Page 37 of Scar Tissue

“You’ve beencounting?”

“Let me pull up my notes app.” She picks her phone up and starts to unlock it when I interrupt.

“Nope. No. We’re not doing that. I’ll answer your other question. When did you get so talkative?”

She only shrugs at me in response and I decide not to push it. She has a therapist to do that with, whom she meets several times a week online. “We have a shared history, but you already know that. You also know how complicated that history is.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” she says casually.

I scoff. “You’re really not gonna let this go."

“How can I when you literally tracked her down the other day when she was ignoring your texts? You looked like a kicked puppy. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I was worried about her. I didn’t expect her not to come back when she got done with her interview,” I argue, and Dyer runs his hand down his face as he watches the exchange before flicking his gaze back to the monitors.

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Listen, I’ve only known you guys for like two weeks, and evenIcan tell. You look at her like she hung the moon or the stars or some shit. As I said, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“We’ve talked about it, okay? She knows how I feel, how I’vealwaysfelt.” I rub the back of my neck.

“And?”

“And she feels the same, but she isn’t ready. She’s drawn a line in the sand and I won’t cross it until she gives me the green light.”

Her expression softens then, clearly satisfied. “Oh…well that sucks. For you, I mean.”

I huff a laugh. “Wow, thanks.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re handling it better than most people would.”

“Oh yeah? By cracking my knuckles over and over again?” I mock.

“That, and you seem to be about three more sighs away from losing your mind.”

“Still might,” I mutter, and turn my attention back to the monitors. We might not be able to see anything…but Dyer is translating any pertinent information he hears onto one of the other screens while the audio visual spikes and flattens with every passing conversation.

I’m praying that the gala is almost over. There was never a set end time, but the longer into the night it gets, the more my stomach churns with the feeling that something is about to change—and I don’t want us to be in the crosshairs when it does.

Chapter

Twenty-Three

THEA

Anxiety swirls in my gut when I walk through the entrance and immediately spot security in the lobby patting a few people down before they’re allowed through the main doors to the ballroom. These security guards are certainly not normal ones, nor are they pretending to be anything other than the imposing giants they are. If I didn’t know the reality of the underlying goal of the event, I’d think it strange and might be second guessing if I wanted to participate.

Granted, there are likely several high profile individuals inside, so then again maybe it would make sense to the normal eye, but not for the reasons they’d assume.

I step forward and I can feel their scrutinizing gazes on me. I’m to tell them I’m a volunteer for the event and provide my “badge” as proof—the badge that we bought off another volunteer for an offer higher than what she was promised she would make working. They wave a wand over my form before doing a pat down where one of them gets a littletoohandsy. I clench my jaw together even though what I really want to do is knee him in his groin. But then I definitely wouldn’t be let in, and this isn’t just about me. They’re not justchecking for what they’ve labeled as prohibited items for tonight, they’re ensuring that anyone who doesn’t belong doesn’t get inside. The guard checking me stares at my necklace for a few seconds longer than necessary and I worry that he has x-ray vision and can see what it doubles as. One wrong move, and the whole thing could fall apart.

“Do you know where I’m supposed to go once I get inside?” I say, hoping to distract him.

“Did you not review the instructions?” the other guard asks, his voice annoyed.

Instructions? What instructions?

“Erm—I did, I’m just nervous because this is the first kind of event like this that I’ve worked and I really need the money, and I tend to forget things when I’m nervous even though I look over things twelve times over. I—” My rambling must work because the guard interrupts me.

“Okay, okay. All volunteers are meeting in the kitchen. Straight back, and there is a door to the left side of the stage that you’ll enter. You better hurry, though, otherwise the event coordinator isn’t going to be happy.” He steps out of the way to let me pass and I offer him a shy smile. As I’m walking away, I swear I can hear him mutter something about women being too emotional while the other one responds with something I can’t hear at all. But when I look back over my shoulder, I can see his eyes slide up and down my form. Gross.