I don’t know why, but it feels important that I keep it.
Then I call Chelsea. She answers on the first ring.
“Hi. You okay?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then she says, “Is he still there?”
“No. I went back to sleep, and when I woke up just now, he was gone.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Good. Better than this morning. No more headache, and my stomach’s solid.”
“I meant emotionally.”
I take a moment to think about it, then answer honestly. “Surprisingly steady.”
Her soft exhalation lets me know how worried she’s been about me.
“What about you?”
“Bitch, I’ve have twelve mental breakdowns in the past hour alone. I still can’t wrap my mind around it.”
“I want to know everything that happened on your end since I got to the restaurant last night. Go.”
She draws a slow breath, then spills the tea in one long, uninterrupted monologue, barely pausing to inhale. When she’s done, I have more questions than when she started.
“Who’s this Emiliano character? How does Cole know him?”
“No idea. We didn’t get to that.”
“He told me they were old friends. Said they work together sometimes.”
“Work together,” she repeats, her voice thoughtful. “Interesting.”
“What was he like?”
“Smart. Tough. Looks like somebody who could break all your bones, but talks like Socrates.”
We’re quiet for a moment, until she says, “I think we should agree that whatever Cole told us both about Dylan, we don’t share with each other.”
“Why?”
Her tone darkens. “The less we know, the less we can tell the police if they come asking.”
A chill runs over my body, leaving goose bumps on my skin. “I’m worried about them too. I told him they’d start looking at traffic cameras, interviewing people if…”
I don’t have to say it. She knows what I mean.
“Yes. What was his response?”
“Seemed like he didn’t care. He was too focused on convincing me we can’t have a relationship.”
“That sounds extremely rational.”
“I don’t care if it’s rational.”
“You should.”
“Well, I don’t. And don’t tell me you don’t like him, because I know you do.”
“It’s not about whether or not I like him. It’s about whether or not he’s good for you.”
“So you do like him.”
She sighs. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I like him too, Chelsea. A lot. A really, really lot.”
“You liked Chet a really, really lot too.”
“Please. They’re not even in the same ballpark!”
“I know. But this guy is…complicated.”
That makes me laugh. “You think?”
“Don’t be blasé about this. Whatever kind of ‘work’ he and Emiliano do together, I’ll bet my left arm it isn’t something legal.”
“What, you think he runs drugs or something?”
She thinks for a moment. “No. I think they’re a couple of do-gooders.”
I make a face at the phone. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know exactly. All I can tell you is the vibe I got. The two of them are tight, that was obvious. Emiliano said he was a former gang member, and a lot of guys who get out of gangs dedicate themselves to helping other people. Community outreach, educating kids about the dangers of the lifestyle, that kind of thing. And Cole knows all about the court system, how it handles guys like Dylan, how abusers don’t usually get the sentences they deserve. I don’t know how the two things are connected, but I bet they are.”
I think about how ashamed Cole was that he followed me and watched me on the restaurant’s cameras. How he apologized and said it was inexcusable.
I think about how much anger he tries to keep bottled up, how it leaks out all over the place despite his best efforts. In his scowls, his arrogance, the slammed doors.
I think about how someone like him—rich, privileged, on top of the world—would know how abusers slip through the system.
And I wonder what would make a man in Cole’s position endanger his entire life to get rid of one.
This is bigger than me and Dylan. This goes back much longer.
Maybe Cole lost someone the way Chelsea has.