by Nikki Ash
“Well, it just so happens I’m in need of a web designer. Any chance you’re looking for a side job?” Tristan grins, wagging his eyebrows.
“Seriously?” I get giddy at the idea of doing something creative.
“Look.” He presses a few buttons on his phone and turns it around. It’s a conversation between him and Web designer #3.
“Number three?” I question while reading the texts. The last message is timestamped two minutes ago and the designer apologized for canceling again.
“Yeah, three people have now canceled on me. My web designer quit to go on maternity leave. She was about to revamp my page. Number two forgot to pay the renewal fee and I lost my domain and page. I got the domain back, but the page was wiped out. Number three—well, as you just read, canceled on me. So, what do you say?”
He takes a bite of his sandwich, and my eyes zero in on the strength of his jaw as he chews. Then as he swallows, my eyes move down to his sexy throat.
“Charlie?”
Holy shit! What is wrong with me? I can’t stop staring at this man. “Yeah,” I choke out then clear my throat. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”
Tristan’s face brightens. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, I can design a website in my sleep.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
We spend the next hour going over the details. I argue that I don’t want to get paid, but he insists. He wants an entirely new, fresh look with up-to-date images. I let him know I can come by during the day and take pictures of the people working out, of the new rooms, et cetera. I remember I no longer have my camera, but he assures me he has one that will work. Apparently, his mom bought him an expensive camera after Lexi was born but he has no idea how to use it, so he sticks to his cell phone. After going through his calendar, we solidify a day and time.
“Well, I should probably get going. I have an appointment in a little while.” And it’s not a lie—I have my therapy appointment in less than an hour.
“Okay, I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“Definitely.” I wave and make it a point to walk out the door before he does, all while chanting to myself, “Don’t look back.”
Chapter Nineteen
Charlie
It’s a beautiful day in LA, so I enjoy the stroll down Larchmont Boulevard as I head to Tristan’s gym. Fall is in full swing, the leaves are falling, and kids are already running around in their costumes even though Halloween isn’t for a few more days. I see a mom and her daughters walking out of a cute children’s boutique, the little girls dressed like pink princesses. A flashback hits me in full force, forcing me to sit down on the bench to catch my breath.
Halloween (last year)
“Mom! Can we go please?”
“Let me just set your dad’s dinner in the microwave and then we’ll go.”
After putting foil over the plate of food, I grab my purse and keys. It’s the weekend and it’s doubtful Justin will be home, but I left food for him just in case. The last thing I need is for him to come home and not have dinner waiting for him. I remind myself we have less than three weeks until we run. I just need to get through these next couple weeks and once we leave, we’ll never be found, and we will finally be free of the abuse, free to live as we want.
I find Georgia dressed and standing in the foyer, ready to go trick-or-treating. “You are the most beautiful princess, ever!” I gush.
She gives me the most adorable toothy grin. “I’m not a princess yet! Belle isn’t a princess until after she meets the beast!” Only my daughter would insist on being Belle pre-princess. She said everyone always wants to be the princess at the end. She wants to be the real Belle. We couldn’t find a pre-princess costume, so I ended up finding her a cute blue dress and purchasing a white apron. I hemmed the apron to fit her, and got her adorable black flats. With a big blue ribbon in place, her hair is tied back in a low ponytail.
I tap her on her nose. “That’s where you’re wrong. Belle was always a princess, even before she found the beast. Every girl is a princess.”
“Are mommies princesses, too?”
“Umm…” I think for a moment. The short answer should be yes, but we’re in the twenty-first century. Is it wrong to teach her we’re all princesses? Would that be degrading to women? My answer is no, it wouldn’t be. Even a working woman can be a princess. It’s simply a mindset, not a career.
“Yes, every woman is a princess.”
“Does that mean Daddy is a prince?” She frowns. “I think he’s mean like Gaston.” She scrunches up her nose and my heart breaks. This is why in a couple weeks I’m going to get my baby girl out of here. She’s getting too old and too smart, and I’ll be damned if she’s going to grow up believing all dads are Gastons when she should be thinking of her father as a prince. Not wanting to put her father down and risk her saying anything to him, I change the subject.
“Oh no! It’s already six o’clock! We better get going.”
Thankfully, she lets it go, grabbing her candy bag, and we head out for some trick-or-treating. For the next two hours, we walk up and down the street. Georgia knocks on each door saying, “Trick-or-treat,” and after getting candy, she says, “Thank you.” Once she’s exhausted, we drive back home. I put her to bed and place the candy in the fridge for tomorrow.
Justin walks through the door the next morning while I’m making breakfast and I’m shocked to see him. The first thing he does when he reaches into the fridge to get a bottle of water is throw the candy into the garbage. “Wouldn’t want her to end up a fat cow like you,” is all he says before he walks into his office, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty
Tristan
I’ve spent the last few hours picking up the gym to make sure it’s picture perfect before Charlie gets here. I’ve let the guys know if they see her taking photos to keep doing what they’re doing. The janitor service I use was here last night but I still wanted to double check everything.
“Hey, Scott! Want to ref for us?”
I check the clock and it shows it’s ten ‘til eleven. Charlie should be here soon, but I have enough time to referee a few rounds with Mason and Isaac. They’re in different but close weight classes and both of them are fighting in the upcoming UFC fight in a few months. Fighting in the gym is similar to an actual fight but gloves and head gear are used. It’s mostly practicing the moves and skills along with the follow through but without shedding blood.
“Sure.” I step into the octagon and they meet me in the middle. After bumping fists, I move out of the way and they start circling each other. Mason throws a punch and Isaac blocks it, then he wraps his arms around Mason effectively taking him to the ground. Of course this pisses Mason off because Isaac is new and Mason is one cocky son of a bitch. He’s out of the hold in seconds and throws another punch to Isaac’s jaw, connecting way too hard. I’m about to call it when Isaac comes at Mason and decks him straight in the face. Mason stumbles back a couple steps before he springs forward with a round house kick to Isaac’s temple, knocking him on his ass.
What the fuck?
Just as I’m about to break them up because this has obviously turned personal, I hear a blood curdling scream. My eyes dart up from the guys now rolling on the ground beating the shit out of each other, to Charlie. Her hands are over her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers, and she looks about ten shades paler than usual. Her gaze goes from Mason and Isaac still fighting to me before she turns around and runs, swinging the door open and not looking back.
What the hell?
“Hey!” I shout. The guys ignore me, so I jump in the middle, throwing Mason off Isaac. They fall onto their asses, panting. “What the hell!” I don’t wait for either of them to answer before I jump down, out of the octagon, to run after Charlie. “Brent!” I yell as I’m running out the door. “Make sure the two children stay away from each other.”
I get outside and look to my left and then my right. I spot h
er sitting on a bench, her head hanging down. Her hands are covering her face and I can see even from a distance her breathing is labored. Sprinting over to her, I sit next to her on the bench.
“Charlie.” My voice is soft. She doesn’t say anything at first, her head remaining down. Her breathing is loud and her sobs are even louder. I’m about to put my arm around her but think better of it, pieces of the puzzle coming together.
Charlie getting upset when she knocked the picture down.
Flinching when I approached her.
Thinking I might hit her.
Screaming at the sight of Mason and Isaac fighting.
I would bet in some way Charlie has suffered some type of physical or emotional abuse. By the way she shrank back the night in my house when she thought I was going to strike her, and how upset she got over seeing the guys fighting, I’m leaning toward physical.
Her sobs turn to hiccups and it sounds like she’s having trouble breathing. Getting down on my knees, I kneel in front of her, gently framing her face between my hands.
“Charlie, look at me.” She looks up with red-rimmed eyes as a new wave of tears race down her already stained cheeks soaking her shirt, and I release her face. “Talk to me, please.”
Her bottom lip quivers and her shoulders sag in defeat. She shakes her head slowly as her gaze darts to the sky, her shaky fingers wiping her cheeks every few seconds. Sucking in a loud sniffle, she attempts to collect herself.
“I didn’t know it was a fighting gym.” She nervously glances down at her hands, and using my thumb and forefinger, I gently tilt her chin back up so she’s forced to look at me.
“And that shocked you?” I ask, not making my assumptions known.
“I thought it was a gym where people work out.”
“I’m sorry… I didn’t even think to mention what kind of gym it is. Charlie, you need to tell me what’s going on.”
Letting out a long sigh, she says, “I can’t go back in there.” Her breathing picks up.
“Whoa, breathe. Don’t work yourself up, please.” Still on my knees, I take her delicate hands in mine. “Why can’t you go in there?” I need her to say the words. Until she does, we can’t move forward.
“I-I have a bad past.”
“Okay. Why don’t you come with me to pick up Lexi from school? We can grab a bite to eat and we can talk more after I lay her down for a nap. School’s kicking her butt. Not enough coloring and too much math and writing. She swears her brain needs to sleep when she gets home.” My last line is meant to lighten the mood and it works. Charlie grants me a beautiful watery smile.
“Poor thing. Doesn’t the teacher understand a creative mind can’t be tied down with numbers and letters?”
“My daughter just might be the first preschool dropout.”
She giggles and the sound does shit to my insides.
We walk back to the gym and I have Charlie wait for me by my truck while I let Brent know I won’t be back today. On my way out, I spot Mason heading toward the locker room. “You and me…we’re chatting later.” He nods in understanding.
Charlie is quiet on the way to Lexi’s preschool. It’s a small private school near Koreatown, so it only takes a few minutes to get there. When I pull up, Charlie asks me to go in by myself so she can have a few minutes to pull herself together before Lexi sees her.
Lexi’s in class playing with a couple of kids whose parents haven’t picked them up yet. When I walk in, she spots me immediately, dropping whatever toy she was holding, and running over to me. “Daddy!” she shrieks in excitement. I bend down to give her a hug, her little arms wrapping around my neck as I pull her into my arms, taking her up with me as I stand.
“My brain hurts, Daddy! I did a whole big page of counting a million numbers and shapes and colors! I had to count all the pretzels and candies before I could eat them.” She huffs and I stifle my laugh.
“Sounds like a busy day.”
We say goodbye to her teacher, and when we get to the truck, I open the back door so she can climb into her booster seat. I know the minute she notices Charlie in the truck, because even with the door closed, I can hear the excited sound of Lexi shrieking.
When I get around to my side, I open the door and Lexi is already telling Charlie all about her being forced to count before being allowed to eat. This time, though, her story is played out even more dramatic and Charlie is a good sport, going along with it. Her eyes widen at the right times and when Lexi’s hands come up to her head to emphasize her brain hurting, Charlie covers her mouth with her hand.
“Oh no! Then I guess we can’t go where I was thinking of going.” Charlie pouts. I have no idea what she’s talking about or where she was planning on going.
I quirk a brow up and she winks.
“Well… maybe my brain doesn’t hurt so much,” Lexi says slowly.
“No? Oh, thank goodness. Because I saw this flyer”—she pulls a piece of paper out of her purse—“and it says today until five o’clock there’s a huge art show at the museum.”
“Nope! My brain doesn’t hurt anymore!” Lexi shakes her head. “Can we go, Daddy? Please?”
Charlie hands me the flyer. “It was on the bulletin board in the neighborhood. I thought maybe we can go and then get something to eat.” She pauses suddenly and I look up from reading the flyer to look at her. Her teeth are nervously worrying her bottom lip and I don’t like it. It’s one thing to be shy or nervous because you don’t know someone, but if my suspicions are correct, Charlie’s nervousness is due to abuse. She’s unsure of whether I’ll get upset at her suggestion. “I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked you first…”
“Stop. It’s a great idea. Let’s go.”
“Okay, but I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I know better than that…”
It sounds like she’s going to say more, but she doesn’t.
“Hey.” I turn toward her. “In a way, you’re right. It’s always best to talk about plans with each other before mentioning it to the kid in case it can’t happen, but you wouldn’t know that. You don’t have kids. And you were obviously excited to share this with her. It’s all good.”
Charlie frowns but nods. She buckles in and looks out the window not saying anything more the entire drive to the art museum in Pasadena. The woman is way too hard on herself and it needs to stop. Sometimes her actions show her strength, like the night she came over, when she drank and climbed onto my lap. I know she was drunk, but you know what they say: The drunk mind speaks a sober heart.
Or when she looks so sad but holds it together for my daughter. Some might think the tears are a sign of weakness but the way she holds them back, refusing to let them fall and show her sadness, it’s a strength. Other times, she wears her weaknesses on her sleeve. Running from the gym is the perfect example. I don’t know what has her afraid, but I’m going to make it my mission to take those weaknesses and turn them all into strengths. My mom was abused by my biological father when I was a baby but she refused to be weak. However, she had her friends and family, and then Kaden came into the picture. Charlie doesn’t seem to have anybody. But she does now. She has me and Lexi, and if she lets us in, we’ll be there for her. Which reminds me…
“Charlie.” She turns toward me. “Don’t think I forgot about us needing to talk later.” She nods in understanding.
We spend the afternoon at the museum and both girls are in art heaven. There’s painting and coloring. They have games and takeaways—arts and crafts the kids can make and take home. Lexi paints a ceramic unicorn and Charlie paints a candy corn. They’re laughing and having a blast. I spot an art book I’d like to get for Lexi, so I lean down to Charlie and whisper into her ear, making sure Lexi can’t hear me, “I’m going to go to the bookstore real quick.”
Her head pops up, a frown quickly forming. “No!” she shouts loud enough that everyone sitting at the table, painting, looks over.
“No, you need to stay here.” She speaks softer this time but her voice is
wobbly, almost fearful. Not wanting to make a scene, I nod in understanding and stay seated.
After the girls are done painting, their pieces are sprayed with a sealant and we make our way out. I stop by the bookstore as I had planned, but instead of surprising Lexi, I show it to her. She loves it and the entire drive home she shows the pages to Charlie.
“Dinner?” I ask to make sure we’re still on the same page, and Charlie smiles in agreement. During the week, I usually cook, so once we’re inside I go about making dinner as I normally would. When I come out to check on them, after throwing the stuffed peppers into the oven, I spot Lexi and Charlie on the couch watching television. Lexi is fast asleep, her little legs sprawled out over Charlie’s thighs. Her arms are over her head and she’s snoring softly.
“She fell asleep a few minutes ago.”
Picking her up, I bring her to her room and lay her down under the blankets. It’s already almost seven so more than likely she’ll be out for the night. Luckily, she ate a ton of snacks at the museum so she won’t wake up too hungry in the morning.
Once I’m done putting Lexi to bed, I set out a couple of plates and silverware, then check the fridge to see what I can offer Charlie to drink. “We have beer, juice, milk, or water.”
“A beer actually sounds good. It’s been years since I’ve had one.” I grab two beers from the fridge, handing one to Charlie, who is still sitting on the couch watching a kid show.
“The peppers have about thirty minutes. Can we talk now?” I turn the television off and sit next to Charlie. She takes a long sip of her beer and nods. “You mentioned you have a bad past. Can you elaborate?”