Unsuitable
Page 93

He saved me. Twice now.
After the paramedic finished with me, Cece was brought into the kitchen, a female officer with her.
Cece looked ashen and shook up.
Our eyes met, and a silent conversation passed between us.
She’d lied, too.
I’d made her an accomplice.
I hated myself in that moment.
The female police officer told us that our apartment was now an official crime scene.
We couldn’t stay there. Not that I would have wanted to anyway.
She told us to pack clothes to last us a few days. That we wouldn’t be allowed back until the forensics were done.
Cece and I walked out of our kitchen and into the hall. Our apartment was swarming with police.
I felt her reach for my hand, and she squeezed it.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
She didn’t sound like she believed her own words. But I bit my lip and nodded my head.
Then, we silently walked to our bedrooms.
I didn’t want to take Kas’s shirt off. So, I buttoned it up properly and pulled on a pair of jeans. I quickly packed my bag and met Cece back out in the hallway.
Then, the nice policeman who had made me a cup of tea drove us to a hotel. He checked us in and then told us that they’d be in touch in the morning, as we would have to go into the station to give our official statements.
Up in our shared room, I lay in the bed with Cece lying beside me—both of us not even pretending to sleep, but neither of us wanting to speak.
I was still wearing Kas’s shirt. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off. Just having his scent around me was a comfort.
And I thought about Kas. He was all I thought about.
I couldn’t think about what I’d done…killing Damien. I knew I’d break if I did.
So, I pushed that away, and I thought about what Kas had done for me. He’d saved me. Put me before himself. He’d protected me.
No one had ever done anything like that for me before.
And he’d told me that he loved me.
He loves me.
I couldn’t stop the tears after that.
Cece rolled over in bed and wrapped her arms around me. I cried harder. Then, she started to cry, too.
We stayed there, crying together, holding each other, until we fell asleep.
When we woke in the morning, it was to the sound of a knock on the hotel door.
Bleary-eyed, I stumbled out of bed and answered it. It was the policeman who’d driven us here last night. He told me he was there to take us to the station.
He waited in the lobby while Cece and I dressed. I just threw on some yoga pants and a T-shirt. I didn’t bother to shower. I ran a brush through my hair and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
I saw my face in the mirror. My eye was black and swollen. On my chin was another large dark bruise from where Damien had head-butted me.
Tears swam in my eyes as images of the night before filled my head. I started to shake uncontrollably. I had to sit on the edge of the bathtub to steady myself.
I forced the tears to stop. Then, I got to my feet. Eyes avoiding the mirror, I brushed my teeth.
When I came out of the bathroom, Cece was sitting on the bed, waiting for me. Her efforts to dress were about the same as mine.
She stood up, came over, and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I jerked back, staring at her face. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I told her firmly.
“I let him in,” she said. “I didn’t know it was him.”
Cece had never met Damien.
“How would you have known? It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”
“No.” It was her turn to be firm. “The only person to blame is that sick fucker, Damien. You saved us, Daisy. You saved my life.” A tear rolled down her face.
I brushed it away. “You lied for me,” I whispered. “You’re going to have to lie again at the station. You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“You’re not going back to prison. I will do anything to keep you out of that place. You’re my best friend. My family. I protect my family.”
I bit my quivering lip. “Kas…he’s in prison…he took the blame.”
“He loves you,” she said.
It was all she said. All that needed to be said.
We left our hotel room and headed downstairs to the lobby where the officer was waiting.
He drove us to the police station.
We were taken into separate interview rooms, and I spent the next few hours telling the same story that I’d told them last night. One officer listened while the other made notes.
I wasn’t even afraid that I might make a mistake and trip myself up. By that point, I was too weary to care.
All I wanted was to see Kas, to know how he was, but no one was telling me anything.
Every time I asked, the answer would be the same. “He’s with our other officers, being questioned, as you are.”
After I finished giving my statement, I was offered some food. I accepted a sandwich even though the thought of eating was the furthest thing from my mind.
I was taken aback when I saw who was bringing my sandwich to me. It was the detective who had arrested me all those years ago.
He took the seat across from me and handed me the sandwich. Then, he proceeded to tell me that Jason Doyle had been found dead in his home early that morning. His body had been there for a day before anyone had found him.
“Suicide,” he said. “Jason slit his wrists,” he said.