His jaw tightened, eyes slimming. “You won’t have any part in it. You’re pregnant.”
With that cryptic comment that didn’t make me feel any better, West left, and I left to go find Lottie. The guards must have known I was coming, because they only narrowed their eyes as I walked by.
“Just let me do it!” I paused just outside the door to her section of the wing.
I knew I was only here to bring the pen. I could leave it outside the door, even, but the pain in her voice was knife-sharp.
I pushed open the door, taking a step inside.
“Why are you here? It’s Christmas, you should be with your wife. Does she even know you’re here? Or did you lie about that, too?”
The voices were faded, coming from deeper inside her wing, so I kept walking, my feet taking me to the master, and even deeper, just outside the bathroom to an already open door.
“Charlie—”
“Don’t call me that.” The sobbing continued, warbled. “Just go.”
Just on the brink of the master bath, I felt like a voyeur. This moment wasn’t meant for me, but it felt like I should still be there.
I took a step inside, onto the marble tile. Lottie was standing naked in the tub, her hair dry but dripping from the tips. She was in distress, fighting with all her strength with—Jack?
He was not the cool, composed man I’d seen on Labor Day. His short brown hair was wild, his clothes wet with bathwater. Lottie wrestled with him for something in his palm, and it fell to the ground with a clang.
A bloody razor.
I must have gasped, because both Lottie and Jack’s eyes snapped to mine. He stared at me, a deer in headlights, before quickly snatching it off the ground as Lottie reached for it.
“I—” He ran a wet hand through his hair. “I have to go.”
“Good,” Lottie said. “Go. Get the fuck out and never come back.” I don’t know if I’d ever heard her swear.
He flinched slightly at that, but kept walking, stopping only in the doorway, his shoulder to mine.
“Can you—I’m not supposed to be here.” He spoke frantically. His hand was bleeding, and I saw it was because he held the razor in his palm. “I want to stay.”
He looked over his shoulder at Lottie, then his phone sounded and he shook his head, rushing out the door.
Lottie bent down, reaching for another razor and I ran into the room. I gripped her wrist, trying to get the sharp object to release from her grip.
“Why are you here?” she yelled at me. “I’m doing you a favor.”
“Lottie…I…” Is that what she thought? That I wanted her dead? “Think about your baby.”
She gave me a look like I was insane. “I am.”
We paused, the air heavy, then she sobbed, dropping the razor. Minutes passed like that as she stared at the fruity wet tile, crying.
“Lottie, I’m going to call a doctor.”
“Don’t!” Her eyes slashed to mine, the first sign of life since the man left. “No one can know about this. I’m…” She took a breath. “I just wanted attention.”
I bit the side of my lip.
I helped her out of the tub.
Sort of like I did when I was her girl.
But now Lottie had snapped entirely. She wasn’t making me dry or dress her because she felt I was beneath her. As I pressed soft cotton to her hazelnut skin, she stared blankly out at the ocean.