by Ashley Munoz
They split us up into different types of shifts in the day room. Not wanting any fights to break out, they sequestered us according to the color of our skin. I was thrown in with a bunch of white supremacists, skinheads who were the worst motherfucking people I’d ever met. I usually kept to myself, trying not to make waves. Jessie had brought me a few books, so I read, but that day Arnold oversaw the day room. Arnold happened to like celebrity gossip.
That was the one and only time I spoke up. I walked over and asked him to change the channel, nearly begged the fucker, but he only smiled that wicked smile of his and turned it up. I threw up my dinner after I saw how beautiful she looked, how perfect she was, how expensive the entire thing seemed.
During one photo they showed the couple standing side by side, and I noticed hanging delicately from her neck was that silver chain, the one I had given her. The locket.
That was when I stood and pushed Arnold, forcing him to fall out of the chair next to the remote. I didn’t get a chance to change it. I had my hand twisted back until it nearly broke and then someone came up from behind and put me in a chokehold. I blacked out before the guards came in to break it up.
Now I was free, and I could go find her. I could go disrupt her perfect life the way she’d upturned mine.
Except…
“Jace, whatever you’re thinkin’, just leave it. Let her live her life, live yours, move on. You don’t need anything more from either of them…not him or her,” Jessie begged, grabbing my hand.
We parked the truck and filed out. I’d leave her alone…right after I snuck a look at her. Just once.
I waited a week at home, trying to readjust to life, but jail had rightly fucked up my head. It wasn’t exactly a friendly place, or a safe one. At home, I found myself having nightmares. I’d be in my cell, back in jail, with people trying to hurt me. It was a clusterfuck, and I was more than a little messed up.
My dad noticed first, and after a few angry arguments, he demanded I attend therapy. There was a program that helped people who struggled with the readjustment period, no matter how long they had been in the system. So, I finally caved and took him up on his suggestion to see a therapist.
It sated my anger and need for revenge, but it did nothing at all for my desperation to see Faith.
Finally, after a few months had ticked by, I made my way to Nashville where the princess lived.
She was easy enough to track, not paying attention to her surroundings because of her security detail—something I would have made sure she changed if we were to get back together. After a spin class and yoga something, she went shopping.
She wore large sunglasses, black high heels that wrapped around her ankles, a tight black dress that had a slit at the thigh, and those classily red lips. She made me weak. People say they go weak in the knees, but mine felt right as rain. It was my heart that was weak, my resolve—my soul.
Her dress, the diamond ring on her hand, the way she seemed to glow—it was all nothing compared to the confidence she wore. She held her head high, walking with sure steps and a poised smile on her face, like she knew a secret no one else was privy to.
As I followed her throughout the day, there was one thing I couldn’t shake, one thing I couldn’t take my eyes off of, and it was that same silver chain attached to the locket I had given her. She still wore it even though she was married to another man.
That had to mean something.
It meant everything.
I was going to pull her aside, find an in, and just grab her hand, pull her to my chest, and demand answers. She was edging her way toward a brunch place that likely charged fifty dollars for a plate of pancakes. I snuck in through the side door, telling the hostess I was meeting a friend. She let me pass without question.
I waited in the alcove near the bathroom, watching as she walked in and looked for someone. My heart raced, for some reason thinking and imagining it was me she sought. It was easy to pretend she was always looking for me.
But she wasn’t.
Her face nearly exploded with the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen in my life. My gaze left her body to scan the room for who she was looking at, and there in a suit worth more than my entire life was him.
Her husband.
The man who took her from me. His smile was something of equal measure to hers, then they connected, and it felt like the whole room shifted. He held her like he owned her, searing her with a kiss, and he didn’t give a single fuck as to who was watching.
She giggled a second later, realizing they were creating a spectacle. He leaned back just a fraction and brushed some of her hair aside, searching her face as though she was the most precious thing in the world to him. I’d have walked away if I were the better man just based off that look alone, but I wasn’t the better man. I still had plans to pull her aside, to try to steal her…until I really looked at the expression on her face.
Tears welled in her eyes as she held his face in her hands. I could hear her say, “I missed you.” Then she was throwing herself at him again, kissing him like she needed him for her next breath. That was when it hit me. That was when I knew I had to walk away, because I loved Faith and I’d do anything for her, even let her live the new life she wanted and love the man she needed.
Thirty
“So what should we do?” I asked Gemma, feeling conflicted and distracted. She huffed out a frustrated sigh and stacked a pile of papers.
“We issue a statement. Get you back on camera, maybe answer some of these requests from press who have reached out to you about what they saw the other night, and you tell them what happened—that he forced you against your will, that he’s not right in the head.” Her blue eyes narrowed on something on her desk. I looked down, trying to see it, but I didn’t know what to look for.
Her half-eaten salad was there, bits of boiled egg having fallen onto a legal pad, and her shaker bottle had a half-finished smoothie inside it. Otherwise her desk was occupied by neatly stacked piles of paper.
“What is it?” I asked, still unsure what she was seeing. When she didn’t move, I continued, “Was it the eggs? I told you not to get the salads from the back. You have this theory that they’re newer, but sometimes they get lazy and stuff the new ones in front, shoving the old ones in back.” I waved my hands toward the salad and grimaced.
She waved her hands. “No, stop. What?” She blinked at me, confused. “I was just thinking about some other options we might have.”
I sat down in the chair with a heavy thud. A week ago I’d have been excited at the prospect of having one up on Bryan, but after the dinner, I didn’t think it was possible to be a step ahead of him. A buzzing sound caught my attention, and I flipped my phone over to see that my father was trying to call me again. He’d been trying to call me ever since I left the other night.
“Faith, don’t give up. Don’t you dare give up.” Gemma reached forward and grabbed my hand. I let out a sigh and held back a few stray tears.
“I’m not. It’s just…everything is so screwed up. I just want a divorce. Why can’t I have that?” I held my hands close to my chest, as though I could somehow tend to my heart through my shirt.
“We need to get you in front of a judge—privately. I have connections with one…I might be able to set it up, just act like we’re looking for some advice on what to do, because at this rate, Bryan could have fabricated evidence that you were on drugs or God knows what else.”
I nodded, knowing that was likely true. The urge to sob was stuck in my throat. I wanted to yell at the man, scream at him, and demand he let me go. He’d obviously never wanted me in the first place, otherwise why would he have hurt me? Why not let me go and find someone else?
The idea of another woman going through what I had slowly started to sink in. I blinked away the images and let out a resigned sigh. “I have to go to the cops about this. I have to press charges…I don’t have a choice. What if he does this to someone else?”
Gemma leaned back,
her toned arms coming up behind her head to stretch. “Faith…” She let out a sigh and leaned forward a moment later. “It’s the only leverage you have on him.”
“He called my bluff with it…” I shrugged my shoulders. “So what’s the point?”
Gemma searched my eyes frantically. “But—”
“Gem, I have to do this. I have to.” I stood, not wanting to talk about it anymore. She’d originally told me to do this anyway; it was my own stupidity that’d had me holding off. I needed to do this, if only for the small chance that it would spare someone else in the future.
Tom had shadowed me the entire day. In fact, two other guards had appeared as well. I had pulled him aside and told him I couldn’t afford to pay them, but he’d laughed and reminded me that the bill was being paid by Mr. Vanderson. It concerned me, wondering if they would just step aside at his arrival should my husband pop up somewhere, but Tom assured me that no one was going to talk to me alone unless I requested it.
I had gone to the police department and submitted everything. The officer who helped me assured me everything would get passed along to the proper authorities in Nashville, but I pushed to ensure it wasn’t passed along to anyone except the original officer who’d been there the night I went to the hospital.
She had been sweet, concerned for me in a motherly way, talking to me about how she’d gotten free of an abusive relationship herself. I knew she couldn’t be bought by Bryan. I knew if he did have cops in his pocket, she wouldn’t be one of them.
I was opening the third deadbolt on my front door, ready to shower and call it a day, but as the door swung open, apprehension gripped me. Had someone been here again? Would Jace be here?
I peered around the corner and called out, “Hello? Jace?” I walked farther in, secured and locked the door, and kept moving through the space. This morning had been slightly awkward…I’d woken up early to his arms caged around my middle. When I’d fallen asleep the night prior, he had been on the couch, so I had no idea what had happened, but I was too irritated to let myself sink into his warm chest. Instead, I pushed away from him, showered, and left.
I hadn’t received a text or call from him all day, which was fine. We weren’t buddies. We weren’t lovers. We weren’t anything.
Relief and reluctance swept through me as I realized Jace wasn’t in my apartment. It wasn’t like he’d said he’d be back, and I wasn’t his obligation.
Frustrated with myself for wanting him there regardless of how he’d made me feel, I tugged my shirt over my head and peeled my jeans off, kicking my shoes forcefully into the corner of my bedroom. I stalked to my shower and stood under the spray for as long the hot water would allow. I cried angry tears of uselessness and regret. I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my legs as I let the heat sink deep into my skin. I just wanted a fresh start. That was it. No shadows from my past, no danger in my future. Just a clean start.
Once I was finished, I wrapped my hair in a white towel, piling it on top of my head, and tugged my silk robe on. Padding into the living room, I pondered dinner ideas but stopped cold at the sight of Jace standing at the desk near the large window in the living room. He had a few white papers between his thumbs, and his eyebrows had formed a determined shelf on his handsome face. I wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but it had him confused.
“Hey,” I muttered, pulling the towel off my head, slightly self-conscious about whether or not he was still mad at me.
He lifted his head, pulling one sheet of paper free from the rest. “Hey.” He turned, that look staying in place as he assessed me. “What is this?”
I stepped closer, closing the gap between us, and surveyed what was in his hands. It was the sketch I had made of his lobby and logo while I was in Gemma’s office. I’d thought it was still tucked inside my notebook, but I must have taken it out and forgotten.
I turned and laughed lightly. “Nothing, I was just doodling in Gem’s office the other day.”
“But why did you draw my lobby and my logo? Are you planning on buying out my loan in addition to opening your own auto shop?” he accused with a menacing tone.
I spun on my heel, confused. “What? No…” I stammered while he drew closer. He knew that whole auto business thing was a joke, total bullshit. So why was he acting like it was a serious threat?
“Faith, tell me the truth. Why did you draw this? Don’t give me some bullshit about signs and just pretending.” He held the paper up, close to his face. His dark eyebrows rose, but his full lips shifted into a firm line, waiting for my response.
With a heavy sigh, I dropped into the lounge chair closest to me. “I was thinking about you, okay? I was thinking about how proud I was of you…of how, if we’d been together when you started the shop, I would have sketched something like that.” I swallowed thick humility that was lodged in my throat. “Because we’d always planned that. Remember? You and me against the world…whatever we planned to do, we’d be in it together.”
His face transitioned to something softer, something placid. He turned and headed toward the kitchen, as though I hadn’t just shared a massive piece of truth with him.
“Um, do you have any thoughts on what I just shared?” I slowly stood, following after him.
He started picking ingredients out of a bag, but his clear-cut answer rang out between us. “Have you removed all the signs from around town yet?”
He was demeaning in his question. Sure, I’d done the signs as a joke, but I thought he knew that. “Yes, they’re all gone.”
And they were. After he rescued me and we started our friendship again, I’d removed them all and hadn’t put any back up. I would never threaten his livelihood.
“Good. Just stay away from my business, Faith,” he muttered, stomping out my door, letting it slam shut.
The lack of regard for something so personal that I’d shared hurt. It frayed the patchwork of squares and fabric I’d stupidly thought we had started weaving together again.
At his departure, I locked all the deadbolts on the door and went to bed. This time, I locked my bedroom door.
Thirty-One
“No thank you, babe,” I muttered to the petite blonde in front of me. She had asked if I wanted to do shots with her in the dark booth, near the back.
I was out with Seth again, because I lacked friends and balls, apparently. Tucked in my back pocket was the sketch Faith had drawn. The honesty she’d shared had ripped the proverbial rug out from under me. I hadn’t been expecting that. Not in the least.
“Okay, I have to say somethin’,” Seth declared, dropping to the stool next to me.
I quirked a brow.
“Why are you two doin’ this?” He leaned in toward me, trying to quiet his voice. I appreciated that, and since I’d dragged him into my bullshit, there wasn’t any reason to pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“She isn’t telling me everything,” I replied, grabbing my tumbler, tipping it sideways.
Seth made a disgruntled sound. “So, she’s doing exactly what you’re doing then?”
My gaze jumped to the side, eyeing him. “What?”
“You still haven’t told her shit about what happened, and you wonder why she’s not cluing you in to all her drama? Come clean with her, lay it out on the table—all of it. Then she might do the same, and if not, at least you’ll know.”
I could feel the tension in my shoulders grow and my jaw go tight. Fucking hell.
He was right.
Enough was enough. I just needed to come clean—there wasn’t anything left to lose anyway.
“You outta here?” Seth asked, turning toward me on his stool, his eyebrows jumping in surprise.
“Yeah, I gotta go have that talk. You okay gettin’ home?”
“You know I am.” He returned his eyes to the front, laughing, shaking his head. I stood, clapped him on the back, and headed back to Faith’s apartment.
I had originally told Tom to take the night off, but when
I went to the bar, I made sure one of his guys headed over. I doubted Faith even knew the exchange had happened.
I pulled the key free from my pocket and started unlocking each deadbolt. She didn’t know I had swiped her key and made myself a copy, but I figured she’d assumed as much after I let myself in earlier in the day.
The apartment was dark, just a few lights from outside peeking through her large windows. She didn’t want blinds because she was on the top floor, but if it were up to me, she’d have them. Four stories up wasn’t enough to keep the nosy masses from spying.
I slowly walked toward her room and twisted the knob, only to find it locked. I let out a small laugh and walked back to the kitchen to grab a small flathead, something I’d left there the week before. In seconds, the lock popped open. The moonlight wasn’t as prominent as the previous night; instead darkness covered her sleeping form. The only light came from a few street lights outside, muted by her curtains.
I pulled my shirt over my head and shoved my jeans down, crawled in behind her, and pulled her to my chest. Fuck.
She was nearly naked. The only piece of clothing separating us was her thin cotton underwear, but her breasts were bare, ready for me to palm.
I was desperate to feel her; my fingers itched to go lower and feel between her legs. I pictured her writhing against my fingers, moaning, desperate for release. I pictured her head thrown back, her breasts out, pushing against the cold air, pebbled and hard, aching for my touch.
I was growing hard behind her as she slept, which made me feel like a creep, so I ensured my fingers stayed at her hip and didn’t go anywhere they shouldn’t.
“Jace?” Faith asked, tilting her head back to rest against my chest.
I brushed a few strands of hair off her face and watched as her full lips parted. She was tired, likely not trying to be sexy, but I had one thing on my mind at the moment.