Wicked Whiskey Love

by Melissa Foster

  She pulled the blanket over Lila and went to the bed where her little man slept clutching the toy stethoscope from the doctor kit Bones had given him at Lila’s birthday celebration. She sank down to the edge of the bed, praying Bradley would stay as innocent and good-natured as he was now and hoping his father’s blood wouldn’t ruin him. She lay down beside him and told herself that Scott had turned out wonderful, so Bradley could, too. She thought of Josie and wondered what she was like as a mother, as a person. Did she give in to anger like their parents did? Did she demean her son? She seemed protective, but what if she’d picked up their parents’ nastiness and tempers and she didn’t want anything to do with Sarah or Scott because she didn’t want them to know?

  She closed her eyes to try to stave off more tears. Bones’s compassionate gaze stared back at her through the darkness. Please don’t let that asshole’s words come between us. There is nothing that will change how I feel about you.

  Lewis was an asshole. A lying, raping, pimp of an asshole.

  But Bones wasn’t, and he deserved to know the truth.

  She opened her eyes, looking at her little boy. Was Bones right? Should she tell them about the ugliness of her past when they got older? How could she look into their trusting eyes and burst their bubble about who they thought she was?

  How can I live a lie with them?

  Life isn’t fair.

  And there it was, the thing she’d been trying to escape forever. Self-pity. Didn’t she deserve some modicum of it? Hadn’t she been through enough? When, if ever, would this nightmare end?

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Knowing it would be a text from Bones, she pulled it out and read the message. I’m sorry if I scared you. Please talk to me.

  Guilt and pain moved through her like a razor’s edge.

  Another text bubble popped up. I meant what I said. Nothing will change my love for you.

  She sat up, staring at the screen, wanting desperately to send him a message, but what could she say? You’ll never look at me the same until you know the truth? There was too much to type, but she knew what she had to do. With another deep inhalation—and another, because her lungs simply refused to fill—she kissed her babies one last time and crossed the hall to her bedroom.

  She grabbed a pen and the notebook with Let your dreams be bigger than your fears on the front, and then she propped pillows up by the headboard and settled in, putting pen to paper.

  Figuring out where to start was easy.

  I came into this world Sarah Marie Beckley. My mother once said I was seven pounds, two ounces of trouble. I think from her perspective it was the truth, because babies are trouble. They’re messy, noisy, and they sure don’t listen. But you know how they say one person’s nightmare is another’s dream? What my parents saw as trouble, I see as the most glorious aspects of being a baby, seeing and doing things for the first time and relying on others to keep them alive, safe, and happy, to teach them about life and love, loss, and grief. I don’t think my parents were meant to have children. Unfortunately, they did, and they taught me things like how not to treat a child and that the human spirit can overcome anything—even if others try their hardest to beat them down.

  She wrote for hours, pouring the details of her life onto the pages. The loathsomeness of stripping and the joy she got from talking with the other girls in the back room between dances. The girls who knew what it meant to be upset that a guy pawed at her even if she was showing off her body. Because stripping was a choice, but being manhandled wasn’t.

  She wrote about the fear she tried so hard to hide every day when she was out in public and the way she used to hide her face in the pillow at night in her parents’ house so they wouldn’t hear her crying. The way she went to bed every night as a kid praying her parents would wake up to be better people and that they wouldn’t kill Scott in the process. She detailed her hunt for Josie and how empty she felt at every turn, along with her childlike excitement at connecting with Lewis, how that connection had withered and frayed. She described her insurmountable joy at the birth of her babies. She’d never known it was possible to love someone so deeply and so instantly. She didn’t leave out anything, writing about how things deteriorated with Lewis and how she’d spent hours trying to plot an escape with the children. She’d never felt as helpless as she had during those painful months.

  She wrote about how she didn’t know until too late that she’d only scratched the surface of helplessness.

  Page after miserable page came to life as she wrote about the awful night she’d finally left Lewis, revealing what the murky depths of helplessness really looked like. Her phone vibrated a few times, but she ignored it, needing to get this out once and for all.

  I remember the noise of the party, the smell of drugs and sweat, and how hard I prayed for the night to end because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was done. Even if I had to walk all the way to town, I was leaving the second they passed out or left the house. When the noise quieted, hope swelled inside me that maybe they’d left or were getting ready to leave. The kids were asleep, and I was pacing in their bedroom, thinking of the things I wanted to grab from our bedroom, planning our final escape. Then Lewis opened the bedroom door, and I thought he was going to tell me he was leaving, because he had this demonic grin on his face. And I was happy, so very happy I think I might have smiled, too. And then he said he needed me, and I thought he meant sexually, so I refused. I said I was sick and needed to stay with the kids. That’s when three guys appeared behind him. They were gross, sweaty, unshaven, and dirty. Everything changed in an instant. He grabbed my arm and yanked me from the room. I struggled, and he said if I wanted to see my kids again, I’d do what he said. There was no choice in my mind. They were my babies.

  Tears fell onto the page, and she leaned back so they wouldn’t drip on the ink, but she didn’t—couldn’t—stop writing.

  He threw me into the bedroom and told me to take my pants off. I was numb, scared, in shock. And I was angry. So angry I was crying and fighting even though he’d threatened the kids. Everything happened so fast after that. He tore off my pants as another guy held me still, and then I was on the bed, and he demanded money from each of them. He tossed it on the dresser and told them they couldn’t fuck me unless they used condoms because he didn’t want another fucking mouth to feed. I was pleading, cursing, trying to get away, but they were big and it was awful, and I finally closed my eyes and told myself to take it so it would end, so I could get the kids to safety. The whole thing didn’t last long. Or maybe it did. I don’t know. It felt like hours and a blink at the same time. I think I blacked out or made myself detach from the event. Afterward, I hurt and I was afraid to move. I didn’t know if this was it. If this was where my life would end, or who else would walk through that door and do horrible things to me. And I lay there waiting in the empty room for so long. And then something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like one of those light sticks that are lifeless until you crack something inside them. I wasn’t going to die by his hand, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him go near my babies ever again. I ran into the kids’ bedroom. I still remember those pigs laughing and drinking in the living room as I pushed a dresser in front of the bedroom door. And then I waited for silence, only this time I wasn’t numb or scared. I was ready. When there had been no noise for a long stretch of time, I cracked open the bedroom door and heard snoring. I tiptoed out, and they were all asleep. I ran into the bedroom where they’d raped me and got the cash from the dresser. I grabbed the first set of keys I found and more cash from the coffee table. Then I propped open the front door so I wouldn’t struggle with it, grabbed my kids, and left.

  She was breathing so hard, her writing was almost illegible, but she didn’t care. She was getting the truth out, and she felt the weight of her secret easing from her soul. It felt so good, she continued writing about how she’d thought about burning the house down, but she wasn’t a whore and she wasn’t a killer. She wrote about t
he drive with the kids seat belted into the back seat, because she’d taken some guy’s car—not Lewis’s—and she had no car seats.

  Writing about the aftermath was as uplifting as it was scary. Finding Scott—and then nearly losing him and the kids—took up many pages of tears. The words on the page blurred as she wrote about Josie showing up at the hospital, how they’d stared silently at each other for a full minute or two before either said a word. How disconnected she’d felt from the girl with whom she’d once shared everything, and how, when Josie walked out of the hospital, Sarah was thrown right back to years earlier, to the day she’d realized Josie was really gone.

  As dawn broke, she detailed her feelings from the first time she’d seen Bones in his white lab coat, with devastatingly compassionate eyes and a smile that made her feel inexplicably safe. The way he’d taken her hand, listening without judgment and comforting her while she wept. And how he’d continued visiting, brightening and bringing hope to those awful, scary days when her family lay in hospital beds, and after, when he’d come by the house with treats for the kids. She went on to write about how it felt to have him by her side when they were out with everyone before they started dating. He was always there with them, helping with the babies, caring about them and her in ways no one ever had.

  And then she wrote about what Bones had witnessed, because some things were easier to write than to say out loud.

  When Lewis said those awful things, my first thought wasn’t that they were ugly lies. It was that he’d said them in front of you. I know what he said will never be forgotten. Ugliness and lies have a way of staining our minds the way truths don’t need to. When I left with my children, I wanted to leave everything about that awful night behind. That’s why I didn’t tell you what he’d done to me. I talk about people shedding their skin, and I usually relate it to them revealing their hidden monsters. When I left Lewis, I shed mine, but in my case, I was shedding the horribleness of those monsters.

  I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of in my life, but I have never sold my body. And I have never loved a man the way I love you. I hope you can forgive me.

  She leaned back, catching a glimpse of the clock. 5:58.

  She closed her eyes for long enough to take a few deep breaths. She couldn’t believe she’d gotten it all out, every ugly bit of her life. Now it was time to see if she could save the beautiful parts.

  She picked up her phone, seeing messages from Bones but not taking the time to read them. She called him instead, and he answered on the first ring.

  “Sarah,” he said anxiously.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Just tell me you’re okay.”

  She closed her eyes against the burn of tears. “I’m not okay yet, but I’m trying to get there. If you’re willing, I’d really like to see you.”

  “Open your front door, darlin’.”

  THE DOOR OPENED, and Sarah stood in the same clothes she’d worn last night, holding one of the notebooks he’d given her. Her nose was pink, her cheeks puffy. Dark crescents underscored bloodshot, damp eyes. When she opened her mouth to speak, tears tumbled down her cheeks. Bones’s chest constricted as he stepped inside and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

  “No, darlin’. I’m sorry for suggesting we go, for losing my cool, and for causing you pain.”

  Bullet’s strong arms circled them, startling Bones, though it shouldn’t have. Bullet had shown up last night about forty minutes after Sarah had gone inside, and he’d sat vigil with Bones the entire night.

  Bullet released them and turned to leave.

  “Hey, B?” Bones called after him.

  Bullet glanced over his shoulder, his coal-black eyes filled with concern.

  “Thank you,” Bones said.

  Bullet nodded, and Bones watched him leave, still embracing Sarah. He didn’t want to let go. “I didn’t tell him anything,” he reassured her. “He knew I had spoken to Court—Charlie—at a club meeting, and he’s been watching me ever since. He did some nosing around, figured things out, and got there hours before we did to see what we were up against. I’m sorry. You can take the soldier out of the military, but I don’t think it ever really leaves them.”

  She looked up at him with wet eyes and said, “Don’t apologize for being loved so much. I was so scared yesterday. I didn’t know who was in the house or what would happen to you, and when he showed up, I was glad he was there, even though I was too much of a mess to show it.”

  “Talk to me, baby. Please.”

  “I can’t.” She shook her head, and his heart hit the floor. She handed him the notebook and said, “It’s too hard to say, but it’s all in here. Thanks to you, my dreams are bigger than my fears.”

  “I don’t want to leave, Sarah. Not like this.”

  “That’s good, because I really need you to hold me. Think you can read and hold me at the same time?”

  Bones took off his boots and jacket, and they went to the bedroom. The sight of Sarah’s bed, still made from the morning before, her pillows propped up at the head, made him ache even more. He got situated, and then she crawled onto the mattress. Lying perpendicular to his body, she rested her head on his stomach and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Can you read like this?” she asked sweetly.

  “Of course.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair, and she sighed sleepily, dozing off within minutes. Bones steeled himself for whatever lay inside the notebook. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and whispered, “It doesn’t matter what this says. Nothing will change my feelings for you.”

  More than an hour later Bones heard Bradley say something, and Lila babbled in response. He pried his eyes from the notebook, unashamed of his tears, as Scott peered into Sarah’s bedroom, taking in his sister sleeping with her arms still locked around Bones.

  “You okay?” Scott asked.

  “We will be,” Bones said.

  “I’ve got the kids. You just take care of Sarah.” Scott closed the door.

  Bones had texted Scott last night to say he was out front and wasn’t leaving. Scott had said Sarah was a mess, to which Bones had responded that it was to be expected. He didn’t tell Scott why; he just said they’d deal with it in time and to give her space if she needed it.

  Bones continued reading. The more he read, the harder it became to see the words and to accept that his precious Sarah had endured such violence.

  I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of in my life, but I have never sold my body. And I have never loved a man the way I love you. I hope you can forgive me.

  He pressed another kiss to her forehead, tears slipping from his eyes. Needing to be closer, to let her feel his love, he moved behind her. She shimmied closer, nestling against the confines of his body, and he curled around her.

  For the second time in his life, he struggled with doing the right thing. Every iota of his being wanted to kill Lewis slowly and painfully and then track down each of the motherfuckers who had hurt Sarah and torture them until they breathed their last breath.

  Sarah whimpered in her sleep, and he held her tighter.

  He should have forced that asshole to sign the papers. He’d gotten so lost in rage, the papers had totally slipped his mind. But that was a worry for another day.

  All that mattered was that Sarah was there with him. Safe. And nobody would ever hurt her again.

  Epilogue

  “I THINK I see a penis.” Dixie squinted at the framed image of Sarah’s sonogram. “Yup. I’m pretty sure the radiology tech was wrong and this Whiskey’s got junk.”

  “Give me that.” Crystal snagged it from her hands and studied the grainy picture. “She does not.” Penny and Gemma both leaned in to check it out.

  “My daughter does not have junk,” Sarah insisted. She took the frame from Crystal, remembering how she and Bones had both teared up when the tech showed them they were having a girl. Bones had studied the
monitor during the sonogram, repeating, Isn’t she beautiful? so many times the tech said she’d never seen a father get so emotional. Sarah hadn’t corrected her about Bones’s relationship to the baby, because he already felt like her children’s father.

  She rearranged a few Christmas decorations on the mantel and set the frame there, below the picture the kids had given Bones for his birthday, which as promised, he’d proudly framed and mounted on the wall. The baby kicked, and she ran her hand over her belly, thinking about how supportive Bones had been since they’d confronted Lewis nearly three weeks ago. Bones had connected her with a therapist the very next day. She’d already seen him five times, and she planned to continue going twice a week because he was helping tremendously. Bones had also helped her tell Scott the truth about what Lewis had done, and then he had calmed Scott down when Scott had flown off the handle. Bones had later confessed to Sarah that he’d wished he’d killed Lewis. She’d had a good cry over that, and Bones had been teary eyed, too, because how could one awful man make two good people wish they could have done something so heinous?

  It felt like that nightmare had happened a lifetime ago, especially now that it was Christmas and they were surrounded by the delicious scents of their holiday dinner and friends and family who brought so much happiness into their lives.

  “Do you think it will feel weird being in Whiskey Bro’s when I’m pregnant?” Finlay asked, bringing Sarah back to their conversation.