set her down on the couch.
“The cops and EMTs will be here in about twenty minutes,” Finn states, coming up behind me and shoving his phone into his back pocket. “They’re finishing up statements at the club.” I can hear the guilt in Finn’s voice, and part of me wants to turn around and finish our argument from the car and ask him again what the hell he was thinking taking his eyes off of Layla for even one minute.
Layla looks over my shoulder and up at Finn, her face softening with a smile for him. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I was an idiot. I should never have left the club by myself,” she reassures him softly.
I don’t share the same sentiment, so I keep my mouth shut and continue checking her hands and knees for glass and to make sure the bleeding has stopped, which it hasn’t. I’ve never seen someone bleed this much from a few little cuts and scrapes.
“What did the guy want? What did he say to you? Did he do anything else to you?”
I watch the color drain from Layla at Finn’s rapid-fire questions, and I want to stand up and shove my fist into his face. She swallows roughly a few times, and her eyes blink back more tears as Finn continues his interrogation. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he sounded like some crazy fan instead of her friend. Someone who just wants the dirty details and gossip instead of making sure his friend is okay.
“Did you get a good look at him? Recognize his voice?”
I finally stand up and turn to face Finn, our noses practically touching, the tightness in my eyes and my face hopefully warning him that I’m about two seconds away from beating his ass if he doesn’t stop.
“I think Layla needs a break. At least until the cops get here. She shouldn’t have to go over this more than once,” I tell him.
I can see the war of emotions on his face: rage, resentment, jealousy, shame. They’re all right there for me to witness as he tries to keep himself in check and not make a scene in front of Layla.
“I’m going to go get you a few wet towels for your cuts and scrapes, see if I can stop the bleeding, and a bag of ice for your cheek,” I tell Layla without taking my eyes off of Finn.
Once I’m satisfied he’s finished grilling her, I step around him and head for the massive staircase next to the kitchen, hoping it will take me to a bathroom.
As I finish wringing out a couple of small towels a few minutes later, I hear the door slam closed downstairs and a raised voice carrying up the stairs. Grabbing the towels, I go out into the hall and look down over the balcony above the living room to see Eve standing next to the couch glaring down at Layla with her hands on her hips, her posture rigid.
“What the hell were you thinking, you stupid, stupid girl? Have you even seen your face? How in the hell are you supposed to do a photo shoot tomorrow for the cover of InStyle when you look like shit?” Eve berates Layla.
My blood boils when I hear the words coming out of Layla’s mother’s mouth, and I quickly turn and head for the stairs.
“I swear to God you are WORTHLESS! You see what happens when you don’t listen to me? Things get ruined. You ruin everything. Now I’m going to look like an idiot when I have to call the magazine and reschedule the shoot,” Eve states as I make my way to the bottom of the stairs.
“Jesus, wash that shit off of your hands and legs for God’s sakes before anyone gets here and sees you looking like this.”
I waltz up behind Eve, reach around her, and quietly hand Layla one of the wet towels, giving her a reassuring smile as I do so.
Eve jumps when she realizes she isn’t alone in the house with Finn and her daughter and quickly turns around and pastes a fake smile on her face.
“Mr. Marshall! So good to see you again, I didn’t realize—”
“No, you didn’t realize,” I deadpan, cutting her off. “Layla is fine, by the way. I’m sure she appreciates your concern for her well-being. The guy who attacked her only dragged her by her hair and punched her in the face so hard that she passed