by Lilly Wilde
No way would Hayley leave me here with this guy. “Yeah, right,” I reply and grab the coffee pot.
He tilts his head, his eyes raking over me. “What? You don’t think your girl would leave you here with me?”
“She wouldn’t.”
“She did. But I guess that’s partially Ren’s fault. He assured her I was harmless.”
Well, that sounds about right. Hayley’s mind turns to mush when a cute guy enters the picture. I grab the seat across from the stranger, take a long sip of coffee, and try to jog my memory.
“Now that you know it’s only the two of us, are you still not interested in knowing my name? I mean, after all, I did fuck you last night.”
The warm beverage spews from my mouth, some splashing his face while the rest appears as brown spots on his white T-shirt. “You did not,” I snap at him.
He chuckles and lifts his shirt, using the edge to wipe the coffee from his face. “I even made you come. Twice.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
“I guess I need to work on my pussy-eating skills.” He flashes a wicked grin and leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Then maybe you won’t forget next time.”
My mouth falls open as my phone buzzes. A message from Hayley.
Good morning, Girl Gone Wild!
I send a reply text. Call me now!!
I focus on my cell, willing it to ring. And then I start to tick off the things that don’t add up. This morning, I awoke naked, my clothes scattered about. I’d felt a tinge of soreness—down there—that I didn’t understand, and now that I think about it, the sheets lingered with the slight scent of sex. I lift my gaze to the guy who I still insist upon labeling a stranger.
He winks at me, that silly grin still on his face. “Is it all coming back to you now?”
“I need to go. Talk to Hayley, I mean.”
“That’s a good idea. She can back up my story.”
My brows scrunch. “How the hell would she know?”
“She walked into the room and saw my face between your legs. And by the way, your pussy…” He smacks his lips. “Mmm, mmm good.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“You were naked when you woke up, right? How would I know something like that?” he asks.
“Maybe you’re a Peeping Tom?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But what about this? You have a tattoo of a butterfly at the top of your bikini line. Right below it is a smaller butterfly on a vine that spirals toward the tight little hole my tongue slipped into last night.”
I stare at him, embarrassed that a stranger knows something so intimate, and angry that I have to try to recall the events of the previous evening.
“And there’s a deep bruise on your upper thigh.” His brows draw together. “What happened? Did you fall or something?”
“What happened is none of your business.” That bruise is one of Cassidy’s marks. A permanent reminder of where I came from.
After his question, there’s no need to try to figure if there’s any truth to his words. Because I know there is. No one, I mean no one, would know about that bruise unless they’d seen me naked. Which means I did have sex with him. And based on the way he’s staring and teasing, he is planning on a next time. And we spend the entire morning talking about exactly that.
That day became the first of many I’d spend with Ethan Tyler. Within two weeks, he was my boyfriend and within a month, we were having sex on a regular basis. And not the sex I’d heard my high school girlfriends bragging about. I’m talking uninhabited sex—almost taboo—complete with role play, naughty outfits, butt plugs, and a slew of other toys. We didn’t want to be apart and were soon making plans to get a place together. And nothing and no one would stop us.
“I really like him.” I’m actually in love with him, but I don’t tell Patty that.
“O-kaaay, but I sense there’s more to this.”
“Well, yeah. There is.” I shift uncomfortably.
“So let’s hear it.”
“Ethan’s asked me to move in with him. And I said yes,” I blurt out in an excited rush.
“Wow. That’s not quite what I expected. Why so fast, Ragan?” she asks, the concern apparent in her voice.
I shrug. “It doesn’t feel fast to us. It just feels right.”
Patty lets out a sigh and asks me to take a seat beside her. After a long conversation about the implications of growing up too fast, rites of passage, and living with a man, she suggests I take a couple of days to think about it. When I tell her I’m pretty sure my mind won’t change in two days, she makes me promise to at least wait until after graduation. Since it’s only two weeks away, I figure that’s a good compromise. Plus it would take that much time for us to find a place anyway, so I agree to wait.
Ethan has a pretty decent job, so there are lots of dates, overnights at fancy hotels, day trips to amusement parks—to places I’ve always wanted to go. And we’ve done things I’ve always wanted to do. With my family. Like vacations and weekend getaways.
My friends always shared details about their summer breaks. I desperately wanted those same experiences. So I lied. I made up stories. Once I told them I spent the summer at the beach and that for fall break, my family and I went camping.
And when they went bigger with the truth, I went bigger with a lie, saying I’d gone to the Grand Canyon one summer break and to Disney World the next. No one was ever the wiser.
But Ethan turned all of those lies into truths. My life with him was as he’d promised. I was happier than I could ever remember being. No worries about using the wrong toilet paper or getting beaten for drinking the name-brand soda. There were no belts or slaps across the face. There was no wishing for a family I would never have.
Ethan’s family was my family. His mom became my mom. And she insisted I call her that. When she learned I’d never had a birthday party, she surprised me with one the following year. They loved me and accepted me as one of their own. I finally had what I always wanted. Happiness. The pain of my past was behind me and I was looking forward to a bright future.
I had no idea what the next eight years of my life would entail, the joys it would bring, the love that would fill my heart, and the wounds it would heal. I also didn’t expect the lows, the control… or the baby.
Ethan and I had a cute little one-bedroom apartment near the suburbs. For three years, we cut corners and saved like crazy for a down payment on our first home. We had several thousand dollars in the bank, excellent credit, and two cars. I was even considering signing up for some college courses to pursue a fine arts degree. Not too shabby for a girl, who a few years ago, was practically homeless.
But life with Ethan wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns. Over the course of our relationship, he became increasingly distrustful and controlling. I often discredited it, putting a spin on it like most women in similar situations tend to do. I convinced myself that it was how he showed his love. But deep down, it often worried me.
There were other things, too. Like my circle of friends becoming smaller. All of those high school buddies disappeared and were replaced with Ethan’s friends. There was suddenly no use for two cell phones, so mine was turned off, and we only used his. My social media account became his social media account. I could only spend money when he said it was okay. I only hung out with him or with someone he approved of. And even small things, like trips to the mall, required his permission. I went along with it. All of it. Never once objected. Ethan’s dominance, and ultimately his control over my life, didn’t happen all at once, so I didn’t notice it at first. But when the shit started to hit the fan, I was overwhelmed by it.
January 7, 2017
I STEP INTO THE GARAGE and it hits me—the familiar whiff of dirty motor oil, the smell dredging up memories I’d buried several times over. Another reason to detest this town. Flashbacks taunt you at every corner.
Life back then wasn’t as carefree as it should have been. Not much different fr
om my current reality. But that’s where distractions came in. Football. Jimmy’s Garage. Girls. Those had been the predominant thoughts running through the head of a pubescent kid whose primary goal was relieving an ever-constant stiffy. I did some pretty wild shit in this garage.
“Hey, look who’s slumming it today.”
I grin at the greasy mechanic stepping from underneath the hood of a black Mustang. Matt Clark. The infamous whorehound who’d worked at the garage with me, and who’s now Jimmy’s right-hand man. Talk about wild shit. He was never too far from it either.
“I didn’t know you were in town.” Matt grabs my hand and looks back at the others. “Look, fellas,” he shouts over his shoulder. “Royalty has entered the building.”
From the other side of the car come Chad and Todd, laughing as Matt makes a flimsy attempt to curtsy. I shake my head, cursing at the whole lot of ’em. We greet each other as if we’d hung out the night before, with wisecracks and bro hugs. It’s nothing like the stars-in-the-eyes glances from fans, not even for a second. It’s just four assholes cracking jokes and spewing garbage—the same group that was practically inseparable at Blue Ridge High.
“Didn’t think we’d see you until next month for the charity bowl,” Todd says.
I scrub a hand along my jaw. “That was the plan, but I had to deal with some family stuff.”
They exchange glances, all knowing that’s code for Mary McGuire drama.
“You know we can help out if you need us,” Chad offers, his expression sympathetic.
“Nah. I wouldn’t ask that of you. This is my responsibility.”
“So, two hundred-fifty million, huh?” Matt asks, not-so-subtly changing the subject.
I nod. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” I reply in reference to my new contract.
“Do you think you’re really worth that?” Matt jokes.
I lean against the iron column next to the Mustang. “Dude, I’m worth a hell of a lot more than two hundred-fifty mill after that last game.”
“Crazy how they tossed the Pro Bowl in the middle of playoffs this year, but that was a helluva game, bro,” Chad pipes in. “I made over six grand on that one myself.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re still betting on me?”
“Every fucking time,” he responds, a wide grin spreading across his face.
I shake my head at the balls on this guy. Last year, Chad and his wife were on pretty bad terms. He’d lost a shitload of money with fantasy league bets she knew nothing about. Nearly lost his house and damn near his marriage. Yet here he is, at it again.
I still fail to comprehend his inclination to marry Sherèe in the first place. Stupid move if you ask me. I shrug. Better his problem than mine. “Guess if you’re gonna bet, you best do it on a sure thing.”
“Still humble, eh?” Matt chuckles at his sarcasm and shakes his head.
“Hell, yeah. How would you recognize me otherwise?”
The one afternoon I’m dragged into feeds into the next couple of days that I spend working on cars, shooting the shit, and talking football. After a few cases of beer and the same stories we somehow bring up every year, I almost forget the reason I’m back in town. But when my phone rings and I see the name on the screen, the reason comes screeching back. It’s the call I knew I’d receive sooner or later. The one that reminds me that I’m not in Blue Ridge to fuck off. I’m here to take care of a woman who won’t—and sometimes can’t—take care of herself.
I walk into a scene no child should ever witness—one that clenches my gut. Mama is pacing the living room floor, stripped down to her underwear and talking aloud as if carrying on a conversation with another person. My brother is sitting there on the couch, wide-eyed, watching it all play out.
A tornado of anger rips through me. “Jace, where’s the damn nurse?”
“In the kitchen on…on…on the phone,” he stutters. “She’s calling Mama’s doctor.”
I pull the throw from the back of the chair. “You don’t need to see this. Go to your room,” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him from the sofa.
He looks up at me, ready to oppose, but when he takes in my stern expression, he does as he’s told.
I scramble to get Mama covered up, but when she becomes combative, claiming she’s waiting on some dress options for her wedding, I know she’s too far gone. I pull out my phone and dial 911.
“The combination of medications isn’t working,” Dr. Blake says.
No shit, Sherlock. “So now what?”
“We keep trying until we get the right cocktail.”
Dissatisfied with his response, I furrow my brows. “In the meantime, we continue watching her go through episodes like this?” I observe Mama through the small panel of glass on the hospital room door. She’s finally calmed down, no longer twitching or shouting. But her arms are still strapped to the sides of the bed, and she’s staring at the ceiling, mumbling to herself. All I think is I’m glad Jace isn’t here to see her like this.
I grab a seat as my phone buzzes. It’s been every ten minutes. Like clockwork. I know who it is—either my press agent Connie or my sports agent Vaughn. They’ve been calling all fucking day. I’m expected at practice tomorrow, but I haven’t checked in, and I don’t plan to. There’ll be consequences, but there’s no way I can leave Blue Ridge right now. Not until I get Mama in a better place. And definitely not until I get Jace squared away.
I stay in the room with Mama, lying silently in a makeshift bed that barely tolerates the length of my frame. And I wait. As the medications work their way through Mama’s system, I wait. And as visions of Jace watching our mom spiral out of control flash in my head and sicken my stomach, I wait.
The light of day swings into the shadows of night, my gaze pinned to the silhouette the big oak outside the window is casting on the wall. Its limbs play with the dusk of evening, projecting billowy images that appear as dark animated figures that have lost all sense of control… much like Mama.
I’m awake most of the night—as often as she is. She cries Dad’s name and other unintelligible nonsense until nearly the crack of dawn. Not everything she says is gibberish though. Some of it is as plain as day. One day, in particular, is etched in both our heads—the day Mama brings up every time I’m home. The day Dad came over to the house with his new wife Charlene.
When Dr. Blake comes to check on Mama later in the morning, he confirms starting her on a new round of meds. And after his evaluation, I know for certain my trip has to be extended. That means no practice and no TV appearance. That means hanging around long enough to see if Mama’s meds work.
Within a couple of days, the change in Mama is slight, but it’s enough to where they’ve allowed her to move around the room at will. At times, she recognizes me, and at others, it’s as if we’re meeting for the first time. And then in the next moment, she’s walking around mumbling to herself about her sister Gayle finding the perfect maid of honor dress for her wedding.
The following day, Mama finally shows signs of herself. And when she looks at me, I spot something familiar in the depths of her blue eyes. Something that lets me know she’s on her way back.
Dr. Blake’s confident he’s gotten the right drug regimen and says if she remains stable for the next thirty-six hours, she can be released, but not to her own devices. After a few more recommendations from the psychiatrist, I step outside the room to process it all, unsure if I can. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to. My eyes are pinned to the small window, still watching Mama, already sure of what my next step should be, but equally sure I don’t want to take it.
“Hey,” Jimmy says, stepping behind me. “’Bout ready to go check on Jace?”
“I suppose.”
“How’s Mary?”
“Doc tried a different set of meds and they seem to be the right mix. They’ll monitor her for a while and then she’ll be released. But he doesn’t think she’ll ever be in the shape she was before, so she can never be the sole parental figure for
Jace.”
“So what does that mean?” Jimmy asks.
“He wants someone to live with them… to kind of supervise Mama.”
“In what way?”
“Administer her meds. Keep track of behavioral abnormalities.”
Jimmy’s brows draw together. “Supervise Mary? You?”
“Well, that’s what he suggested.” I shrug. “But you know that’s impossible.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I guess I could check with a relative, but who’s gonna want to uproot their life to come babysit Mama and Jace?”
“You know Loretta and I will do all we can to help.”
“I wouldn’t ask anything like that of you guys.”
“Regardless, we’re here. Whatever you need, let us know.”
Fuck. I pace the length of the hall, continuing to curse under my breath. I suppose I could bring in around-the-clock staff, but Mama won’t respond well to that. It needs to be family, but who? Doesn’t take long for me to figure that one out—there’s no one. So what choice do I have? “I hate this damn town. It always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
“You’re not talking about the town.”
I hear the frown in his voice and halt my steps, looking up at him. “You know how it was, Jimmy. You know why I’m never in a hurry to come back here.”
“Yeah, I do, but you shouldn’t say that about your folks.”
“Branch,” comes a voice from behind us. We turn to see the shrink jotting notes on his tablet. “My nurse checked, and the longest your mother can remain in the hospital is seven days. For the most part, Mary’s back to herself and she’s not unmanageable to the degree of mandatory institutionalization. So she can be released to the custody of a relative or sent to a mental health facility. And I can tell you firsthand, most patients who truly aren’t in need of in-patient care deteriorate pretty rapidly in that type of environment.”
I let out a sigh.