just assumed he’d spent the money out of spite.
Right as she was about to step from the hallway into the living room, she noticed Aimee sitting in one of the chairs by the fire. As she took in the purple and red bruises and white, gauzy bandage, she felt winded, as if she’d been punched in the gut and couldn’t catch her breath. Bile burned the back of her throat as she stared at her once close friend. Carlos had done this. In a sadistic attempt to get at her, he’d hurt Aimee.
She took a step back. Panic crawled up her throat, her stomach tensing to the point of pain. Spots danced precariously before her eyes. If she didn’t get somewhere fast, she was going to pass out. Her vision wavered as she weaved her way back down the hall and into the safety of the bathroom. Her finger barely had time to engaged the lock before the world tilted on its axis. Unsure if she was going to vomit or pass out, she dropped to the floor and pressed her face to the cold tile. It was a balm to her flaming-hot skin. As she lay there, images played through her head—Carlos yanking her hair, slapping her face, kicking her stomach, punching her over and over again.
“Go away,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. The images just kept coming—Carlos threatening her, threatening Petal, calling her vulgar names in Spanish . . . shooting that man in the head. A sob broke from her lips, and then another. Before she knew it, she was crying so hard she could barely catch her breath.
A long while later, the tears finally subsided. The episode had left her feeling boneless and exhausted. Maybe Dr. Harvey was right; perhaps she should talk to someone.
Slowly peeling herself from the floor, she pushed to her feet. Her eyes hit the mirror, and she gaped at her reflection. Yikes! She couldn’t go out there like this! She looked like death warmed over. With that thought, she unlocked the door and fled downstairs to reapply her makeup.
By the time she reemerged from the basement, the bonfire was lit, and food preparations were underway. Alice was back on the sofa with Sprinkles, which meant that the room had cleared out.
Bypassing both Alice and the kitchen, Sage slipped outside to the patio. She immediately spotted Aimee sitting by the fire with a blanket around her shoulders. A worried-looking Sledge hovered nearby. Aimee glanced her way and their eyes connected. Swallowing past the giant lump in her throat, Sage walked across the patio and sat beside her. Neither of them said a word as they stared at the dancing flames.
Sage was the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
Aimee’s head turned. Her swollen eyes hit on Sage, and she tried not to cringe. The damage looked even worse up close. Several broken capillaries surrounded Aimee’s left eye, while the white of her right eye was an awful blood-red color.
“I can’t decide if you’re the bravest or stupidest person I know,” Aimee rasped through her damaged vocal cords.
Sage snorted. “Definitely stupid.”
Aimee pointed to her face. “How many times did he do this to you?”
A wave of shame washed through Sage, and she had to glance away. “A lot.”
Aimee’s hand found hers and squeezed. “Definitely brave,” she rasped.
Ha! If only Aimee could have seen her a few minutes ago when she was plastered to the bathroom floor.
“I should have told you about Gibby.”
Sage wondered when the subject would arise. “Yes, you should have.”
“Sledge was only part of the reason. I was worried that if I told you, you would leave Gibby, and I would lose you. You were the only friend I had.” She let out a dry laugh. “I lost you anyway.”
“I’m tired of being mad at you,” Sage admitted.
Aimee laughed again. “Girl, you sure know how to hold a mean grudge.”
“Yeah, well, at least I don’t think I’m better than everyone else,” Sage shot back at her.
“I don’t, not really.” Sage gave her a look. “What? I don’t think I’m better than you. I miss you. I miss the friendship we had. I miss my husband and the club. I miss it all, and I want it back.”
Surprised by Aimee’s earnestness, she said, “You’re gonna have to fight for it.”
“I know. Will you help me?”
“If I can.”
“I got a job. I’m a receptionist at a salon. I was thinking that maybe I could go