Page 30 of Hope and Country

After we hung up, I dialed Juniper, my assistant, and asked her to get clothes delivered here as soon as possible. I trusted her. She asked no questions, and I silently thanked her.

Sitting in my office, I called Dr. Rosenberg, a therapist who had helped Carter deal with his panic attacks after his world exploded a few years ago. He was now our devoted therapist on speed-dial whenever one of us required psychological help.

“Hello, Mr. Burns. It’s been quite some time. How can I help you?”

I explained to him what I knew about Devon’s situation so far. I lacked details but still could give him a description of what happened since she first appeared on my front porch.

“Listen, Riley,” Dr. Rosenberg said, “that woman, she needs help. But you can’t force her to get any if she doesn’t want to or isn’t ready. But I’ll tell you what you can do. Listen. Don’t judge. And be there for her. Offer a shoulder for her to cry on or a safe place where she feels secure enough to share about her trauma or what she went through.”

“Should I push for her to see a doctor? To see you?”

“No. Only she can make that decision. From what you said, it isn’t the first time that man beat her up. And she seems scared to go to the authorities. Maybe she’s right, maybe she isn’t. But follow her lead. If she trusts you—which I assume she does since she came to you—she’ll open up. At her own pace. Just make sure she knows she has access to resources if she changes her mind.”

I scratched my nape. Annoyance simmered inside me. Dr. Rosenberg’s words didn’t please me, but deep inside, I knew they made sense.

I sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The shrink added, “You’re doing great, Riley. Don’t be so hard on yourself. That woman is lucky to have you in her corner. Follow your instincts. From what I’ve learned about you over the years, they’re usually on point.”

I exhaled. “Thank you, doc. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Whenever you need, son.”

We hung up, and I returned to my bedroom to watch Devon from the doorway as she slept, wondering what to do next.

What could I do to support her?

Dr. Rosenberg’s words replayed in my head. Listen. Don’t judge. And be there for her. Follow your instincts.

What would happen to her?

Something deep in me had woken up last night. I wanted to care for her. To make sure she was okay. And that nobody could harm her anymore.

My desire to be around her was as powerful as the first time we met. Only, this time, it had nothing to do with lust. But everything to do with concern and protection.

Once I was sure she was safe and sound, I made a few more calls and canceled all my engagements for the weekend—an album launch party and a golf tournament. Only Devon mattered.

13

DEVON

When I woke up, I scanned the room around me. Panic settled in my core, but soon memories of last night flew in.

I had no idea what time it was, but by the light coming from the hallway, I knew it must have been late morning.

I squirmed on the mattress, and flashes of pain threatened to tear my body into pieces. A loud pounding resonated through my skull. Every inch of my skin tingled with an ache coming from deep inside me. My lips and jaw were numb.

I moved my hand up to feel the scratch on my cheek.

I stifled a gasp of pain when my fingertip connected with the scraped skin.

With a weak arm, I pushed myself to a sitting position and noticed the painkillers and glass of water by the bed.

Riley.

A soft smile peeked on my lips.

After I tied my messy hair in a loose braid and adjusted my borrowed clothes, I aimed for the kitchen, my steps weary and small, doing my best to not make any abrupt movement.