It was tempting to agree with her—to avoid conversation and take Brinley in his arms. Of course it was tempting to take the out, but he knew that would get them nowhere. Jonathan’s words had finally sunk in. If he didn’t face what happened to him all those years ago, and if he didn’t trust Brinley enough to share it with her, then he’d never stop battling his addiction, he’d never stop disappearing for days on end. And eventually he knew where that would lead. He’d lose her for good. That thought alone was all it took. He had to do it. He had to be honest with her. He’d tell her and hope her love for him would outweigh her repulsion. He’d hope she would still see him as a man.
He had nightmares about her running the other way—of her not being able to handle it. Of complete rejection from the only woman he could ever love.
He knew it was time to face those nightmares, to face those fears—for her, for himself, and for peace inside himself.
“Brin.” He pulled away, studying her face. Her bloodshot eyes matched his own, as did the dark circles under those eyes. “You haven’t slept, have you?”
She shrugged. “A little here and there.”
He placed both hands on her cheeks and kissed her deeply, savoring the feel of her lips before their world came crashing down, savoring the feel of her.
Everything’s about to change. Buckle up.
“I have to talk to you.”
She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to fight, honestly. I’m too exhausted.”
“We’re not gonna fight. I have something to tell you and . . .” He swallowed hard, taking her hand in his and guiding her to the couch. “I’ve waited way too long as it is.”
The color drained from her cheeks, and Porter’s instinct was to drop it entirely, to protect her from her anxiety, her fear. To make everything all right again. But he couldn’t. And there was no sense in trying to keep her anxiety at bay just before dropping an emotional bomb on her.
“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.
Porter swallowed hard, finding it difficult to look her in the eyes. Instead, he looked down at their hands, joined together in Brinley’s lap. He breathed in and out, studying their overlapping fingers, her freshly bitten fingernails, and her pinky finger that twitched uncontrollably against the side of his hand.
He cleared his throat before speaking. He could feel a lump in the back of his throat, growing bigger by the second. “The case Jon is working on . . . you know, with Aspen.”
“Yes, of course. The prophet wants to marry Ruthie, and there were gentiles in the temple.”
“There’s more to it, Brin. A lot more. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but you have to know. I can’t keep avoiding this.”
“You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“The prophet has been running a, for lack of a better word, business, in the temple. Those gentiles are his customers.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Is he selling something?”
“Not some-thing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” Porter hung his head, trying to figure out a way to soften the blow, knowing that was impossible. There was no way to soften the rape of children.
“He’s allowing these men to beat and rape young kids. Boys.”
Brinley gasped, pulling her hands from Porter’s and placing them both over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and filling with tears.
“He forces them down and allows the men to do as they please.”
She placed one hand on her belly, looking down at the couch. “I feel sick.”
“I know, it’s disgusting.” He swallowed again, knowing this was it. It was now or never. He took her hand from her stomach, squeezing it and bringing it to his lap. “I don’t really know how to tell you this, and, um . . . I’m fucking disgusted to even have to say the words, but . . . he’s been doing this for a long time. A really long time.”
Brinley narrowed her eyes, and he knew she couldn’t wrap her innocent brain around something so horrifying. He knew he’d be forced to say the words.
“I was inside that room, Brin. I was one of those boys.”
Brinley opened her mouth to speak, her eyes welling with tears. She stared at him, and his heart sank as he waited for her to pull away, for her to run, for her to grab the keys and walk out the door and out of his life. They sat for a minute in silence. It was the longest minute of Porter’s life as he awaited the fate of his relationship with Brinley.
“You?” she whispered. “He did that to you?”
Porter nodded, tears streaming down his face, and the lump in his throat was so large he felt he might vomit. Instead, he bit down on his lower lip while he grimaced, waiting for her reaction.
Brinley pulled her hand away, and Porter held his breath.
Here we go. She’s gone.
Instead, she placed her soft hand on his cheek, again opening her mouth to speak but saying nothing. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stroked his scruffy skin with the tips of her fingers.
“Say something,” he said.
Her voice cracked as she spoke. She shook her head back and forth, her face pale. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“Do I disgust you?” he asked. He needed to know.
She recoiled. “What? How could you say that?”
“Because I’m garbage. Because now you know why I’m such a fucking loser. Because I couldn’t protect myself, because I . . .” His voice trailed off when Brin pressed one finger to his lips.
“You could never.” She shook her head vigorously, placing both hands on his shoulders. “Not ever, do you hear me? What happened to you . . . it’ll never change how I feel about you. Do you understand?”
All the fear, all the anxiety that had lived inside Porter since falling in love with Brinley came spewing out in one swift motion. He collapsed into her lap, clutching her calves as he sobbed, his tears soaking her jeans. Brinley said nothing but ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him as he cried. Every few seconds, he’d feel a hot tear fall onto his scalp and he knew she was crying right along with him. He pulled her tight and eventually, a soothing calm came over his body.
“I love you, Brin.”
“I will never . . . ever stop loving you,” she said through her tears, still stroking his hair. “My heart is breaking. It literally feels like it’s been crushed in two. Not only because this happened to you, but because you’ve been carrying it around for so long.”
He sighed, feeling a new emotion—guilt. “I know I should have told you.”
“That’s not what I mean. Don’t feel guilty—you didn’t owe me anything. I just . . . my heart is breaking because I love you . . . because the thought of someone hurting you makes the air fall from my lungs. It kills me, Porter. Do you remember how you felt when Aspen brought me to you the night I left Lehi?”
“I’ll never forget it.” Porter was so filled with rage when Brinley was brought to his apartment covered in cuts and bruises and so weak she couldn’t walk on her own. Porter punched holes in the apartment walls and Brinley had to beg him not to return to the house and beat the ever-loving shit out of Lehi. Porter could have killed him that night and would have if Brinley hadn’t begged him to stay with her.
“That’s how I feel right now. I want to drive to the compound and kill that man. I want to make him pay for what he did, for what he’s still doing.”
“You and me both.”
“Are you going to help the detective? Does he want you to testify?”
Porter sat up, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. “I can’t. It’s been too long.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Statute of limitations or something . . . Jon explained it to me this morning. In the state of Arizona, you can’t bring charges for molestation if seven or more years have passed.”
Brinley’s brow knitted. “So, there’s nothing you can do?”
“He asked me to talk to some of the
kids at Charlie’s place, some of the younger kids. They’re lost boys, too. It’s a possibility.”
“But then you’d have to go back there.”
“I know. Maybe you can come with me. I know you don’t feel comfortable there, but—”
She shook her head. “Forget about that. If you need me, I’m there. You’re my heaven, remember?”
Porter pulled his lips up into an amused smile as he remembered his proclamation to her years ago: The compound . . . that place is my hell. It represents all of the awful things that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. But you, you’re my heaven. My new beginning, my paradise.
Brinley smiled before continuing, “And if I had to walk through the fires of hell for you, I would.”
“You already did.” He smiled, pressing his thumb to her cheek.
She lifted her chin, the tears falling once again. “And so did you. I’m so very sorry, Porter. So very sorry.”
He pulled her into his arms and allowed her to sob, to release her own emotions over what happened to him. He knew she’d stayed strong for him, allowing him to let it out just minutes before. Now it was her turn.
Give and take at its most real.
When her sobs quieted and her body relaxed in his arms, he spoke. “I’ve made a decision, Brin. I want you to get the pamphlets.”
She pulled away, her eyes bright with hope. “Really?”
Every time Porter would have a setback in his addiction, which was more often than he cared to admit, Brinley would visit the website of a treatment center, and a few days later, a pamphlet would arrive in their mailbox. Calmly she would present the latest facility to him as they ate their supper, and he would politely decline, knowing he was still walking on eggshells with her, but not willing to actually seek treatment. Brinley would voice her disappointment and place the newest pamphlet with the others in their junk drawer in the kitchen. Porter was sure there were at least nine pamphlets in that drawer.
“Yeah, it’s time.” He nodded. Brinley cried again, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the neck. He released a small laugh as he stroked her hair that now barely reached her shoulders. “We can look through them together, and I’ll call in the morning. No backing out, no excuses, I promise.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Obviously I can’t do this alone. I need help. Real help. And I don’t want to deny that anymore. It’s time to accept my past for what it is. Painful and full of a lot of unspeakable shit. Now I can make sure we have a future—a real one with no more denial, no more using, just us.”
“And you’ll finally be free,” she whispered.
The irony of her words wasn’t lost on Porter. In all their years together, they’d always discussed Brinley’s need for freedom: freedom from the FLDS, from her marriage, and from the compound. What they hadn’t discussed was the prison that Porter had created for himself—the memories that kept him locked inside and the secret that ate away at his insides like a cancer—sending him to cope in the most self-destructive way possible.
Brinley was right—through honesty and treatment, he could actually remove himself from his self-induced confinement. He’d always told himself the prophet guarded that cell, that he alone held the key. But today for the very first time, he felt like he himself could take the lock off that jail, step outside of it, and breathe . . . really breathe. He held his wife close as he took that lock and key and tossed it aside for good.
Chapter 15
I couldn’t stop thinking about Porter and the hell he’d lived through. Of course, I’d always been concerned about the potential victims Aspen and I discussed—but they were nameless, faceless possibilities. But not anymore. Now, I had a face, a name, and the reality had set in. Each year, dozens of “lost boys” left the FLDS compound and assimilated into mainstream society in Colorado City. Some of them maintained the mild manners of their people, living quiet and modest lives in studio apartments and cottages outside the city. Others experimented with drugs, and many were forced into a life of poverty and destitution. Over the years, I’d arrested many of them, assuming they were dabbling with rebellion and would eventually find their way. I wasn’t naive to think that none of them were mistreated within the compound, but even my seasoned and skeptical cop brain hadn’t anticipated this.
And now, as I sat at my desk, pounding cup after cup of coffee, a never-ending loop of faces popped into my head. The kid I busted for stealing junk food at the local convenience store, the pickpocket who followed people to their cars after they’d left the ATM, and the meth users holed up in Charlie Travis’s apartment on Wilson Avenue.
Any of those faces could have the same story as Porter. Any of them could have been a victim of the prophet’s diabolical and vile abuse. My heart broke with each face that popped into my restless brain. I wanted to help them all, save them all, seek revenge on their behalf.
I wanted that bastard to pay.
A knock at the door startled me, and I was surprised to see Aspen standing there, her hand balled into a fist and paused midair, inches away from the open door. When we locked eyes, she froze, then glanced behind her, looking nervous.
“Detective.”
Rather than jump from the desk and run the risk of startling her, I remained in my seat but offered her a genuine smile—one filled with relief.
“Aspen, you came.” I rose to my feet and gestured to the chair in front of my desk, hoping she would take a seat. She hung by the door, glancing around her once again. “Please sit. I have so much to tell you.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, closed the door behind her, and slowly walked to the chair, smoothing her dress as she sat. She was as beautiful as ever.
“As do I. A lot has happened, and I feel like my head is spinning. I was planning to come by even before you sent the text a couple of days ago, but my husband, Paul, well . . . he’s been more attentive lately, and it was hard to get away.”
I opened my mouth to speak but wasn’t sure what to say. The mentioning of her husband affected me more than I cared to admit, and it was splayed across my face.
Chump.
“I’m sorry to mention him.”
“Don’t be silly.” I cleared my throat. “Look, it was wrong of me to say what I said at my apartment. I crossed the line in a big way. I know that now.”
“No, you were just . . .” She paused and her cheeks turned pink. “You were being honest. Where I come from, that’s rare. Usually I’m the only one who’s making people uncomfortable with my honesty. You threw me for a loop, I guess.”
“The shoe was on the other foot?” I asked, welcoming the released tension in the room.
“Exactly.” Her lips curled up slightly. “I should’ve savored it. Instead, I ran just like the rest of my sister wives would. I guess I’m more like them than I realize, huh?”
I shrugged. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Sometimes fights get out of control and we say things we don’t mean.”
“I appreciate that, Aspen, I do, but I meant everything I said.”
She paused.
“Except for the part about you not respecting yourself. I agonize over that statement every single day. I can never apologize enough for saying that to you. Of course I didn’t mean it, I was just . . . wrapped up in the moment, disappointed that you didn’t feel the same as I did. As I still do. I was lashing out.” I shrugged. “It happens sometimes.”
She said nothing, but her eyes welled with tears. I broke our eye contact, looking down briefly, drumming my fingers awkwardly against the wood of my desk. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.”
Her hand touched mine, and I flinched but left it beneath hers. I looked into her eyes. She was hovering over her chair and reaching across the desk. She gripped my three fingers, holding them tight before letting go, sitting down, and placing both of her hands back in her lap.
“So,” I as
ked, clearing my throat. “Where do we go from here? Can we work together again?”
She nodded, her eyebrows relaxed, and her kind smile emerged once again. That smile was going to be the end of me.
“Your text said there was a breakthrough in the case. I can’t wait to hear it. It’s been nothing but chaos and conflict back at home.”
“Is Ruthie all right?”
Aspen rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t even get me started on that ungrateful, spoiled little girl. The closer she gets to her wedding date, the more starry eyed she becomes. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. None.”
“Her brain’s too young to process it.”
“Exactly,” Aspen said. “Enough about her, tell me the news.”
I was distracted by the figure standing outside the glass of my office—a tall man with blond hair and sharp features dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark jeans. Clean cut, lean . . . and familiar. But I couldn’t place him.
I searched my memories as he stared at Aspen then me, then back at Aspen. A memory popped into my head and I knew exactly who he was. A flash of our meeting at the park in their community—my hand extended as I pretended to respond to a random call regarding a missing little boy. His little boy. He wouldn’t shake my hand that day.
Holy shit.
“Jonathan?” Aspen asked, her eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “What is it?”
I stayed calm but kept my eyes on the man outside my office.
“Turn around.”
“What? Why?” She turned slowly in her seat, then jumped to her feet, mouth agape as she took in the sight of Paul Black on the other side of the glass. Her response came out in a nervous whisper. “Oh no.”
“Did you know he was coming?” I asked between clenched teeth, keeping my lips as still as possible.
She turned back to face me. “Of course not. He must’ve followed me; I swear I had no idea.”
Within seconds, Paul opened the door and stalked toward us, glancing briefly at Aspen before turning his full attention to me. He looked me up and down, glanced at the nameplate on my desk, then locked eyes with me. “Detective Cooke?”
Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) Page 12