Slut - Woodruff Jettie (книги онлайн полностью .txt) 📗

I tried to pinch my headache away with two fingers, squeezing the bridge in my nose, hoping that was true. A few deep breaths helped calm my nerves, but did little for the impending pain right behind my eyes. He was right, Phi was mine, and according to my own intuition, there was no doubt about that. With a simple mouth swab, I could prove that I gave birth to her. Of course the ‘what if it didn’t’ had to surface next and I worried about that.

Greggory Richfield was in the middle of a phone call, pacing the floor when Lane opened his office door for me. The rather large man ordered someone to dig deeper with a gruff tone, and hung up.

“Greg Richfield, you’re Isabella?” the man said with an extended hand.

My hand felt like a baby’s inside of his. “No, I mean, yeah, I guess so.”

“She’s Gabby. What the hell, Greg? We talked about this.”

“It’s a name,” he said like it was no big deal, taking a seat in front of Lane’s desk.

I sat beside him and mostly listened to Greg and Lane go back and forth with each other while I tried to keep up.

Greg was a tall man, big and burley with a scruffy beard. He didn’t look like a successful attorney at all. He looked like he ate too many cheeseburgers, and could swat planes from the Empire State Building. He was huge, a little sloppy, and he smelled, not in a good way.

“You can have your partner do the psychiatric evaluation today. The sooner we have that, the better. There’s nothing you remember about the day you wrecked? Did you drop your sister off somewhere? Was she in the accident with you?”

Lane moved from behind his desk, and came to my rescue. His hand rested on my shoulder, a gesture meant to comfort me. “Dude, I already told you. She doesn’t remember any of that.”

“I’ve put together bits and pieces from my childhood, but nothing since,” I explained while placing my hand around Lane’s wrist. It felt so natural to touch him, like I’d done it a million times before. Our eyes locked and I released the grip. A quick flinch, unnoticed by Godzilla only. Lane and I both sensed it, the awkward moment proof.

“I can do the evaluation. Nick is booked the entire day,” Lane said with quick snappy words. Nervous words.

“You can’t do the evaluation and you know it. We’ll be lucky to get away with your partner doing it.”

Again, I sat and listened to the banter between the two men. Lane seemed to take my misfortune very serious, but why? Why did he care about me so much?

Godzilla glanced at his crooked watch and stood, tucking his sloppy shirt to the back of his wrinkled pants. “I’ve got to get to court. Get me the evaluation and the hospital reports, ASAP.”

Lane walked him out, but I stayed put, my eyes dancing around the room. Wow. Lane was a psychiatrist. I knew he was a doctor from conversations with Candace, but I guess I didn’t ask what kind of doctor. A photo of Chance and Candace wrapped in a silver frame sat on a shelf next to a signed baseball, and a rush of guilt ran over me. I was a horrible person, and I didn’t like the way it made me feel. She didn’t deserve that, Chance didn’t deserve that. I arched my sore back, feeling a dull pain in my hip, and sighed. My mouth was dry, I was exhausted, and my body ached. And—I had no idea what movie played in my mind. If I thought the confusion was big before, this tripled in size. That was nothing compared to this.

“You okay?” Lane asked from my side.

“Jesus, Lane. What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but don’t worry about anything. I’m going to put you up in a hotel for a few days. Until we can figure out what’s going to happen to you.”

“Is it bad?” That was a dumb question. Of course it was bad. I got into a car with my identical twin, and one of us came out absent. Gone like the wind. Vanished without a trace.

“Don’t worry about it. Greg’s got someone looking into the DNA traits of identical twins. Hopefully you’ll get off on technicality. If not, Nick will deem you incompetent. Defendants can’t be prosecuted if they’re not mentally stable. You’re not. You don’t even know who the hell you are. Fuck, Gabby. This is so screwed up. You should have left before the storm. You never freaking listen. You should have left, Gabby.”

Whoa! My head spun even more with folly. Lane’s tone was stressed, and I didn’t know why. “Left to go where, Lane?”

“Costa Rica.”

A sharp pain shot down my neck when my head snapped to the door. Fear engulfing my veins with anxious adrenaline. I don’t know who I thought the loud knock was, but it frightened me to the core. Candace? Paxton? The cops?

“Calm down. He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s just Nick.”

I defended my husband like he was the King of England, a sassy tone with a matching attitude. “I’m not afraid of Paxton hurting me.”

Lane opened the door, wearing a strained expression. The way his lips pouted and the quick puff of air made him seem condescending. Like Paxton.

“Yeah, sure you’re not.”

“I’ve got an open thirty minutes. That’s it. And I’m eating my lunch while I talk to her.”

I turned to the raspy voice expecting to see another Grizzly Adams. The deep tone didn’t match the body at all. Nick was my age. Maybe younger. Unlike Lane dressed in black slacks, crisp white shirt, and tie, Nick wore jeans, brown leather shoes with a tan blazer. I loved it when Paxton dressed like that. Oh, Good Lord. The man wanted me to die in prison and my mind went right to a picture of him in his preppy clothes. I was a prime example of delirious.

Lane waved an open hand to the dark-haired young man with messy hair. “Gabby this is one of my partners, Nick. He does a little more of the psychosis stuff than I do.”

“I’m not crazy,” I said with an assured snap, frown and tone matching the feistiness.

“Nobody’s saying you are, but you’re not capable of defending yourself right now. You don’t even remember what happened. Nick here is just going to confirm it.”

Nick looked at me with a cocked brow and a nod. It wasn’t until he waved a hand toward the door that I realized he wanted me to follow him to his office. Dick. I didn’t know. I figured since we were already in Lane’s office we’d talk there.

Unlike Lane’s egg-shell colored walls and peaceful atmosphere, Nick’s was boisterous. Blood-red walls and shiny chrome furniture with glimmering accents decorated the room. I sat in front of the black marble desk and Nick plopped to the leather chair in front of me. His head jerked, sending long bangs to the right side of his forehead at the same time his knuckles cracked. One by one with his thumb. Paxton did that.

“Oh, Jimmy John’s. Hang on,” he said while recollecting his lunch order. Nick jumped up and ran from his office, more interested in his food than helping me. That’s promising. Not.

My head tilted to the side and my eyes narrowed when I caught the headline in the framed magazine article. Curiosity forced me to the embossed document. Ohio State student, Nicholas Thomas Xavier, helps Alzheimer’s man find his family through hypnosis.

Nick talked around food in his mouth as he entered, rejoining me and closing the door. The instant smell of steak and cheese reminded me of the last time I’d eaten. I was given a big fat cheeseburger in exchange for information during my interrogation. I ate the tomato and cheese, unable to answer any of their questions, mostly because I didn’t know. That was it in over twenty-four hours, a thin slice of cheese and an unripe tomato. I was hungry.

“Got that award my freshman year. The guy was three hundred miles from home.”

Anxious energy filled my body at the same time the saliva saturated my mouth.

“What?” he asked, smile changing to a frown when I didn’t speak, when I stared at him with the most amazing idea ever.

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and walked to him in four rapid steps. “Can you do that to me? Can you make me remember before my accident?”