Breaking the Rules

by Tinthia Clemant

  He took the steps two at a time and raced to what had to be Chad’s bedroom. The setting sun gave the room an eerie feel. The shadows on the faces of the stuffed animals made them look more like zombies than innocent toys. But no Justin. And no Chad.

  An empty bourbon bottle lay next to Shannon.

  He bent and lifted her. “I’m here, Shannon. It’s okay, I’m here.” She was a dead weight in his arms. A dead weight that reeked of whiskey.

  By now it was clear Justin and Chad weren’t in the house. From the circle of candles on the bookcase, it looked like she’d performed a spell of some kind and might have gotten lost in some sort of trance. A drunken trance.

  He carried her into Chad’s bathroom, leaned her over the toilet bowl and braced her from behind. What he did next was going to take their relationship to a whole new level. Nothing said ‘I’m into you’ like forcing your partner to vomit.

  With a strength he hadn’t expected, she bucked with her legs and sent them both to the tile floor. She pulled away from him and stood and swayed. He knew that look.

  A deluge of hot, partially digested, alcohol-laced food splashed the back of his head, neck, and shoulders even as he scrambled to his knees. He reached out for her. She staggered, and her head wavered. From her expression, the front of him was next. Not if he could help it. He spun her to face the toilet but she missed the bowl entirely.

  “Stop,” she groaned.

  He held her in place. “Who am I?”

  “Let me go.”

  “Not until you tell me who I am.”

  “St. John, let—”

  A third wave topped off her first, making sure this time to include his pants and shoes.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Good. Time for a shower.”

  He brought her into the tub with him, shoes and all, and blasted them both with cold water.

  St. John placed a mug in front of Shannon. He was wearing a pair of Justin’s sweatpants and one of his T-shirts. While she’d gotten herself dressed, he’d cleaned Chad’s bathroom and brewed some coffee.

  “How did you get in?” she asked him, an ice pack held to her forehead.

  He didn’t answer, choosing instead to focus on her eyes. Her story, the way she’d been treated—it had been like witnessing his mother’s suffering all over again. Justin Baldos. Charles St. John. They’d both been carved from the same pile of crap.

  “St. John, I asked—”

  “I was worried about you,” he said and filled a mug for himself. “When I heard you screaming… I’ll send someone over to fix the door.”

  “The door?”

  “Yeah, the side door.”

  “That’s okay.” Shannon snickered. “You’re not the first person to break one of the glass panes.”

  “It’s a bit more than glass. I kicked in the door.”

  “You kicked… You’re unbelievable.”

  “A thank-you might be nice.”

  “I’m supposed to thank you for destroying my door?”

  “It would be the polite thing to do.”

  The rapid scowl on her face seemed to imply she didn’t like his answer.

  “Why, exactly, are you here?” she said.

  He returned the pot to the coffee maker. “I’m here because I was concerned.”

  “You can’t keep coming over here to check on me every time you get worried.”

  He rested his hip against the counter. “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It is when I have a headache.”

  “You’d feel a whole lot worse if I hadn’t been here. A bourbon hangover is nothing to toy with.”

  “I’ve been drunk before, and I’ll still have a hangover.”

  “I’ll bet not with bourbon.”

  “Actually—” She met his eyes with a look of defiance. “I have. It more than sucks; it’s akin to a slow, painful death. But you see, daddy-dear, tonight I didn’t fucking care. I wanted the suffering. I still do. At least I’d have a physical reason for wanting to die.”

  “Making yourself physically ill won’t do a damn thing to help the situation,” he said, the mug held to his mouth.

  Shannon face contorted into a mask of anger. “Of course, I should have known the great and wise St. John would have an opinion.”

  “I’m not the enemy, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead and treat me like I am. I can help if you’ll let me.”

  “I don’t need help. I need my son.”

  He didn’t outwardly react when she slammed her mug against the island, but inside he was flailing, completely helpless to comprehend the depth of her anguish.

  “Say something,” she demanded.

  “I get what you’re going through,” he stated in a calm, reassuring tone.

  “You can’t even begin to get what I’m going through,” she said.

  He rushed to her side when she stood and faltered. Holding her by the shoulders, he said, “You’re right, I can’t. But believe me when I say Chad will come home. Until then, tell me what you need me to do to get you through this.”

  She clawed at the T-shirt he wore. “I need you to make it go away, please. I’m begging you.”

  He steadied her hands. “That won’t fix anything.”

  “I’m not stupid.” She struggled away. “You asked, and that’s what I need.” With a nasty look, she finished by saying, “Are you man enough to help me or not?”

  He could laugh—if sex was the answer he’d have gotten rid of his own pain a long, long time ago. “I guess I’m not,” he said.

  “Then get the fuck out of my house.”

  “No.” He held her face between his hands and kissed the tears winding down her cheeks. He’d drink an ocean of her tears if that’s what it would take to help her. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

  She clutched to him, and he helped her up the steps. After getting her settled in her bed, he leaned over and whispered, “I’ll find Chad. I promise. Get some sleep.”

  “Please stay.”

  He lay behind her and pulled her close. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  ******

  St. John bolted from the room and down to the kitchen. He met Shannon in the stairwell and handed her the phone. “It’s Justin.”

  She dropped to one of the steps, and St. John settled behind her, placing her in a safe cocoon of his arms and legs.

  “Justin, bring Chad home,” she demanded.

  “Still haven’t learned anything, have you, Shannon?”

  Her eyes stung. No more tears, she pleaded with herself. Be strong for Chad. She would do whatever Justin asked at this point, anything to get Chad back. “I’m sorry. Please bring him home. I’m begging you.”

  Justin switched to a slippery-sounding voice. “That’s what I like to hear. Are you on your knees?”

  St. John reached for the phone, but she shook her head. “Why are you doing this? You’re hurting Chad.”

  “Oh, I’m not the one hurting Chad. You are. This is all your fault. You were stupid for removing the money from the house account.”

  “You can have the money,” she told him. “I’ll even let you keep my inheritance.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I plan on it. But right now, I have a few things for you to do. Ready? Pay attention. Bring the money back to the bank and deposit it in the new account I’ve opened. Then pack your stinking potions and cooking shit and that rabid dog and get the fuck out of my house. I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want you or that hound there when I get back.”

  “You have to give me time to find a place for Chad and me to live.”

  “You’re not paying attention, Shannon. Chad is staying with me.”

  “No, please, no.” Her determination not to cry crumbled, and she folded into herself, tucking her face against her knees. “Please, no,” she sobbed.

  Again, St. John tried to take the phone, but sh
e twisted away. Justin was issuing orders like she was some kind of spy. Her mission, should she choose to accept it, was to roll over and admit she’d failed.

  “I’m not finished. Tell your lawyer you changed your mind about the divorce.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then you’ll never see Chad again. Goodbye.”

  “Justin, wait.”

  “What?”

  “I… Okay, I’ll tell him. I want to talk to Chad.”

  “You’re in no position to be making demands, sweetheart.”

  “Please, may I talk to Chad?”

  “He’s not here.”

  Had she heard him correctly? Chad wasn’t with him? It was two in the morning. “I don’t understand. Where is—?”

  “Back at the hotel. Shelby and I are out getting something to eat.”

  “He’s alone?”

  “He’s fine. I gave him something to keep him asleep. He won’t be waking up till noon if the stuff works as good as Shelby says. I’ll call you in a few days, and Shannon, remember one thing: you have no leverage, not as long as Chad is around. Sleep tight.”

  In a daze, she let the phone slip from her hand. Chad was alone and drugged. And it was all her fault.

  The strong arm that encircled her shoulder did little to ease her guilt. She’d decided to leave Justin, thinking she’d be able to create a better life for herself and Chad, but the reality was she’d messed everything up. Now Chad was paying the price for her stupidity.

  “Come on,” St. John said. “I’m putting you back in bed.”

  She allowed him to do what he said, but only after she’d claimed Chad’s clown. She settled her head against the pillow and hugged Clowny to her chest and whispered, “I will find you, my love, I promise.”

  Please, goddess, make it so.

  Chapter 30

  “In all things it is better to hope than to despair.”

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  A woman dressed in a navy blue, tailored suit stopped at the receptionist’s desk of Attorney Martin Decker’s office and then faced Shannon. Closely cropped black hair accented smooth, ebony skin, and lips, tinted with red lipstick, opened into a smile.

  “Give me one minute,” the woman said and hurried down a hallway.

  Shannon nodded in return. Screw the ability to fly on her broom. Right now she’d take being able to change her appearance with the snap of her fingers. She wouldn’t be surprised to find the people at the firm thinking the newest client partied like a rock star, what with the puffy face and bloodshot eyes.

  She’d have looked a lot worse if it hadn’t been for St. John. She owed him a world of gratitude. He’d stayed by her side and had kept her from jumping off the emotional ledge she’d been on. He’d been there when she closed her eyes, and his arms had still been wrapped around her come morning.

  She’d learned a lot about the man behind the self-confident armor. He’d started with an apology for his behavior the night before, just walking out of the yard. Her interpretation that he thought she was weak couldn’t have been farther from reality.

  ‘My father manipulated my mother, and it still sickens me how easy he made it look,’ St. John had offered. ‘I was too young to get what was going on, and I used to think my mother was crazy when she accused him of trying to confuse her. Hearing what you’ve been going through stirred up some stuff I couldn’t handle, and I’m sorry I ran. I promise I won’t run anymore. I’ll be with you until Chad comes home.’

  She couldn’t decipher what that last part meant. Would St. John bolt when they found Chad, eager to repair his broken rules and move on to someone else?

  How would she feel if he did?

  The woman from earlier approached and extended her hand. “Hi, Shannon, I’m Jayla, Attorney Decker’s assistant. We’re almost ready for you. Let me get you situated in the conference room, and I’ll bring some fresh coffee. This way.”

  Jayla opened the double doors of a lengthy room. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Manchester’s skyline and, in the distance, the tips of the Presidential Range, with Mount Washington’s snow-covered crest rising above them all.

  “I hope you don’t get dizzy,” Jayla said.

  Shannon stood near the glass. “I’m good, but I can see how this would get to a person.”

  Jayla laughed. “There’s been some late nights when Martin brings out the Scotch, and let me tell you, the room sways. Have a seat. How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black, please.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Jayla left, and Shannon turned to stare out the window, but all she could see was Chad’s face. “Hold on, munchkin. Mama’s going to find you.”

  “Shannon.”

  She turned at the mention of her name and found herself on the receiving end of St. John’s grin. He strolled into the room, looking handsome in a white, short-sleeved shirt and black cargo shorts, his hair combed away from his freshly shaved face.

  “What are you doing here?” she wanted to know.

  He strode her way. “I’m here for you. Do you mind if I stay?”

  “Not at all, but you didn’t say—”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” he said and leaned close.

  Shannon jerked away when someone new cleared his throat.

  St. John said, “This ugly son-of-a-bitch is Martin Decker, Attorney at Law.” He motioned toward Jayla as she walked into the room. “And this lovely lady is—”

  “We already met, St. John.” Jayla set a cup of coffee in front of Shannon and then sat and opened a laptop.

  Attorney Decker dropped a folder onto the table and shook Shannon’s hand with an aggressive pump. “Don’t listen to him. He’s still jealous over me getting more bids than he did. It’s good to meet you. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m as good as can be expected, thank you.” She flexed her fingers and gave St. John a quizzical look. “Bids for what?”

  “Ten years ago, the New Hampshire chapter of the Sons of Italy held a fundraiser and auctioned dates with local business owners. Marty hasn’t stopped boasting about his win, which is in poor taste if you ask me. Nobody likes a poor winner.”

  Marty said, “Nobody likes a poor loser, either, St. John. I won fair and square.”

  “By fifty cents,” St. John grumbled.

  Shannon found herself smiling at the friendly teasing the two men were engaged in.

  “A win’s a win,” Decker said. “Have a seat, Shannon. Before we get started, do you mind if St. John sits in on the meeting?”

  “Not at all.” She gave St. John a quick smile and then returned her attention to the lawyer.

  St. John claimed the seat next to her and took hold of her hand. “We have something to tell you, but I’m going to let Marty do the honors. I’m just a bystander.”

  “More like an active participant,” Marty mumbled and grinned at Shannon. “We’ve located Chad.”

  “What?” Shannon was on her feet. She looked at all three people seated at the table, ending with St. John. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She directed her next question toward the attorney. “Where is he?”

  “Sit,” said St. John. “Marty will explain.”

  She allowed St. John to guide her back into her chair.

  “Your woman friend was correct,” Marty said. “Justin and his companion are at Disney World. They’re staying in the Animal Kingdom Lodge and have booked the room until the seventh of July.”

  Questions flew from her mouth. “Is Chad safe? Has this associate of yours seen him? Has he talked to Justin? Is Justin bringing Chad home now that we’ve found him?”

  Decker pressed his lips in a tight line and gave St. John a nod.

  St. John said, “Our guy has seen Chad.”

  “Then what’s wrong? You’re both hiding something.” She was up and out of her seat again. “Is Chad hurt?” That had to be what they were keeping from her. Justin must have harmed Chad. “What did Justin do to him?”


  St. John joined her and lowered them both into their respective chairs. “Chad’s fine, Shannon. Actually, our guy has eyes on him right now.”

  She swept her attention toward Marty. “Then tell your guy to grab him and run.”

  “We can’t remove Chad because it would be kidnapping,” Decker said. He wore a frown and opened the folder. “Justin has every right to bring his son on a vacation.”

  “Can I at least see Chad?” Shannon clutched St. John’s hand. “Tell your guy to take a picture, please.”

  “He already did, but I want you to relax and remember Chad is fine.” St. John swiped at his phone and held it out.

  “No, no, no,” she cried out, her brain refusing to accept what she was seeing—Chad, sitting on a bench wearing the same shirt he’d chosen yesterday morning. He looked as if he was crying.

  Marty offered, “Shannon, don’t worry. I’m in the process of making arrangements to bring Chad back, but it will take time. Before I can make it happen, we have a lot to discuss.”

  “I told you, Marty,” St. John said, his voice gruff. “We don’t have time. Baldos gets wind that we’ve found him, and he’ll take off again. This is a game to him.”

  The attorney shook his head, his disagreement evident. “Your way is illegal, St. John. You could go to prison for kidnapping.”

  “Excuse me, Attorney Decker. This came for Mr. St. John.” A youthful-looking man stood in the doorway, a white envelope in his hand.

  St. John got up, walked around the table, and claimed the envelope. “It won’t be kidnapping if Shannon comes with me.” He removed two airline tickets from the envelope and waved them in the air. “Our flight leaves in two hours.”

  St. John’s feet extended into the extra leg room provided to all first-class passengers, and having lowered his seat into a reclining position, he seemed to have fallen asleep. Meanwhile, Shannon impatiently flipped through the pages of the magazine she’d been looking at since takeoff.

  “Can you turn the pages a little louder?” St. John kept his eyelids closed and his hands folded on his stomach. “I don’t think they can hear you in the back of the plane.”