Page 93 of Played
"Liza?"
I spring from the chair so fast I nearly knock it over.
Julian stands in the doorway, his left hand wrapped in a white cast from fingertips to forearm. His right arm cradles it protectively. There's a bruise blooming along his jaw, and his bottom lip is split.
I run to him.
"Careful—" he starts, but I'm already there, throwing my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
His good arm wraps around me, pulling me close. "Hey. I'm okay."
"You're not okay. Look at you." My voice cracks. "This is all my fault."
"Liza, stop."
"Your hand, Julian. Yourhand."
"I know."
"What if you can't play again? What if—"
"Stop." He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. They're tired, shadowed, but still impossibly kind. "This isn't your fault. You didn't do this."
"Daniel did it because of me."
"Daniel did it because he's a psycho."
"What happened? Did Daniel do this to you?"
Julian's jaw tightens. "Two men. Dressed in black, wearing masks."
My blood turns to ice. "The same ones."
"Probably."
"They just—what? Jumped you?"
"I was walking to my car after my gig. They came out of nowhere." He touches the bruise on his jaw gingerly. "One held me while the other one worked me over. They kept saying I should stay away from other people's girlfriends. That I was fucking with the wrong guy. Crushed my hand with a baseball bat.”
Rage floods through me—hot, consuming, useless. I want to scream. I want to break something. I want to find Daniel and claw his eyes out.
But instead, I just stand there, shaking.
Because that's all I can do. Shake and cry and watch the people I love get hurt.
Powerless. I'm completely powerless.
“It was just one blow,” he tells me, as if that might make me feel better. “The guy was about to go for more, but the other one had some mercy, told him it was enough. Thank god for that…”
"They targeted your hand on purpose," I whisper.
"Yeah."
"They knew."
"Yeah."
