by Stasia Black
“Of course a father is blind to his daughter’s flaws. You were a little porky pie back then too, weren’t you? But even he couldn’t deny what was in front of his face when you visited him every day. Who will love my Isobel when I’m gone, he’d ask me, looking like she does?”
“Shut up!” Isobel glared at her stepmother and then she reached down and grabbed the protein powder container. “You’ve been adding this to my morning smoothies, haven’t you?” She’d realized it right before Catrina walked in the room. It was the only thing that made sense.
Upset at her unexplained weight gain since coming home, Isobel had gone back to her old habits of counting her calories religiously. She hadn’t struggled with her eating disorder for years. Being away at college, out of this toxic environment, it had been so much easier to establish healthy eating and exercise habits.
But as soon as she got back here and Catrina’s constant verbal digs started up again, along with the unexplained weight gain, plus the emotional stress of everything with Dad, the old obsessions had started coming back.
She hated that she could still be so weak. She’d assumed that she’d overcome all this shit for good when she kicked it the first time.
So as a part of trying to get it all under control again, she made a green veggie and fruit smoothie each night so she could just grab it and go the next morning on her way to the hospital.
But if Catrina had been adding protein powder to her smoothies, that would explain the weight gain.
Catrina’s eyes widened at seeing the container in Isobel’s hands, but then her features settled back into a calm mask of superiority. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sounds to me like you’re looking to blame everyone else for your lack of self-control, just like always.”
“Then again, you always were just looking for attention. What was it Dr. Rubenstein used to say? Poor little Isobel acts out and tells elaborate lies so people will notice her because she got addicted to the attention people paid her after her mommy killed herself. Though,” she sighed, “by the end, even he admitted crazy might just be in your DNA. But still, isn’t part of your therapy program taking responsibility for your own problems?”
How dare she— To bring up Dr. fucking Rubenstein—
Isobel screamed and threw the container to the ground, ignoring the powder that flew out of it as it fell.
It wasn’t enough, though. Not nearly enough.
She wanted to grab the pots that hung from hooks on the ceiling and fling them at the walls. She wanted to smash the coffee maker to the tile floor. Break it all. Tear it all fucking down—
Catrina tutted, then shook her head at Isobel. “Oh darling, I promised Richard I’d take care of you after he was gone. He worried you might slip back into your…” she leaned in and whispered, “old habits.”
She mimed sticking her finger down her throat and Isobel’s hands squeezed into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. She needed to leave. To get the hell out of here before she did something she regretted. She turned to go but Catrina’s voice echoed across the kitchen.
“Is poor Isobel going to run away now? You think you can just escape your problems like that? By running?” Catrina made a tutting noise. “That’s a coward’s way of coping. Then again, your mom took the easy way out too. Hanging herself from the ceiling fan like she did.” She shook her head. “And she was what, thirty years old?”
“You’re almost twenty-five now, aren’t you? Everyone always said you’re so much like her. It’s cute you try to fight it but eventually you’re going to have to give into the inevitable. Frankly, I think Richard was glad to go before he had to see you institutionalized again.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Isobel spun back around and flew at her stepmother. Her hands wrapped around Catrina’s throat. She slammed the older woman down against the counter. “Shut up, shut up!” Rage like she’d never known burned so hot, Isobel could barely breathe.
Poison. The woman was poison.
Every day her insults chipped away at Isobel. First when she was just a little girl. All throughout adolescence. Even when her father was dying. Still every single day, Catrina never let up. And now to find out she was actively undermining her recovery, trying to trigger her old demons—!
Isobel screamed and squeezed harder.
Catrina smiled at her at first, even while she was choking. Like she was laughing at Isobel, even in this.
But as Isobel kept squeezing, finally fear came into Catrina’s eyes. Catrina’s hands flailed, trying to latch onto Isobel’s wrists and pull her off.
Isobel was stronger, though. She felt fucking triumphant. Catrina would never torment her again.
But then she blinked.
What was she—
She looked down in horror at her hands.
Her hands that were around another person’s throat.
Choking the life out of her.
Isobel let go of Catrina and stumbled backwards.
Catrina fell to the floor, hoarsely gasping in huge gulps of air between coughing fits.
Holy Jesus, what had she just done?
Isobel looked at her hands in disbelief. Had she really almost just… Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God.
“They’ll put you away for this,” Catrina gasped, still clutching her throat.
Isobel turned and ran out of the kitchen.
Run.
She had to get out of here.
Run.
Right now.
Catrina would call the police any minute. They’ll put you away. Catrina hated her. And Isobel had just given her stepmother the perfect opportunity to get rid of her for good.
An attempted murder charge.
Isobel felt sick as she fled upstairs to get her purse and car keys.
She was about to pick up her phone to toss it in her purse when she stopped at the last second. It was easy for people to track phones, right?
Shit, was she really thinking like that? Like a fugitive?
She looked toward the ceiling. How had everything gotten fucked sideways so quickly? She shook her head and took a quick breath in, trying to steady herself. There was no time. No time for thinking. No time for anything.
She jammed some clothes and shoes in a bag, grabbed her keys, and was almost out her door when she stopped.
“Shit.”
She turned around and ran back into the bathroom. She’d almost forgotten her anti-depressants. She grabbed the pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. Had she even taken them today? With as fucked up as her moods had been lately, the last thing she needed was to be screwing with her medication.
She unscrewed the lid and poured one of the small pills into her hand. Not that it was helping much. She’d been so stable for years and then for it to all go down the shitter so drastically—
She reached for a glass of water and as she did, she knocked the bottle of pills over, spilling them out on the counter.
“Fuck!” She did not have time for this. Had Catrina already called the cops?
But as she started scooping the little pills back into the bottle, she paused. Some of them didn’t look right.
A bunch of the tablets had a little line down the middle where you could split them in half if you needed to. But about half of them didn’t have the line.
“What the hell?”
She reached down and flipped one of the non-lined pills over, thinking maybe they were just lined on one side.
But nope, the lined ones were lined on both sides and others were smooth on both sides.
Isobel’s eyes flipped back and forth between the two pills, nothing making sense for a long moment.
But like downstairs, it eventually dawned on her and she swung in the direction of her door. The same killing fury as earlier made her fists shake all over again.
“Bitch!” she screamed.
It would have served Catrina right if Isobel hadn’t stopped earlier. She’d been fucking with Isobel’s medication in addition to adding
the protein powder to her smoothies?
Isobel’s hand shook as she swept all the pills back into the bottle. Had Catrina switched out half her meds with sugar pills so she’d only be taking half her regular dosage? Or were they something worse? Something meant to make her moods more volatile?
Catrina was a vicious hell-whore, that was all Isobel knew.
She stared at the pill bottle.
It was evidence.
For once she had evidence. It wasn’t just Catrina’s word against hers.
Then she started laughing hysterically.
Because no, that wasn’t true. This wasn’t any different than it had ever been. What did Isobel have? A bottle of some unknown pills? With her luck, Catrina would get her booked on assault and possession for whatever the hell was in this bottle. After all, there was nothing tying the pills to Catrina. Did Isobel think she’d find Catrina’s fingerprints on the bottle or something?
Even if she did, that was hardly a smoking gun. Catrina could just say that she’d picked up the bottle from the pharmacy for her stepdaughter, so of course her fingerprints were on it.
Isobel was well and truly fucked. She hiccupped, something between a laugh and a sob. Her hands shook as she pushed her hair out of her face.
Back to the original plan. Get the hell out of here.
And go where, exactly?
Fuck knew. She’d figure that part out later.
She ran to the other room and picked up the bag she’d haphazardly stuffed full of clothes and her purse. On a whim, she also grabbed her riding boots from her closet since the time she’d been happiest in her life was when she’d worked in the stables near their house in New Hampshire. She clutched it all to her chest as she ran down the stairs and out the back door.
Catrina hadn’t been anywhere in sight, thank God.
Isobel ran toward her little Toyota parked in their narrow garage. Her hands were trembling so badly, it took her three tries to get her key in the lock. She finally managed. She jumped in the car. A few seconds later, she had it in reverse and was peeling out onto the street.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself as she wove through Manhattan’s night traffic. “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
So what if she had no clue where she was going? Starting from the shit show she’d just left behind, things could only be looking up from here, right?
Right?
Chapter 2
HUNTER
“It’s good to see you out and about, Hunter,” Bubba said, looking Hunter over as he sat his beer in front of him.
Hunter just nodded without comment. He hated coming out to town for just this reason—that look of pity on everyone’s faces when they talked to him. Even after more than a year. Drinking at home alone was even more depressing, though, so here he was.
Last week was the one year anniversary of Janine leaving him. What was the quote from that movie he loved—get busy living or get busy dying? It was from the Shawshank Redemption, a movie about being in prison. Which was what his house had felt like lately. He’d had enough of holing up there by himself. He was sick of the silence. He used to find the quiet of country living calming. Peaceful.
But for the past year all he heard was the absence of her voice. Man, she’d always been complaining about something. The hot water ran out too quickly. She hated the mosquitos in the spring. The gravel driveway meant her car was perpetually dirty. Not that she had anywhere to go where a nice car would be noticed.
It was funny how the things that drove you nuts about a person ended up being the things you missed most.
Or maybe he was just a damn fool. Sentimental. Nostalgic.
What he probably really missed was her body warm beside his in the bed at night. The way he could roll over and kiss the nape of her neck, and, no matter how ornery she’d been that day, her body would go all soft. How she’d open her legs and grasp his ass and pull him into her.
Even when they were both furious with each other, they could still communicate that way. By the end, it seemed like the only thing they had left. Stony silences all evening would give way to furious lovemaking at night. Biting and clawing as she brought him to the brink. Clinging to him for the briefest moment of their mutual climax like there was some hope, some future for them.
And then pulling away the second it was done, sometimes going to sleep on the couch like she couldn’t stand his touch a second longer.
He’d never understood her. But he hadn’t been able to ask her why she did it—why she kept coming to bed each night only to wrench herself away right afterwards. At first he thought it was because she loved him. But eventually he realized it was to punish him. Yet another reminder that he might have his ring on her finger but she’d never truly be his.
Hunter’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to check who was calling. There was never a night off when you were the only large animal veterinarian within two counties.
Mom flashed across the screen. Hunter’s face soured. Jesus, if there was anyone worse than people in town staring at him with pity it was Mom with her cheer-Hunter-up routine. She meant well. He knew she did. But he could only handle so much enforced cheer a week and he’d already spent most of Sunday at her and Pops’ house. He let the call ring out since she’d know being sent to voicemail after a couple rings meant he’d rejected her call.
When it finally stopped buzzing, he shook his head. Jesus, coming out tonight wasn’t helping anything. He’d still been fixating on Janine as much as he ever did at home. And these bar stools were damn uncomfortable.
He set his beer back on the bar and turned sideways on his stool so he could reach into his back pocket to grab his wallet when he saw the door to the bar open.
And in walked the most stunning woman. She had long black hair that was pulled back in a slick ponytail. Her face was flawless. Porcelain skin, big blue eyes. Heart-shaped face, pink lips.
Unlike most of the women in the bar, she wasn’t dressed like she was looking to get noticed. She was wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans—not too tight but just enough to show she had curves in all the right places. Also unlike everyone else in the bar, Hunter didn’t recognize her. Unusual in a town the size of Hawthorne, which was barely a blip on the map.
Apparently everyone else found her just as interesting because half the bar had turned to stare at her.
Shit. Hunter knew that feeling. Hunter hated that feeling.
He turned back to the bar and took another sip of his abandoned beer. He was just about to reach for his wallet again when the woman sat down on the barstool beside him.
He froze, hands on his mug of beer. Had she seen him and come down to sit by him specifically or had she just randomly chosen an empty seat at the bar?
He watched her out of his periphery and she didn’t so much as glance his way. Yeah, wishful thinking, jackass.
Still, he didn’t go for his wallet again.
The woman glanced up and down the bar. Bubba was bartending tonight, along with Jeff. Jeff was at the other end of the bar, making an ass of himself like usual while Cherry and Lacey hung on his every word. Cherry was leaned half over the bar top, her cleavage so low he bet Jeff could see her belly button.
The newcomer smiled and shook her head a little at the scene, like it amused her in some way. Bubba finally finished mixing drinks and handing them off to Mary who was waitressing tonight and then came over to the woman.
Bubba was as much an institution as his bar. A big man with a belly to match, he had a long gray beard and a ride or die tattoo on his knuckles that pretty much said it all.
The woman didn’t look intimidated by him though. She just smiled back at him when he turned to her and asked, “What can I get you, beautiful?”
She hesitated a moment, like she was about to order something but then reconsidered. She tilted her head sideways, showing off the long curve of her neck. “What do you have on tap?”
Bubba listed off several beers and she chose a dark IPA
.
Hunter sipped at his beer and pretended to be minding his own business while Bubba served her up a big glass of dark beer. She took a long sip, licking the foam off her lips at the end.
Hunter swallowed hard and averted his eyes.
“Ah, that hits the spot,” she said after another long sip. “Is the kitchen still open?”
“Till ten,” Bubba answered. “What can I get for ya?”
She was quiet a moment, then blurted, “I’d kill for a burger,” like it was a confession she was admitting to a priest.
“My kind of lady. Beer and burgers. Coming right up.” Bubba turned and walked to the end of the bar where it connected to the kitchen to put in her order. Hunter couldn’t help his eyes seeking her out again as she sank back on her stool, taking another long sip from her beer.
But then his vision was blocked by Larry leaning on the bar between Hunter and the woman. Larry was in his late forties and had been a teacher at the high school before he got fired for showing up to school drunk.
“I agree with Bubba,” Larry slurred, obviously drunk. He smelled like a damn brewery. “It’s sexy seeing a woman who knows how she likes her beer. With plenty of head.”
Son of a—
“I’m Lawrence.”
There was no response from the woman. Hunter imagined her giving Larry a cold, “fuck off, I’m not interested” face.
“So you’re new in town,” Larry persisted, shouldering between Hunter and the woman even more.
“This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. So when a bombshell like you walks in…” Larry paused, “…well, it’s hard not to notice. Hard being the operative word, if you get what I mean.”
All right, that was enough.
But the woman seemed fully capable of standing up for herself.
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Hunter heard her say. He still couldn’t see because of Larry blocking his vision, but from the way Larry was leaning in, he had to be crowding the woman.
Her firm voice was clear. “I’m not interested. You need to back up. Now.”