carefully put it all back in the folder. “Is there anything else that wasn’t in the folder?” I asked, my voice sounding thick and raspier than I imagined it would be aloud.
“The police report didn’t say it, but I have friends in some more…risky places who I asked. They think the last time she was trying to leave, the doctor didn’t note it, but he thought she showed signs of sexual assault. Obviously, it’s hard to tell. Some people just like it rougher.” He shrugged. “Phone and employment records don’t have her leaving that address or Vegas in general until six months ago. She went from there to here, as far as I can tell.” Wyatt’s voice was quiet, as if relaying this information actually brought him a sense of pain.
I took another deep breath and dropped my face into my hands. My little angel had been nothing but caged, and I wasn’t going to let it happen anymore. Her father. Her ex. The system. Now she was caging herself. I could see it in her eyes anytime I complimented her or tried to ask anything deeper than the basics.
She didn’t want to be known. She didn’t want to put herself out there. Maybe she was scared it would end the same way it did with Sam. Maybe she was just trying to build up her strength in the only way she knew how.
I truly didn’t know why I was so drawn to this woman, but something about her made my heart feel lighter. Almost a caveman’s urge to protect and defend her. Which was insane since I didn’t even know her…right? That was insane. We’d spent one night together. She could be terrible—it could’ve all been an act. Self-centered and egotistical. I didn’t even participate in attempts at love. I promised myself years ago I wouldn’t bother.Couldn’tbe bothered.
I glanced back down at the photo from her first foster home and took a deep breath. There was clearly only one way to find out if my gut was pointing me in the right direction. Fear aside, I’d see it through.
I pulled out my phone and brought up her text from earlier, finally replying. It was Saturday, so I knew she was going to be working this evening.Damn, maybe I was a stalker.
“What are you doing?” Wyatt asked.
“I’m going to help her fly,” I said with a confident smile. No matter how much I had to work at it, I wasn’t going to let my little angel fall anymore.
7
DAY BY DAY
Aspen
It was Saturday.I’d spent the morning cleaning up my apartment—laundry, wiping down my refrigerator, vacuuming, cleaning out all my paint brushes, and organizing my work. Anything I could think of to keep busy. However, I did not wash my sheets. For some reason, the thought of them not smelling likehimimmediately made me somber, which I truly didn’t feel like I had time for. So dirty sex sheets were staying. No regrets.
Last night was…it was everything. Perfect didn’t even fully encompass how I was feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so light, safe, carefree, or fun. So, of course, it was with the guy I’d told I just wanted casual sex with. The guy who didn’t do “commitment.” Go figure. I hadn’t been upset when I’d woken up and he’d been gone, because I knew he was trying to maintain boundaries we’dbothset last night.
I’d texted him earlier, telling him I had fun and thanked him for being understanding about the lack of desire for anything more than casual. I was hopeful that even if we didn’t have a committed or exclusive relationship, we could remain friends.Maybe with benefits thrown into the mix here and there. I mean, he seemed to enjoy himself just as much as I had. I rolled my eyes at myself for my ridiculousness. He’d read the message, but I didn’t hear back.
Which was fine. This was good for me. A step in the direction of not being so overly emotional about every aspect of my life. I needed to find a solid middle ground between being alone and dedicating every facet of my life to a man who wouldn’t or maybe couldn’t do the same for me.
Emotional growth could start with a one-night stand. No issues. I was just peachy.
I turned on my shower. Waiting for the water to heat up, I clicked on one of my favorite feminine rage playlists. I wasn’t going to waste any more brain power on this—truly. It was great sex, amazing, some may say. Was it basically the best sex of my entire life? Yes. But now I knew what was out there. I had a standard now, which was more than I had previously. Standards were good; they showed growth. Growth was also good. Some may even say great.
However, as an adult, I needed to get ready for work. Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water run down my body and took a deep breath.
No more thoughts about Rowan.
I washed my hair and body while singing with my favorite female icons. Finishing up, I was caught off guard when my music paused. I opened the curtain to glance out at my phone, and realized it was vibrating on the countertop. I glanced at the name, but it was anUnknownnumber. Again.
Closing the curtain quickly, I leaned against the shower wall. It wasn’t him. He hadn’t found me. It was a wrong number. A spam call. I slowly sank down to the floor of the shower as my music started playing again, letting me know the call had gone to voicemail.
I tried to remember the breathing techniques I’d learned online. Deep breath in, and hold, then release it. Right? How long did I hold it? Three seconds? Maybe it was five seconds—that felt long though.
Suddenly, the music stopped again, my phone vibrating. I felt my breath coming out harder. Hot water streamed down my face which I knew wasn’t coming from the shower head above.
He couldn’t find me. I was okay. I was safe. Maybe it was five seconds after all. Five seconds in, hold, five seconds out. That sounded right—felt right. Or maybe it was the senses thing? A couple of things I could see, hear, touch…was that five things too? That felt like a lot of things to find. That was probably the point anyway.
