“That seriously hurts my feelings,” Mason replies, making me frown.
“Where’s Lake?”
“Beating the shit out of Grayson.”
“Fuck, Mason, separate them,” I snap. “Call Lake’s father. We need legal here to handle this fucking mess.”
“I’m calling him now, so he doesn’t have to deal with a murder case.”
I can’t blame the guys. If I had to see Grayson now, I’d be facing murder charges soon.
After calling the doctor, Kingsley comes to sit next to Layla, and I hate moving away from her, but Kingsley will know better how to handle the situation.
I take a seat on the opposite side of the coffee table. Kingsley wraps her arms around Layla while my eyes jump from one bruise to the next.
What happened between her and Grayson?
Dark thoughts begin to force their way into my mind, making me grind my teeth. I know what type of person he is, which only makes the images in my mind spin out of control.
“Layla. Did Gray –” My voice sounds hoarse from the dread spinning a web around my heart. Not being able to say the exact words I’m thinking, I try to be sensitive about my approach. “Did he force himself on you?”
My question has shock rippling through the room. Kingsley pulls back, her eyes wide with horror as they jump all over Layla’s face.
Layla’s movements are jerky as she brings her hands to her chest, and taking hold of the torn t-shirt she tries to cover herself.
The last time I felt this kind of emotion was at Jennifer’s funeral. Seeing Mason’s grief for the loss of his sister had my heart breaking for my friend.
With the torturous scenarios flooding my mind, and Layla’s traumatized state, the urge to punch something is overwhelming.
Getting up, I walk around the table and crouch in front of Layla again. I place my hands on either side of her and try to catch her eyes as I ask, “Did he?”
Her eyes dance wildly over my face, and she shakes her head. “No.” She grips the pieces of her shirt tighter.
I feel zero relief after hearing her say no, and it makes me agitated. Glancing to Kingsley, I ask, “What’s taking the doctor so long?”
“I’ll call him again.” Kingsley darts up and races to the door. When she steps out into the foyer, I take the spot she vacated. I’m careful as I place my arm around Layla’s shoulders, and when she turns to me and rests her forehead to my shoulder, I feel a slither of relief.After the doctor treats Layla, he gives her something to help her calm down.
“Can I shower?” she asks the doctor just as there’s a knock on the door. Getting up, I open the door, and my eyes land on Mr. Cutler. For the first time tonight, I feel the tension ease up inside of me.
“Yes, you can bathe or shower. I’ll leave the ointment with you. Reapply it when you’re done,” the doctor answers.
Mr. Cutler steps into the room, and when Kingsley begins to help Layla up from the couch, he quickly mentions, “Before you shower, we need to take photos.”
Layla’s eyes dart from me to Mr. Cutler, which prompts me to introduce them. “This is Mr. Cutler. He’s Lake’s father.”
The meager color Layla managed to regain drains from her face. Looking very uncomfortable she wraps the blanket Kingsley brought her earlier tighter around her body. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cutler. They shouldn’t have called you.”
“Nonsense, Miss Shepard.” He walks to her and taking hold of her chin, he looks at the bruises on her face. “I always knew the Stateman boy was trouble.” Glancing at me from over his shoulder, he asks, “Didn’t I warn you not to let him attend Trinity?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Picking up his bag, the doctor says, “I’ll be going now.”
“Thank you for making the emergency call,” I mention as I let him out before closing the door behind him.
“I understand you’ve had quite the traumatic evening, but I need to take photos, Miss Shepard. If this ever goes to trial, we need all the evidence we can get our hands on.”
“Trial?” Layla’s eyes begin to shine with tears, and I quickly rush to her side.
“There won’t be a trial. I promise.”
“But photos?” She shakes her head, looking utterly drained of her fight for life. “I don’t want proof out there of what happened today.”
“Miss Shepard, no one will see the photos unless we go to court.”
A tear trickles down her cheek and lifting my hand, I wipe it away with my thumb. Layla’s eyes find mine, and the pleading look she gives me almost breaks my heart.
“I don’t want my mom to know. If this gets out, I’m scared…” she swallows hard on the emotion before she continues, “This might jeopardize her career. It will drag CRC into the mess, and I can’t have that. It will be a media frenzy.”