Desperate to Touch

She stares at it a moment before tucking her brunette locks behind her ears.

“So, spill it,” she requests.

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen Bethany and the last time we spoke in person things didn’t go so well. It was my fault and I can still feel the distance between us. I hate it. Rubbing my hand down my face, I come to a certain realization. Seems like I’m full of hate today.

“I owe you an apology—”

“Stop it,” she says, cutting me off. “You already apologized, for one.” She swallows without looking back at me. It looks like she’s lost weight since I’ve seen her. Meeting my gaze, she says, “Second, I know now.”

“You know what?” I ask her, my fingers reaching for the ceramic mug.

Even with concealer under her eyes, I can tell she hasn’t slept. Or maybe I’m just making it up, and I want to avoid talking about me, and move the conversation to her dilemma.

“That you know Seth,” she confesses. She leans forward and says, “You knew him when I dragged you to his car. You could have told me.” The last sentence she practically whispers and as she says it, I retract my hands from the table and move them to my lap.

“How do you know?”

“Jase.” Bethany’s answer is the name of her now-boyfriend. And Seth’s employer. It’s odd to think of Seth working for someone. He was never the type to take orders from anyone other than his father. He was bred to rule. It’s simply who he is.

“What else did he tell you?” I question, my words coming out carefully. I feel a sick prickling along my skin. Bells chime above the café door and the sound steals my attention for only a fraction of a second. It’s all too intense. Whenever Seth is involved, it’s too intense.

“He told me not to tell you… so shhh, don’t tell anyone I told you.”

I roll my eyes as I comment, “As if I ever would,” and try to take another sip of coffee. Again, I can’t taste a thing.

All I can wonder is how much Jase knows. Did Seth tell him something? Did he tell him everything? I haven’t told a soul. I can’t even speak it out loud.

With a prick at the back of my eyes, I ask Bethany, my voice cracking, “Did he tell you what happened when I left? What made me leave?”

Her thick hair swishes as she sips her tea, never taking her eyes off of me. Maybe she’s waiting for me to tell her, but there’s not a chance in hell I will. I can’t. I can’t tell her about Cami.

With the silence separating us and adding an air of dread to our corner of this little café, Bethany tells me, “He only said that you two were together back when you lived in California and then you left.” I nod. I fled, I ran, I took off. Left seems like such an insignificant word.

She adds when I don’t respond, “Jase said it looks like Seth followed you here.”

“He didn’t.” I’m quick to correct her. Derrick told me he didn’t. If he had, he would have come for me sooner. “He didn’t come here for me.”

Why does it hurt so much? Why does my heart twist and turn before going thud, thud, then pausing in my chest?

“Jase seems to think otherwise. I walked in on him and Carter talking about it.”

The furrow of my brow works in time with my curiosity. My interest, and my concern piqued, I lean forward to question, “Why were they talking about it?”

Bethany shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal. I don’t want my name to be spoken by either of those men. The Cross brothers aren’t known for generosity. They’re brutal. Especially Carter. That sick prickling heats and makes my entire body burn with anxiety.

“Why did you leave?” she asks me and I’d be grateful for the change of subject away from the Cross brothers, had it been any other subject.

My finger plays at the rim of my mug, gliding along it as I inhale and exhale, forming the words in my mind first. I’m careful and deliberate with my answer when I say, “Things got hard and a bad thing happened to someone close to me.” I peek up and Bethany’s eyes are assessing. She’s the best nurse at the Rockford Center, in my possibly biased opinion. It’s one of the reasons I was drawn to her. She’s damn good at what she does and she loves people in general. She loves making a difference and helping them. “Don’t you dare treat me like one of the patients,” I warn her.

Putting her hands up in the air, she protests that she never would. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay.” She resumes her position and cocks a brow at me before adding, “I won’t push you.”