Page 63 of Changing Lanes

“You didn’t think I did that to her face, did you?”

A humorless laugh fills the room. “If I did, you’d be dead,” he says straight-faced, before closing the door behind him.

Well, ho, ho, fucking ho.

I let the threat go and stare at the cracked doll fast asleep on the brown leather couch. I know what he means. I would slay for what was done to her. I was ready to kill a relationship with my best friend without hesitation.

That realization hits me like a Mack truck. It also reminds me of how Coty used to be when Angela first moved in across the hall. Dude got pissed if we even breathed near her. He was wound up all the time and broody as all hell whenever she’d duck him. It was like living with a pissed off Rottweiler for a while there.

This isn’t the same though. Coty was in love with Angela. He was sick with jealousy. This is different. This is just being a concerned roommate. Marc said it himself—he’d kill me if he thought I hurt her. He has a mother and a sister he loves. It’s only natural he’d want to protect Paige.

But, if that’s true, what’s my excuse? I have neither and yet I feel more protective over Paige than I do my own boys. Why is that?

Paige moans softly then covers her face, making me lurch forward. She winces, dropping her hand but otherwise remains asleep, so I shove my hands in my pockets, rocking from side to side.

“Who did this to you, girl?” I whisper, watching her.

One of the bigger scratches starts bleeding through the goop on her forehead.

“Shit,” I mutter and sprint into her room in search of more ointment. I’m careful not to disturb too much of her stuff but honestly her room is pretty bare. I’ve been in her room before, of course, but my eyes were only for her. I didn’t bother looking around when she was all I saw anyway. There are no decorations, no pictures of family or friends, nothing to explain who she is or where she came from other than her work clothes and moto-gear.

Marc mentioned her childhood and the way she grew up but I’m not seeing any of that. Not here at least.

What am I missing?

Coming up empty, I check the bathroom with the same results. Nothing. Isn’t she some kind of nurse? She should have something, anything, damn it.

In that moment I know exactly what I want to do.

CHAPTER 15

Paige

The first thing I see when I open my eyes is a new nightlight plugged into the wall on the opposite side of the living room. I may not spend many nights here but I do know that light wasn’t there before. It reflects off the metal bat next to the alcohol cart which I never really got the story about.

The second thing I notice is an entire pharmacy laid out across the coffee table. Someone went a little crazy at the drug store. My mind jumps to Beckett and I suppress a grin.

Sitting next to a year’s supply worth of gauze is a glass of ice water and a bottle of pain reliever.

I squint in the newly lit room.

Two bottles. One of each kind.

The smile shoves its way through this time.

I slowly sit up on the couch I passed out on, killing the smile almost instantly. Damn, that hurts. Note to self: do not ram your head into a wall. Seems like solid life advice for everybody. Maybe I should write a book. Go on tour. Make a cool mil.

I snort. So stupid.

I guzzle the water, thankful for the cold snap to wake me up, and pop a couple of capsules. Whoever bought all of this put in a lot of thought. Again, my mind conjures up an image of Beckett. I try to wave it away because it’s Beckett. The guy wouldn’t go through this much trouble for anyone let alone me, his…enemy?

On the other hand, I can’t see Marc doing it either. He was concerned during our friendly dinner together but in an impersonal let me know if you need anything way.

Not like Beckett who insists on being in my personal life any chance he gets. Shithead.

My sleep-filled eyes browse the supplies in front of me as I reach up to touch my forehead. Expecting to come away with dry fingers, I’m surprised to find a fresh coat of medicated gel covering the area.

He took care of me. While I was asleep. There’s no way it was Marc. I just know. He would’ve made a bigger deal if he cared that much. Cared enough to not only buy all this stuff but to apply the ointment himself without waking me. No, I can’t see Marc doing that.