by J. L. Beck
She bit her lip. There was no way he could know, because nothing had happened. She’d had a chance encounter with their guest last night, and it had been completely innocent. There hadn’t been some illicit affair, a stolen kiss in the night. There hadn’t been any of that. Yes, their fingers had touched. Yes, she’d felt that small tingle all the way down to her toes—but it wasn’t like she had acted on it.
Plus, what would there have been to act on? A tingle created by a sense of loneliness after realizing how utterly alone she was in her marital issues?
“Good morning,” she replied, turning around with the plate of French toast in her hands. Justin spared her a short glance, just long enough to sneer at the plate in her hands.
“You think I want that shit?”
Oh, god, she thought. He knows. He…knows.
She slowly set the plate on the counter, hands coming together to wring anxiously. No, not anxiously. No wringing. She refused to be nervous anymore—not around Justin. Not around her own husband.
“I figured you’d want some breakfast. If you don’t want it,” she said sweetly, taking the edge of the plate, “I will gladly put it back, honey.”
He reached out, grabbing her wrist. The emotion in his eyes had her pausing, heart crashing. That thought of “staying strong” fled like a rabbit caught in the open.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that,” he said, his voice a near growl. She wrenched her hand away, swallowing thickly.
“What is going on with you?” she asked, the words choking her.
“Me?” He threw his perfect blonde head back, laughing. “Oh, nothing. The question should be, what is wrong with you?”
She drew back. “There’s nothing wrong with me—“
“Really? Because you’ve had an attitude from hell. Even before last night.”
At that, her eyes widened. “Are you for real right now? Justin. You’ve been coming home and drinking. Every. Night. I’m not the one with issues—“
“See, there you go again, getting that attitude,” he said blithely—or tried to. She could hear the growing frustration in his voice but was too astounded to take the warning.
“That’s bullshit and you know it! What, are you blaming me for what happened last night, then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She glared at him. “Don’t play dumb, Justin. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You weren’t even drunk when it happened.”
“Still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said roughly, taking the plate and roughly yanking it toward him. He took the fork, but he didn’t dig into the food. No, it hovered there, just like the tension hovered between the two of them.
“You raised your hand to me,” she hissed, only realizing that the words were a garbled mess when they fell through her lips. She was too busy shaking, trembling, to speak properly, but the words couldn’t be stopped. “You raised your hand, and you hit me across the face. That’s what happened last night—“
“No,” he snarled. It wasn’t his voice that had her flinching, but the way his hands slammed onto the table. The dishes rattled and his fork clattered to the ground. She swallowed thickly, breath coming in choked heaves.
She wanted to say that if he smacked her, she’d be strong, that she’d do it right back. She wanted to say that if he came after her or yelled at her again, she would put him in his place.
But she knew.
Kate knew that if he did anything, she wouldn’t be able to react. Wouldn’t be able to defend herself. He was a strong man, a big man. When they had first met, he had been fit and lean. But now, after the drinking, and the boring job that gave him no exercise, he was a little thick around his middle. Maybe not as strong, but still stronger than her.
The thought made her blood run cold.
“What happened to us?” she whispered, staring down at him. When he slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze, she looked at her hands.
“You,” he said shortly. “You happened.”
“I don’t—“ She stopped herself, closing her eyes. Whatever she said in defense of herself would only make him angry.
Justin pushed up from the table, chair scraping against the floor. She kept her eyes closed and face angled down, some part of her screaming, No! Don’t look at him! Stay meek!
It wasn’t her.
When his cold hand touched her jaw and lifted her face, the limp set of her shoulders wasn’t her. When he squeezed her jaw until she was forced to look at him, the numbness that set in wasn’t her. Nothing about her reaction to him…was her.
“Forget anything ever happened, drop your attitude, and go back to being a good little housewife, alright?”
“Justin—“
His grip on her tightened.
“And if you really want to keep bringing this up, then I’ll have to make you quiet, because all this does to us, is make things a little tense between us. You know?” He gave her one last squeeze, then shoved her back by her head, turned on his heel, and strode out of the kitchen. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned around.
And smiled.
That same happy, cool, go-lucky smile that she’d fallen in love with. He flashed it at her, gestured to the kitchen, then said, “Don’t forget to pick that up.”
A second later, the front door opened, closed, and then the car started. He pulled away from the driveway, leaving her in the kitchen. Shaking. Destroyed. Feeling like her heart had been ripped from her chest and stomped on.
There was no saving this now.
Nothing could salvage what he had just done to her heart, her soul.
Chest aching like he’d taken a sledge hammer to it, she slowly sat in the chair he’d gotten out of, barely realizing her own actions. Everything was numb, except for her heart. No, her heart shattered and all the dreams and hopes she’d had with him…they came to a halt so packed with inertia, the pain flew out of her mouth in a sob.
It wasn’t until she heard the front door creak open that she realized how out of control her sobs had become. Sniffling back the tears and the pain, she quickly stood. Justin wasn’t allowed to see her like this.
No, until she had some place to hide, until she could get back to her parents in the hopes that they didn’t reject her, she wouldn’t let him see an ounce of weakness.
Which meant no crying, sniveling, or showing a single hiccup over him.
She swiped her hands over her cheeks, plastered a smile on her face, then turned around.
“Did you forget something, hone—Oh.”
Standing in the living room, his large body almost too big for the quaint area, was Gage. The man from last night. Then man she’d heard shouting, the one she had woken up, the one she had let her hand brush in a lingering touch…
She blinked, the smile sliding away.
“Did you—did you forget something?” she asked, clearing her throat. God, had he heard her crying? He must have, if she’d been crying so loud she hadn’t noticed the door opening, or even a trace of knocking.
“Yeah, I left my backpack here…” He gave her a lingering glance, looking as if he were about to turn around. His jaw worked and she looked away.
Even though she had tried to wipe the tears, she knew her cheeks were red and her eyes were puffy. She knew the mark on her face was stark against the blush on her cheeks. Not only that, but she knew that he was seeing the aftermath of what Justin had done—and that she was a weak, helpless woman.
“Listen, are you, uh… Are you okay?” he asked. From the corner of her eye, she watched his hand raise to scratch the back of his neck. Muscles that shouldn’t have caught her attention did, and she realized then just how large this man was.
At least in the dark of night, he had mostly been blurred. Yeah, he had looked big, but seeing him in day light? It sent a shiver down her back. Especially since she saw that through the confusion, he was steadily growing more aware, more serious. His expression was going from worr
ied to angry.
The look was natural on his face. Hard lines created a ragged, brutal look on his face that had her inching back to the table. She knew all men weren’t like Justin, and knew Gage probably wasn’t like that either, but the fact remained.
Right now, she didn’t trust anyone.
“I’m fine,” she said flippantly, trying her hardest to sound normal.
“You sure? You look like you could use a tissue. Or a drink. Or something.”
She shook her head, taking the back of the chair in a tight grip. “It’s nothing. Do you need me to grab your backpack for you?”
He gave her a weary once over, then shook his head. “Nah, I got it.”
She didn’t respond when he left the kitchen. Her body felt heavy, like lead. Sitting back in that chair wasn’t an option. No, she wanted nothing to do with anything connected to Justin. Unfortunately, the whole house was his. Everything in it was his. Even the car she would use to leave him was his. She had allowed him to take ownership of everything—including her dignity.
“Don’t forget to pick that up.”
Seeing red, she picked up the plate of toast and threw it across the kitchen. Forget the fact that Gage was in the next room over. Forget her “duties”. If she wanted to have an attitude, she could have one! She was well within her right! If she wanted to break something, good. It wasn’t like she had bought it.
No sooner than the reality of what she’d done cross her mind, the plate shattered against the counter. Syrup, ceramic, and French toast ricocheted off the marble and landed on the floor.
She stared at it.
Just…stared.
And while she did, light glistened off a drop of syrup as it slid off the counter and onto the ground.
Inhaling shakily, Kate weakly grabbed the broom away from the counter. All she had done for herself was create another mess that was impossible to fix.
The broom brushed over the ground with slow strokes, the tinkling sound of glass a hollow ring in her mind.
“Don’t forget to pick that up.”
For a second, she stopped seeing things. Her vision blurred out—but not with tears. The broom handle dug into her hand. The motions became more swift, more violent, until the glass wasn’t going into a pile, but in a circle around the room, until she was basically hitting the ground with it.
She didn’t cry. There was no time for it. No reason for it. She was trapped, and she had one job. Pick it up. Right? She had to pick it up, just like she had to pick herself up? Just like she had to pick her marriage up?
It wasn’t the sharp sensation in her feet that broke her trance, nor was it the hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t the voice in her ear telling her to stop, shouting the words at her. No, the only thing that managed to break the trance was the fact that the broom…had broken. The brush lay on the ground, the remainder of the stick clutched in her hands.
She heaved, a mix of vomit and air, slowly becoming aware that she didn’t have free motion of her arms. Gage, with his big, long arms, had wrapped them around her.
As much as she hated all of this, she was grateful. Without his embrace, she would have been on her knees.
“You’re bleeding,” he said roughly, letting go of her only long enough to slide his arms under her knee and back.
“No, put me down—“
“There’s glass everywhere. I have shoes on, you don’t. Shit, just let me help you.”
He made a move to set her on the kitchen table. “No, not in here. I don’t want to be anywhere near this kitchen,” she rasped. “Living room. Couch.”
That was all that was needed. No other words, no other explanation. He just…did it. He carried her into the living room, set her gently on the couch, and then walked away from her.
A moment later, he was walking back in from the kitchen with damp paper towels.
“First aid kit?”
She blinked, then frowned.
“It’s not that bad. Listen, thank you for your help, but I can take care of this.” She held out her hand for the paper towel when he crouched in front of her, refusing to meet his eyes.
The laugh that came from him was harsh and sarcastic. “I just watched you have a psychotic break. The last thing I’m going to do is leave you here, alone, to finish off whatever you were doing to that broom.”
“It was the plate, actually, and the kit is in the hallway closet,” she said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. He held his hand down, obviously for her foot, and she gingerly gave it to him.
“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that you don’t want me to call Justin?”
She looked at her lap. “I’d rather not hear his name right now, either.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched him heave a sigh. Other than that, there was only silence between them. He dabbed at the sole of her foot for a second before pushing to his feet and walking behind her.
She wasn’t surprised that she didn’t have to explain where the closet was to him. He was a man who was aware…of everything. Of how the mark got on her face, of who had left her crying at the table…that was all stuff he was aware of.
And the thought was horrifying.
6
“Thank you for helping,” she said, watching as he wiped his hands off on his pants and stood. She did the same, keeping her weight off her left food as best she could. It was sore, but nothing that would kill her.
“Yeah, no problem.” He rubbed the back of his neck, obviously not knowing what to do now.
“So, uh…yeah. I guess I need to clean up. Everything. Glass, kitchen, all of that stuff…” She laughed nervously, looking at the ground. Having his hands on her in such a caring way…even if it had been just her foot and calf, even if it had been completely platonic…had sent shivers up her spine the whole time. “Don’t forget to grab your back, yeah?”
She started to turn away, needing to get away from him as soon as possible. She shouldn’t get shivers from a man who wasn’t her husband. Shouldn’t blush like a school girl for a man who wasn’t her husband. Heck, she shouldn’t even let him be here.
Justin was known for taking lunch whenever he wanted. Most days, he came home for it.
If he came home right now…with the way things were between them…and he saw Gage standing in the living room?
She didn’t want to assume her husband would know common sense from ridiculousness, so she was better safe than sorry if he just left.
When she noticed that he was still standing there, she paused in the doorway.
“I don’t want him to come home and see you,” she said quietly, keeping her eyes averted.
“What would he do if he did?” Gage asked, some of the weariness disappearing from his voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw his arms cross over his chest.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
“To me, maybe. What do you think he would do to you?”
“Me?” She laughed, even though the sound was hallow. “I don’t think he would do anything. He’s just having a hard time at work and it’s made him very…stressed.”
She glanced at him just in time to see his strong jaw tic.
“Stressed? That’s your excuse?”
Kate shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I…don’t know, Gage. I don’t. I just—don’t want to talk about it.”
“So you’re going to put up with him abusing you?”
“Last night was the first time—“
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “It’s not right for a man to hit his wife—regardless of stress at work. It has nothing to do with you.”
She gave him a small, sad smile. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Gage. My family is… Yeah. I don’t have a lot of options. I’m sorry you’re upset on my behalf, but I just…have to work through this.”
“Work through this,” he echoed. He closed his eyes, then groaned. “Alright, fine. Whatever. I’ll grab my shit and leave you two to it. Just know this—
once a man hits you, it doesn’t change. It doesn’t end. The only thing you can do is leave, or put up with it until you’re killed. I might not know you very well, but you’re a beautiful woman. A strong woman. You deserve a man who can cherish that, not abuse it.”
“Don’t get angry on my behalf,” she told him gently. “There’s nothing you can do short of stealing me away, and I can’t…leave him. Not like this.”
“If you could leave, would you?”
She blinked.
“I don’t—I don’t know you.”
“I’m not asking if you do or not. I’m asking, if you could leave—would you?”
She touched her neck, aware of how fast her heart was beating. This was not a conversation she had ever planned to have with him, with anyone. Two days ago, she would have laughed in his face and shoved him out of her house.
But, two days ago, Justin had never raised a hand to her. He had never left a bruise on her. He had never left her on the verge of a mental breakdown from feeling trapped, lonely, and hopeless.
Things had shifted too suddenly for her to make sense of, and somehow, this strong man, a man who had demons himself—was asking her if she wanted an escape route.
I didn’t set out to be a weak housewife. I didn’t set out to be in a loveless, abusive marriage.
The thought circled her mind as she stared at Gage. What would happen if she went with him? Nothing? Would she just…forget about Justin? Would he forget about her?
No, he wouldn’t. The thought was foolish. He’d come after her as surely as a bull went after a red blanket. He wouldn’t let her go.
Somehow, though, staring at Gage…she wasn’t sure. He was a big man—more fit, taller, and buff than Justin. He also had a look about him that would make anyone wet their pants if he so much as glanced at you wrong. He appeared dangerous, yes…but maybe that was part of the appeal?
If even she was scared of him, then that meant other men were. Other men wouldn’t dare mess with Gage. He was like a walking semi-truck with muscles made of forged iron. Everything about him was intimidating…and therefore safe.