I take a couple long gulps of water, my vocal cords soaking it up like a thirsty plant, and clear my throat. “Thank you,” I say to Mrs. Alder as I hand the cup back to her.
She sighs, a sad smile on her lips as tears threaten to spill down her face. “There are some officers here who would like to ask you a couple questions about what happened. Do you feel up to that?”
I give her a curt nod before turning my attention to the door where two officers in full uniforms step inside, stopping at the end of the hospital bed.
“Sir, the man who attacked you has been detained and we’ve spoken with several eyewitnesses who have given us an account of what happened, but they said it appeared you may have known your attacker. Is that correct, sir? Do you know the man who stabbed you?”
“Yes,” I sigh, a chill running through me. “He’s my father.”
“Fuck!” Jon hisses as Mrs. Alder begins to sob.
“Hey,” Lizzy whispers, squeezing my hand, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Are you okay?” Her eyes are soft as she looks into mine, so much care and concern behind them.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lie. Not only am I having to face my parents today, Lizzy is learning some ugly shit about me and I’m not sure how she is going to react.
If our relationship is ever going to become all the things I want it to be, I know I have to share this with her. The life I had and things I’ve experienced have too much to do with who I am today, and she needs to know about all of it, but I can’t find the words to begin to explain all this fucked up shit.
When I asked her to come here with me on Tuesday, she didn’t question me at all. It was as if she already knew. She didn’t ask why I wanted her to come, or what I was even doing here in the first place, and I’m now wondering if my anxiety had been that noticeable. Even though I’ve been trying to tamp it down, I feel like crawling out of my own skin as I sit here in these hard, wooden seats waiting for it to be my turn to speak.
Ice runs through my veins as my eyes drift over to where my father is sitting. They hadn’t allowed him to change out of his prison issued jumpsuit like they had during the trial, and though his hair has more gray in it than it did before, his overall appearance seems healthier without the alcohol streaming through his veins. His skin tone has more color to it, and he has more meat on his thin frame.
I’ve been dreading this day for some time now, flipping back and forth between whether I’d speak up when given the chance. I even considered not coming at all. Although being here still sucks, having Lizzy with me is making me feel braver—like I’m strong enough to say and do what needs to be done without breaking.
When they brought my father into the room, Lizzy tensed next to me. I couldn’t look over at her as they reviewed his case and the crime he committed, but I didn’t need to see her face to figure out she was piecing everything together. I could feel her body trembling as she tightened her grip on my hand. She’d seen my scars and knew I didn’t have a relationship with my parents, but now, she had a better idea of why.
My mother, who’s sitting behind my father, stands up to speak on his behalf, her eyes narrowing as they meet mine for the smallest of moments. “I wish he’d killed you.” Her last words to me echo in my mind as I watch her walk toward the front of the room, my chest tightening in the same way it had when she spoke them. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She once told me she wished she’d aborted me, and that was just in casual conversation. Now, she sees me as the reason her husband is in prison; I’ve given her an actual reason to hate me.
My body tenses as my head spins while listening to her plead with the court to release my father, telling them how he is a changed man—that he’s found God. She blames his actions on his drinking and swears he’s never going to drink again. Crying, she tells them alcoholism is a disease and he is a victim too. Of course, she doesn’t offer any type of apology to me—his actual victim. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge me at all during her speech, or as she makes her way back to her seat. I scoff at myself, wondering why I would ever expect anything different.
The judge asks if I’d like to speak, and I stand up as Lizzy gasps beside me, my heart thudding in my chest and eyes unwilling to look at either of my parents again. It isn’t until I attempt to take a step toward the front that I realize I’m still gripping her hand as if my life depends on it. Instead of pulling her hand from mine, she gets up and follows me to the front of the room.
“Can you please state your name for the court?” the judge asks as I step up to the podium.
“Brenden Scott.”
“You’re the man Jordan Scott attacked?”
“Yes, and I’m also his son.” The room’s quiet whispers and murmurs get louder, but I block them out, focusing only on Lizzy’s hand in mine.
“What would you like to tell to the court today about your father and his possible parole? Do you feel he is rehabilitated and should be released?”
Clearing my throat, I try to gather my thoughts and catch my breath. Lizzy steps closer to me, her body pressing into my side as she increases her grip on my hand. Almost instantly, I feel calmer and the air I so desperately need flows in to my lungs.
“I can’t speak to Jordan Scott’s rehabilitation. I suppose it is possible he’s turned a new leaf during his time behind bars, even if I doubt that to be true. However, I can tell you this. Jordan Scott is an alcoholic and a mean drunk—so mean, he tried to take his own son’s life merely because his son was trying to get him home safely from the bar. Perhaps he has learned a lesson and all of this will keep him away from drinking when he gets out, but I can’t stand here and tell you I honestly believe that will be the case. Please understand I do not feel like this man is a threat to me, but I do feel he could be a threat to anyone who is near him when he’s been drinking—which, until he was locked away, was every day of my life. Before you decide whether you should let him out, I only ask that you consider all the other awful things that could have happened that night—things that could still happen if he’s allowed to be free.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” the judge says, and I turn away from the podium, making a beeline for the exit, feeling as if the room has no oxygen left in it.
I burst through the door, Lizzy still at my side, and allow it to slam closed behind me, making my departure a little grander than I would have liked. Taking a deep breath, I finally look over at Lizzy and she smiles, not one hint of judgement in her features.
“Thank you for being here today,” I tell her, letting go of her hand so I can wrap my arms around her. She does the same, squeezing me tighter than she ever has.
We continue to hold each other in silence outside the courtroom doors for the next couple minutes, which allows me some time to pull myself back together, my trembling hands and erratic heartbeat both becoming steadier. It’s as if she knows exactly what I need.
“Do you want to wait for the decision?” she asks, leaning back to meet my eyes.
“Hell no.”
“Okay, can I interest you in some ice cream, then?” She smiles and attempts to wiggle her eyebrows in the most adorable way, and I laugh, feeling like a hundred-pound weight has just been lifted off me. She’s incredible. She brings light in to the darkest corners of my mind, and in this moment, I couldn’t be more certain I’m in love with her.
It Can’t Rain all the Time
“So, are you a chocolate or vanilla guy?” I ask Brenden as we walk in to the small ice cream shop. This is one of my favorite places to come, especially on particularly hard days, and I thought Brenden might benefit from it today.
Truth be told, I’m still trying to process the knowledge that it was his own father to put those scars on his chest—that his father had nearly taken his life. It was unimaginable for me. My parents have always been so good to me, and have never, or would ever, do anything to hurt me. Thinking of Brenden as a little boy, afraid and alone, having no one to love or care for him the way they should, makes my stomach kno
t. I’m not sure how I managed to keep from crying for him during his testimony. I suppose it’s because I knew he’d taken me there for support just as much as he’d taken me there to share his story with me, and I wanted to be strong for him.
“Guess.” He smirks, his eyes wandering around the small building set up like an old nineteen-fifties ice cream parlor—a black and white checkered floor, bar stools at the counter, and even decade appropriate music.
“All right, fine,” I huff. “I say you like a combination of both—the vanilla for your light side, the chocolate for your dark.”
He turns his attention to me, his mouth curling into a smile in a way that makes my stomach flip, but he doesn’t tell me if I’ve guessed correctly. When we get to the counter, I order two scoops of vanilla with chocolate syrup and sprinkles, and Brenden orders a Root Beer float, insisting I let him pay for both.
“You do realize you order ice cream like a six-year-old,” he teases as we take a seat in a booth.
“Shut up,” I chuckle. “I do not! Like I care what some weirdo who puts soda over their ice cream thinks of my choices anyway.” I stick my tongue out at him before scooping up a big bite and shoving it in my mouth.
He shakes his head, laughing lightly as his eyes fall to his float. “This is perfect, thank you.” My heart clenches at the vulnerability in his tone. I’m not used to seeing this side of Brenden. He generally walks around with a confident and carefree air about him—a trait I admire even more now that I have a better idea of what he’s been through in life. It takes a strong person to pick yourself up after something so horrible, but Brenden has done more than that. He’s welcomed life with open arms.
Brenden becomes uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes vacant as they focus on the distance outside the window. My chest aches as I watch him, knowing his mind is drifting to ugly places, his features narrowing as his jaw clenches.
“I picked him up from the bar hundreds of times before that night,” he begins, keeping his eyes down as he fidgets with his straw. My breath catches on the lump in my throat. I want him to feel like he can open up about this with me, but I’m terrified hearing the details will test my strength. “He’s always been a drunk. It was nothing for him to say or do hurtful things to me, but I stopped fearing him long ago. I never dreamed he’d…” he trails off, shaking his head and closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to get the memory out of his head.
“Your mother?” I ask, thinking of the woman sitting behind his father. She’d cut her eyes at Brenden as he made his way up to speak, and I prayed that wasn’t her, but my gut told me it was.
“She wasn’t much better,” he scoffs. “She never hit me, but her words had always been more hurtful than any strike from my father. I was often told I was the worst thing to ever happen to her, that I was nothing but a burden. If she found me crying after one of my beatings from my father, she would tell me I should try harder to make him happy—to make myself more useful.” He chuckles, scratching at the hair on his jaw, but I can see the hurt behind his eyes. “She stopped talking to me altogether after my father was put away, like that was actually some type of punishment for me. She was never upset with him for nearly taking my life, just angry with me for not trying to keep him out of prison.”
“All of this—your childhood…is that why you decided to work with kids?” I ask, my words coming out slowly as I try to keep the sorrow out of my tone.
“Yeah,” he says, finally meeting my eyes again as a genuine smile lights up his face. “I believe good things can come out of the bad in life, and I really love what I do. Those kids help me just as much as I help them.”
My heart swells as an overwhelming need to wrap my arms around him washes over me. I find myself grateful for the table separating us, keeping me from doing it or something crazier. I’m seeing Brenden in a whole new light today, one that makes my attraction and feelings for him even stronger.
“Maybe we should wait until the rain stops,” Lizzy says, looking out the window of the ice cream parlor.
“What fun would that be?” I tease, winking when she turns to look at me. I haven’t been able to remove this stupid smile from my face for the past thirty minutes, but damn, I feel good. Today could have been a shitty one for me, but she’s managed to turn it into something great.
“You can’t be serious,” she frowns. “We’ll freeze.”
I scoff. “This coming from the woman who wanted to go out for ice cream in the middle of winter?”
She narrows her eyes and presses her lips together to fight off her smile. “That’s different. It’s warm in here.” She sits back in the booth, turning her attention to the rain again, and wraps her arms around herself, as if just thinking about being out in the rain made her cold.
I love this back and forth with her. This is us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d been a little concerned she’d pull away after the Maddie situation, or that my past might freak her out, but she seems more relaxed with me today, and it gives me hope. Now that I know about Xander’s death, I’m trying even harder to move our relationship along at a pace she feels comfortable with, but every part of me craves her.
“It’s not that cold out today. It’s nearly sixty degrees,” I mock. “Come on. Haven’t you ever danced in the rain and soaked up the cold water as if it were the sun, taking something most consider ugly and making it beautiful?”
When her gaze shifts back to me, she regards me in a way that makes my heart skip. Her head tilted, eyes glowing, and lips curved in content—she’s never looked at me this way before. No one ever has.
“All right,” she sighs, “you’ve convinced me. I want to soak up the rain with you.”
My heart jumps as she smiles brightly at me. Although I tell myself not to make something more out of her statement, my own smile is so big, it spans my entire face.
Some Kind Of Wonderful
“You never told me you could play pool this well. I kind of feel like I’ve been swindled.” Brenden teases as he bends over to take his shot.
We came to the bowling alley tonight because I knew it was something Brenden enjoys. Since he’s always showing so much interest in the things I love, I thought it was time I did the same, but I suck at bowling. After two games of me throwing mostly gutter balls, he took pity on me and agreed to play pool instead. I may have failed to mention I’m a pretty good player. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion he’s only been letting me win because he feels sorry for me.
“Why? Did you assume a woman wouldn’t be able to play pool?” Placing my hand on my hip, I try my best to act angry, but fail miserably as a damn smile spreads across my face.
I’d been worried things might change between Brenden and I after his father’s parole hearing last Friday. I’d been afraid sharing something so personal with me would cause him to become more closed off, but if anything, we’ve been closer—more open and comfortable with each other.
“Relax, I’m not saying I want you pregnant and barefoot in my kitchen…” he pauses to look up at me, “unless you’re offering.” I laugh as he raises his eyebrows suggestively, as if he hadn’t just made my stomach flutter.
“Shut up and take your damn shot, dumbass!” I tell him, lightly poking him with my pool stick.
“Hey, don’t poke me with your stick unless I get to poke you with mine,” he puns, winking before he takes his shot, making my face heat and abdomen tighten.
Everything fades into the background as I watch him—the noise of the pool balls racking, bowling pins falling, music playing, and crowds of people. I want him, badly, and I can admit that to myself now—although, not out loud yet—and it’s getting harder not to give in to that desire. It would be so much easier if he weren’t a great guy and fucking gorgeous. The fact that he is both and continuously reminds me of his feelings on the matter makes holding out damn near impossible.
He sinks the eight ball, winning the game, and stalks toward me, a lopsided grin on his face
. “Can I take your silence as agreeance?” he asks, his tone husky, as he comes to a stop, standing way too close to me.
My chest burning from the lack of oxygen, I push on his shoulder and take a step back. “No,” I choke out, and stop to clear my throat, “but you can go get me a beer.”
“As you wish,” he replies, quoting The Princess Bride. He takes a slight bow before putting his pool stick down and heading over to the bar, leaving my stomach filled with butterflies.
After I rack the pool balls for another game, I place my stick next to his and lean back on the pool table so I can watch him, confused when I see him walking away from the jukebox with a huge grin on his face.
“The jukebox is about to play a little something special for you.” He comes to a stop in front of me and I take my beer.
“Oh lord…should I be afraid?” I ask before chugging the beer to drown the butterflies.
“I’m offended.” He crosses his arms as he steps closer to me, making my head spin and breath quicken. Leaning down so we are face to face, he asks, “Have I ever done anything to warrant you being afraid of my actions?”
His eyes lock on mine and there’s a heat in his intense stare that makes my heart jump into my throat, rendering me speechless. I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head until he says, “Exactly.” His hands slide around my waist, pulling me into him as his arms tighten around me. “Now, be quiet,” he demands in a near whisper, his eyes dropping to my lips as I lick them. “It’s about to play your song.”
I’m frozen, unable to breathe or move, wishing Brenden Scott was the kind of guy who breaks his promises. I want nothing more than to feel his lips on mine again. A kiss wouldn’t be just a kiss anymore, though. There’s too much between us, and I’m not sure I’m ready for everything else it would mean.
In This Moment (In This Moment #1) Page 20