by Leanne Davis
I wish Rachel…
Well, that wouldn’t have been very professional, now would it? All the professional boundaries would have to be crossed for her to have stayed in my life. But if she had, how much easier things would have been for me. I’d be much stronger and surer of myself. I might have seen Bobby for the fucking asshole he was and left before my skin and my eye were bruised, like nothing else I ever endured.
Once I get dressed, I step out of my room when Wyatt again flings his door open. I stand just under the hallway window, letting the bright sunlight drop its warm rays over me. Unfortunately.
“What the fuck…”
That’s his greeting to me? He was about to say hey until he looked more closely at me. I mean, come on. After escaping Bobby-the-strangler’s control, I guess I expected better of Wyatt, considering what Wesley told me about him. Even his taste in girls like Dani Dawson reeks of class. Not his statement to me.
“What?”
“Were you… did someone strangle you?”
“Oh.” My hand automatically goes to my neck and tries to cover the blemishes there. As if that will fix it. Way to show him. I suck in a breath and keep my facial expression pleasant. It’s okay. I’m free of it. I don’t have to be sad. I’m okay. I’m okay. I take my power back, and I leave so I really am okay.
But I have to answer him.
“Who did that to you?” He doesn’t wait for my response. It must be obvious that I was strangled. He and I stare at each other, and my eye is level with his nose. I can see in the way he steps back that it’s surprising to him how tall I am. “No, seriously, who did that?”
“Well, now he’s my ex. But—”
Wyatt shuts his eyes. “You had a boyfriend who strangled you? Jesus. What is wrong with him?”
“Drugs. Bad childhood. I could spin you his trite sob story,” I say, trying to smile while keeping my voice light and easy. Breezy. Sure. Just about every day a girl gets strangled. Hell, sure. No wonder I’m used to it. So not. But I can’t mire myself down in the fact that I was strangled. By a boyfriend. A man I frequently had sex with. A man who showed his love by punching me.
“That’s why you came to Wesley?”
My shoulders fall. Fuck. I can’t even pretend now? His tone is quiet and sad, and I know he feels bad for me. I appreciate that. But I don’t want it. It makes me so sad and pathetic… and… well, that’s what I am. “Yeah. He’s been my friend for a long time. He sent me money.”
“The money he stole.”
“Yes.”
Wyatt’s mouth purses. He shakes his head and places his hands on his face. “You’re the friend he was so desperate to grab a few bucks for.”
“That’s me.”
I’m surprised by his aggressive reaction. Wyatt drops his hands down and shakes his head. “I guess I can’t hate the prick for it. I thought it was just him. I didn’t have a clue.”
“The life and shit Wesley was surrounded with and brought home? I’m just a small sliver of it.”
“I didn’t mean anything like that.” Shaking his head, he waves towards me. “I’m sorry that was done to you. Are you… you’re not going back or anything, are you?”
Ugh, I want to yell at his privileged ass with this house. God. This house. Those parents. The life I’ve seen so far. But that’s just an accident of birth. I’ve met my share of those lucky people and it’s no more fair to hate him or be jealous of him than it would be if he should look down on me because of where I come from.
He bumbles his words, but I can see the earnestness in his eyes. He’s freaked out for me, practically horrified and very sorry. Even though he had nothing to do with it. “No man should touch a woman like that. Actually, no one should do any harm to another.”
“I know that. That’s why I left and followed Wesley here. I actually get that in my gut, it’s that deep. No, I won’t go back. And thank you, I appreciate that.”
I start to pass by him, now shaken up. My stomach feels all flip-floppy. Not because of attraction but hearing the caring voice and the nurturing atmosphere of the house. I can’t find my usual attitude, and I so need it now more than ever before. I need to escape inside it. I need it to be my front and my armor.
“I won’t ask if you went to the police. But my dad will hear you out. Help you, too. If you ever wanted…”
Justice? Oh, this guy. He’s seen it? I haven’t. Not that I’ve seen a lot, well, no I have seen A LOT of bad stuff. And all in a pretty small area. All the bad times I experienced were isolated. There were no other perspectives or alternate explanations. But I saw very little justice for blatant abuse, both to boys and girls, be it sexual, physical, or spoken. I hadn’t seen much crime get prosecuted fairly or effectively. I never called the police myself. But this guy’s dad is a cop, and here I am in his house. We both experienced vastly different events.
“I don’t want anything.”
He nods. “I guessed that. I just thought I’d say—”
“He’d look for me then, and he’d find me. If he never hears from me again, he’ll never look for me or want to know where I am. I’m better off that way. And it makes me feel safer. The little crumb of possible justice can’t justify the danger I’d have to put myself in. So please don’t tell your dad.”
“I won’t. I’m sure you’d know better than me.” He heads to the bathroom, which I assume was his original destination.
“Your dad… do you trust him?” To his back I ask the question. “I mean, he’s actually your dad, right?”
His face is surprised when he turns back to me. “Yes. I’m his son. His son is black. His wife was also. He knows what goes on. It doesn’t go on with him.”
The simple statement makes me nod. “I still would rather you didn’t tell him.”
“I won’t. But consider it. If you think you’re in any danger—”
“No. No, I’m not. Bobby won’t think about me as long as I’m not around. He was pissed and high and he lost it and hit me and strangled me, but he won’t come after me. I escaped. I’m okay.”
His mouth contorts. “If that’s okay for you, I can’t imagine what not okay looks like.”
“I’m okay now, I mean. Being here. With Wesley.”
“What kind of improvement is that? He won’t stay.”
“Because you won’t let him.” I snap back. Oh damn, there goes my mouth. And my defenses. Especially of Wesley. Oh, I love that boy. I will always defend him, even to my detriment. But I promised to lay low, make nice, and get myself a place to stay for a while. So I bite my tongue for all those reasons of safety and to have a roof over my head.
To my surprise, Wyatt nods. “Point taken. I’ll let him stay.” Then he shuts the bathroom door, and I stare at it, shaking my head. I imagined Wyatt would be angry at me for overstepping my station and boundaries, when I’m no more than an unwanted stray here. A friend of a friend who asked to stay here. And he takes all that sass and direction from me? I don’t deserve it.
And goodness, Bobby would have launched me down the stairs for all that lip-jacking.
There is something to be said for this family. They are decent, good people.
Who could have guessed I’d ever find that? Even for a day?
Chapter 3
WYATT
I shut the bathroom door and lean against it. Butting my head on it, I sigh. Oh, my God! I have never seen bruises like that on a woman. In the bright sunlight that shone on her neck, I saw the distinct outline of fingers in the bruising. I saw a shape. My insides are twisting and anxious to repel the idea. No. No! The bruising was in the shape of a hand. Imagine how hard someone had to press on her delicate neck to leave marks like that.
The thought of something like that happening to Jacey makes me sick. Jacey is tall, stocky, and athletically built. But I could easily take her in a few seconds. Maybe a minute. I could overpower her without any problem. It makes my stomach turn to see the injuries on Jacey’s flesh. I know this shit goes on all over the wor
ld. I’ve just never seen it up close. My dad’s a cop, so he’s seen a lot and told my mom and me about some things. I thought I knew what to expect, but it is pretty horrifying to see the bruises on a person. She’s so… accepting. I can’t believe that part. She doesn’t seem to realize that she could stand up and set off all the sirens and alarms by telling someone that this was done to her, and it must never be tolerated. The bastard should have his balls and dick cut off or at least bound until the tissue died and turned black. As I step into the shower, my thoughts keep returning there. It’s easier to plot my revenge and satisfy the rage I feel over the perpetrator of such filth than to try to imagine what Jacey feels like inside because of it.
I gave Wesley so much shit when he came here primarily because he robbed an old lady who was collecting money for charity. That money had Jacey’s name on it. No, it doesn’t excuse the crime, not at all. Obviously. But it does convince me what my parents sensed from the start, that Wesley wasn’t such a bad guy. He might have had valid reasons, although his actions were not correct, but knowing he had reasons makes me detest him a tiny degree less.
I’m not heartless. The way Jacey has been treated is not right no matter what. How she ended up in the situation, and how she had to get out is commendable. I see where Wesley might have felt the urgency to answer Jacey’s request for money. Maybe it wasn’t the first time she ended up like that or in a similar way. I’d have wanted to help her, too. Maybe that excused the robbery. The crime he committed. At least I can quit trying to rip his larynx out. I fantasized about it one too many times, mostly because I couldn’t stand him taking advantage of my mom’s kindness and knowing she just wanted to help him.
I eventually come downstairs and find Jacey and Wesley with my parents. Things have taken a strange turn. Suddenly, it’s no longer just the three of us. For most of my life, I remember having only my parents with me. I have a vague recollection of my life before Tara who showed up when I was five. She was working at my aunt’s restaurant, Chloe’s Corner Café, and I was there for childcare reasons. Almost immediately, I started hanging out with Tara. I remember always liking her. She started out as an adult who was nice to me, then she dated my dad, then they married, and she was my mom. It was just so easy for me.
My biological mom’s name was Ebony. I know what she looked like because her identical twin is my aunt Chloe. The tragedy of her premature death still haunts Chloe and my grandparents, Adaline and Kyler Carrington. My dad, too. He talks about her still. I think it’s because he doesn’t want me to forget her. He still grieves for her. Tara is very accepting of this remembrance of my mom. I learned very young that everyone wants me to remember Ebony was my mom. The thing is? I can’t. I don’t remember anything about her at all.
I only remember Tara.
Tara is my mom. I’ve always called her Mom. And the one I want for my mom is Tara. I can’t say those words out loud, however.
Ebony was murdered. A female fish and wildlife officer murdered her when her sick obsession with my dad turned dangerous, and Ebony got caught in the crosshairs. Her body was dumped in a swamp, high up in the hills outside of town and left to rot for a few years. Meanwhile, my dad, my aunt, and my grandparents all believed Ebony ditched me and my dad, abandoning her family, when she was murdered. It was a tough, bitter time for them. Her remains were eventually found, and she could finally be laid to rest, but it was a long while before my dad and aunt could lay it to rest and it has never rested as far as my grandparents are concerned.
That is where their devotion to me comes from. My aunt has her own set of twin boys, but my grandparents have a crazy, reverent, insane devotion to me. I grew up adoring them, too, of course. What kid wouldn’t love grandparents who came to every event? They attended every practice and every game I ever played in, starting in first grade. I was playing peewee soccer and baseball and later on, flag football. I loved sports and had to be in something every season. They showed up to every single practice I had. If my parents were busy somewhere else, I could always guarantee my grandma and grandpa would be there. It was their way of keeping Ebony alive. Yet, I don’t resent them for it since they crazy love me. They adore and cherish me. They want only the best for me. They were always the first in the family to cheer me, congratulate me, and celebrate my birthdays as well as my successes, be they big or small.
Their insane devotion continues to this day. It followed me to college and onto the field. The pressure on me to make up for the daughter they lost sometimes makes me slightly claustrophobic. The expectation of performance in football and my grades has always been high and still persists from all avenues of my family. I always rise to the occasion. I never thought about doing anything different.
Until this last year. After the ultimate pinnacle of my success with that championship game and what happened next showed me there were some things that success and being the best or rising above the others could never negate or diminish. And damn, if I hadn’t paid the consequences of that.
JACEY
He talks to me. Despite how often Wesley warns me about Wyatt, he seems perfectly friendly towards me. In fact, he gently teases me sometimes. Nothing overt or obvious, but in ways that make me feel less like a vulture taking advantage of his parents’ lodging and food while under Wesley’s wing. Wyatt often comes in from his summer job and flops down where I’m sitting and doing nothing. Getting bored out of my mind. Realizing my life sucks. I suck, too. I have no job, no home, not even bus fare, and my friend had to rob an old lady to help me out.
But I have Wesley. For once, I have a decent, safe, clean and well stocked home to stay in. I have this strange almost adopted family of Wesley’s. I have people to talk to who are nice, kind and considerate. Ryder and Tara speak to me every single day. I’ve never had adults’ fuss and worry and ask after me before. In all honesty? I kind of loved all the fussing. Tara asked about me. She wondered how I was each morning. They asked if I was hungry or needed anything from the store or needed anything washed or… we’ll, it was endless, how much concern they had towards me and each other. And Wesley.
Included in all this caring and niceness was Wyatt and Dani. They were easy to be around and didn’t seem to mind my presence, despite how much Wyatt so obviously minded Wesley’s.
Until Dani walks in the front door one evening. Wyatt and I had been doing nothing more than watching some stupid reality show. Dani’s expression isn’t the serious, studious, sweet face she usually has. She appears to be the opposite of me. She might as well have the words nice girl stamped across her forehead. She is not stuck up or snobby and is usually very sweet to me. She even seems a little shy about interacting with me at times.
She announces she and Wesley had an argument and asks me, “Will he come back?”
It’s such an odd question. Only of Wesley would something like that need to be asked.
When she asks me about Wesley, my gaze sharpens on her. Wyatt mutters a flippant version of “Don’t worry, where could the guy go?” But Dani seems upset. More than if it were just a harmless argument. Why doesn’t Wyatt ask what the argument is about? He seems a little clueless and obtuse, seeing that his girlfriend quite possibly could be half in love with Wesley. I don’t know… I think Dani’s just as clueless as he is. These two were friends for so long, they didn’t realize that’s all they were. Their interactions remind me of Wesley and me. So I don’t see them as in love. If they are, they have an odd way of showing it.
I could also kill Wesley. He leaves me all alone in this house with people I hijacked from him. I appreciate their generosity, but he doesn’t come back for three damn days. The stupid prick. Dani and I hang out while she visits Wyatt, but I sense something heavy on her mind. It’s obvious even if she doesn’t tell me about it. Wyatt doesn’t seem to notice.
He needs to pull his head out of his butt and realize that he’s losing Dani to Wesley. Maybe they shouldn’t like each other, but he isn’t very observant of her. He doesn’t interact with her
or display the typical passion of lovers or even preferred close friends. I kind of get why Wesley’s interest would have turned her head.
One evening, they are deep in conversation on the porch. When Wyatt comes in, he says nothing to me, but goes to his room. I wonder what that was all about.
Later, Dani texts me to tell me they broke up, and it was mutual! I’m shocked. She believes they will remain friends. I doubt that, since no one can break up and stay friendly. But I give Dani support and steer clear of Wyatt while trying to stay under the radar, just as Wesley coached me to do. The thing is: he is right. No one asks me to leave. Or stay. They don’t require my plans or timeline. So I stay. And hope. And pray. And desire. That is a dangerously silly thing for me to do since it never turns out in my favor.
After their breakup, Wyatt is single, and he comes around less often. He moves back to college and his student apartment. I didn’t ask him what he thinks about their breakup, and he never says anything about it. But he does smile and flirt a bit, more often when he’s at home. He has things on his mind, and I am not the most important factor in his life.
Dani, however, hangs around even more often because crazily enough, she starts to date Wesley, so we still spend time together.
My dear friend, the great traveler of the world, then does the dumbest thing ever. Wesley leaves the Kincaids and Dani with his big stupid backpack and starts down the road to go across the river. I cry. Tara cries. I call and check on Dani, and her dad says she’ll be home soon from saying goodbye to Wesley.
“How is she?” Wyatt asks me as I click off my phone. The one luxury I have is keeping my phone going. I have no other way to contact the people in my life. And that’s the only way my mother can contact me. Not that she ever would. If by some miracle she is still alive, maybe she’ll get her shit together someday and want to see me. Maybe.
“Destroyed. Sounds like they spent the week together, and then he just packed up his stuff and started down the road the opposite way, leaving her behind. He expected her to drive home alone despite her crying.”