Mostly, no one wants to find out their partner is stepping out on them. No one wants to see the proof, hear those words, or think about what the road in front of them looks like now that it has just unexpectedly changed directions.
Ms. Grange is different in the way that she isn’t after a huge divorce settlement. She doesn’t want to hurt her husband or have something to hold over him. She is a woman who was already struggling, and now, with how quickly she races out of the office with her head down low and her sniffles loud in the quiet area, it’s obvious she didn’t get the news she hoped for.
I quickly grab my box of tissues off my desk, pocket my cell, and then rush out into the cool air after her. In her mid-twenties, with a special needs child and an ill mother to take care of, I can only assume she must have enough already on her plate, let alone whatever bad news she just got.
She is stopped by her car, struggling to get her key to fit into the lock, when I come up beside her.
“Ms. Grange, are you okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“No!” she snaps, still trying to work out her keys and dropping them, which leads to a loud and long string of curses.
“I’m not sure you should be driving in this state. How about you take a second, as well as a few deep breaths,” I suggest.
She crouches down to grab her keys, her frantic motions continuing for a few moments longer before she freezes and her body visibly shakes.
“He’s cheating on me,” she whispers.
I reach out and rest my hand over hers, removing the keys from her and opening the door in seconds. I leave it open then gently guide her to sit on the seat, her legs outside the car, her worn shoes resting on the ground.
“He’s an asshole,” I tell her confidently, crouching to her level.
“He is taking money from our accounts, bleeding us dry,” she shares. “He’s going to leave me for that other woman. Leave me with nothing.” Her voice shakes, her face becoming even more pale, which makes the dark rings around her eyes more pronounced.
Okay, maybe asshole isn’t a strong enough word.
“People do despicable things in this world. That is a reflection on them, not you. Your husband is a piece of shit, and he will get what he deserves. You know what he is doing, and you can take steps to protect yourself, your child, and your future. Did Mr. Kim give you the information for a lawyer?”
Unfortunately, being in the business we are in and having many clients using us for the stereotypical cheating spouse, we have made many contacts with local divorce lawyers.
“He did. I just … I never thought I would be someone who has been div …” She swallows as she struggles to even say the word. “I meant my vows.” She cries, and not pretty tears to go with her beautiful face. I mean, snotty, wet tears with splotches over her face and gasping breaths as she tries to calm herself down.
I pass her a tissue, and then a few more, waiting for her to get her sobbing out. As soon as she begins to calm, her tears more sporadic and she hiccups more than whimpers, I take hold of her hand and look her in the eyes.
In the distance, I hear a commotion and some running footsteps, but I ignore it to give this woman my full attention.
“Now, I understand that you’re devastated right now. I know you feel like crap. What you are feeling is completely justified and none of it is wrong. You feel angry? Then be angry. You want to cry? Then cry. You want to scream? Do it until your lungs hurt. But don’t ever forget that you never deserved this. You have done nothing wrong, and it is your husband who doesn’t deserve you. You’re about to shred a couple hundred pounds of useless fat, and I’m pretty sure that can only be considered something good. So, take a deep breath,” I watch her do just that, her shoulders lifting a moment before they fall again. “And make sure you take that moment to yourself whenever it gets overwhelming.
“I know you have it tough as it is at home, so don’t be afraid to ask for help. I have a few numbers I can give you for support groups. I’ll send you them in an email. I want you to reach out to them and talk. If it feels good and you like the people there, then take that support and hold on tight. If you don’t like it, then I can send you a few more places, and a few ones that run online. If there is anything I’ve learned since working here, it’s that the people who thrive after something like this are the ones who have support. So, gather your friends, your family; be open and honest; and get the best damn lawyer you can. Show that asshole just who he is messing with, and what he has now lost.”
She gives me a little nod, yet I have no idea if she’s going to take any of my advice.
I give her hands a squeeze then let go, handing her a few more tissues. “Now, are you sure you’re okay to drive home? I can call you a cab and arrange for one of the guys to get your car back to you? Or, if you are willing to wait, I can see if one of them can give you a ride home themselves?” I offer, already considering what Joey has on his schedule now that his final meeting for today is over.
“No, thank you.” Her voice is hoarse, but her eyes appear a little clearer now. “I’ll be okay.”
“Well, in that case, be sure. You don’t need a car accident on top of everything else. Pull over if you feel overwhelmed again, and take your time,” I lecture, already concerned that she might not do this.
“I have a sitter looking after Beth. I can’t—”
“You can. You take your time and get home safe. What are you going to be doing later?” Now I am definitely in lecture mode.
“Calling my friends,” she says quietly.
“And you are going to check your emails for one from me. I want you to give those numbers I give you a call. Just talk to one person and see if it helps, okay?”
She nods, and after a couple more sniffles, she takes a deep breath and finally appears less shaky.
“If you need to talk, call the office. I’ll always have an ear open for you.”
Relief flashes over her face, and I wonder if this woman has many friends. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
I pass her a few more tissues and squeeze her shoulder as I straighten up.
I watch her for a few moments, satisfied that she’s no longer in the same dangerous emotional state she just succumbed to, and wish for her sake that that outburst will be all she needed. Nevertheless, I know it’s just the beginning of an emotional journey ahead of her.
What an absolute dick of a husband she has. Maybe I can put in a nudge for Jerry to see what he can do about this asshole stealing money from her.
I step away from the parking lot, seeing her eventually and carefully merge with the traffic on the main road, and then I turn to make my way back inside. However, I only take a few steps before Declan races outside, panic and worry clear as day.
I almost glance around to see if I’m missing something as his footsteps bring him closer to me before he crushes me to him, hugging me to his chest before, just as quickly, he pulls back, checking me over like he expects to find me injured.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, stepping back from his probing hands, but he steps with me to keep me close.
“Are you okay? What happened?” he demands, his voice shaky.
“What do you mean ‘what happened’?”
“You sent me a text saying you were in trouble!” He turns me around. I half-expect he’s just trying to get an eyeful of my ass, but the stress in his tone keeps me from suggesting this ulterior motive.
“I never texted you,” I say, confused when he pulls out his cell to show me text messages from my number that I definitely never sent. I’m begging for help, telling him I’m scared, in trouble, and need him.
“What the hell?” I gasp, pulling out my own phone that is strangely on silent, a mode I never ever leave it on, to see I have a dozen missed calls from Declan.
Inside my message app, I see the same messages I just sent him, except I never sent them! How is that possible?
“I swear to you, I never sent these. I was out her
e with Ms. Grange. She was upset about whatever Joey found out, and I didn’t want her driving in that state. The last fifteen minutes, I was calming her down.” I hold out the box of tissues as if that’s proof.
“I don’t understand. Why would someone hack into your phone to send me that?” Declan asks, swinging his arm around my shoulders as he holds me close.
He might know that I’m fine, but he obviously needs me close to assure himself.
What I want to know is: how the hell is it possible to hack into a phone like that? Is that common? How come I’ve never heard of it?
“You think it was just a way to get you out of the office?” I ask, glancing around us as a chill sweeps over me. I feel watched.
Are we being watched right now?
He, too, scans the area.
The day seems perfectly normal and regular to me, but he takes my suggestion to heart and rushes us inside as if we might have a sniper aimed at us.
Of course nothing happens, and after glancing at the security feeds, we find there is nothing to suggest someone needed Declan to be out of his office. No one even approached his door.
Looking at the view from the parking lot, there isn’t a clear sight of me speaking to Ms. Grange. However, it is clear I’m there with her. But, since I was crouching down, there isn’t proof that I didn’t touch my phone. It does plainly show there is no one near us, so it must have been hacked.
“What is the purpose of that?” he asks, and I shrug.
Nothing right now is making sense. If someone wants to threaten me, or is obsessed with me, why send those texts to Declan? Why make him worry?
“I don’t know.”
“This shit is getting on my nerves,” he tells me, his fingers dancing over his keypad as he contacts Jerry to ask him to look into my phone.
Without much else to do now, I leave him with my phone so I can send Ms. Grange the details I promised her while Declan takes my cell to a drop site to let Jerry go through it.
It feels a little weird to be without it, but if it gets us closer to figuring out what is going on, then I’m all for it.
Unfortunately, a few hours later, Declan returns with a new phone for me and also some bad news.
“Jerry can’t find any trace of someone hacking into your phone.”
My heart drops, and I fear that maybe Declan will think I sent them.
So far, things are looking like I could easily be the person behind everything. A black woman around my age bought the flowers, under a credit card in my name. The creepy text in the second card is from a poem I looked up weeks ago. A creepy phone message that no one heard except me. And now text messages sent from my phone when there is no trace of someone hacking into it.
Is this what the person wants? Do they want me to look guilty? But why?
“I swear, I never sent you those texts.” I know I sound a little desperate, but I don’t care.
“I know. I trust you.” And he appears like he does. There is no accusation or suspicion in his words. “But I don’t like that I don’t understand the meaning behind it, so I’m going to reiterate that, for the next short while, until we have a handle on this, you don’t leave this office without one of us with you.” I nod, and then he quickly amends, “Cynthia doesn’t count.”
“You know that girl might look petite, but she is vicious with a stapler,” I half-joke since she has given Joey a few bruises when he’s been messing with her. Her natural reaction is to throw something when she’s annoyed, and the only thing that lives on her desk is a stapler, her wireless keyboard and mouse, and a monitor. Therefore, the stapler is the cheapest thing to throw. It’s also freaking heavy.
“This isn’t a joke. I’m being deadly serious,” Declan growls, clearly not amused.
I sigh at how serious this day has turned out. Even though I don’t wish for Declan and I to go back to how hostile it was between us, I do miss the work days when nothing dramatic happened whatsoever.
“I want some crazy person messing with me even less than you, so you don’t need to tell me twice. Besides, I came with you this morning, so I need you for my ride, anyway. I’m here until you’re ready to go.”
“You sure you want to go tonight?” Declan asks, and I nod.
Although bingo night at a nursing home isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic date night, since sex is still off the table, it’s not like it will be putting a damper on things.
“Good. We’ll have dinner afterward. It’s usually all over by seven.”
“Are you going to cook me something delicious again?” I lick my lips at just remembering his tasty dinner last night. It was a definite tick in the pro column for him.
He smirks, pleased that I enjoyed his cooking. “I’m thinking takeaway tonight, and then somewhere fancy tomorrow night.”
I smile, loving this idea.
“That is, if you aren’t scared off after tonight.” He finally grins, and for the first time since the earlier drama, he lets go of his tension.
“You mean, when I see you in your prime tonight, surrounded by oldies no younger than eighty?” I snort.
“Some of those men are pretty lively for their age.” He points at me with a wink.
I smile now, too, deciding to stick with the lighter topic. “Well, they do say that nursing homes are rife with sex and—”
“Sash!” Declan cuts me off, looking ill. “Grandma lived there for years! I do not want to hear this!”
I burst out laughing. “Sorry,” I say through my sniggers. “I’m just saying that—”
“Nope!” he cuts me off again, and I can’t help beaming at him, bursts of laughter still bubbling out of me.
“But—”
“Sasha!”
“Sex is—”
“No!” he cries out again, this time kissing me into silence when I attempt to talk again.
Since Maude was like a grandmother to me, as well, I decide it really is time to put that conversation to bed. Neither of us need, nor want, those images in our minds. But I’m glad this day is able to have a little laughter in it.
***
Entering the nursing home feels a lot like entering a college dorm. While there aren’t people rushing about like headless chickens, worried about assignments or exams, there are doors all along the corridors, and in-between them all are fliers. Instead of advertising keg parties or people looking to sell their stuff or offering tutoring, there are adverts for social events coming up and reminders. I see a dance is scheduled for the end of each month, poker night is on Wednesday, quiz night is Thursdays, which Declan also hosts, and there are also a bunch of day activities; many church services and some arts and crafts classes, as well as movie nights.
The place looks clean, if not a little drab, and most doors we pass are open.
I glance in a few as we walk by and see some of the residents have visitors, but many are either empty of any visitors, or just empty in general. Most have flowers by the window, which look familiar, and it quickly clicks these are the ones I was sent yesterday. I’m glad that they liven up the residents’ rooms and hopefully bring a little cheer, whereas they just gave me the creeps.
One constant I notice is almost everyone calls out a hello to Declan, and he doesn’t need to glance at the residents’ names printed on colorful paper on the doorway before he is calling out a hello back.
Another constant is the warm smiles Declan gets, and the curious ones I receive.
A few caretakers and nurses roam about, all looking happy to see Declan, and not appearing worried that I am with him. Two adults with no family living in this facility are just wandering the hallways, and they haven’t even blinked an eye at us being here. Not that Declan is a stranger, but still.
After walking down a couple similar corridors, we make it to a large open area situated in what appears to be the middle of the complex. Likely so it is equal distance to get from so there isn’t an extra-long hike for any of the oldies here. Not that it would take longer than a few minut
es for someone like Declan or me.
“This is where they eat their meals, and after that, depending on what event is on for the night, they usually clear the area, leaving just a couple tables for anyone still wanting to be out here,” Declan says, moving to a cupboard that has a few plastic cups and a pile of markers inside. A few tables already have some placed on them. He nods at the blank bingo pages I take as we move about some of the outer tables. “But tonight, they will leave them out for bingo. Tomorrow, they have a cards night, which I usually avoid because I keep losing my weekly food money,” Declan informs me, a smile playing at his lips.
“They play for real money?”
“According to anyone who works here, absolutely not. But these guys are sly. They might look slow or not completely with it, but I’m sure it is mostly for strategy. Come cards night, suddenly everyone is twenty years younger and crafty as all hell.”
I laugh at that, imagining Maude would have been the best at fooling anyone who thought she wasn’t game enough to win at any sort of cards.
“Bet Maude wiped the table with them,” I say proudly.
“Sometimes, I wondered if she made more money being inside here than I do working for Zander,” he jokes. I smile when he takes my hand and leads me to a particular table. “I’m up front for tonight, reading out the numbers. These two young ladies were close to my grandma. They’ll take care of you.”
I nod, wondering what a night of bingo in this place will be like.
“Amara.” He nods at one lady who barely spares Declan a look since her stern gaze remains on me. She’s huddled into herself, looking small against the table, her dark skin still vibrant, with small blemishes scattered about, but it doesn’t detract from her beauty. Her eyes, hidden behind glasses, are keenly watching me. Under her scrutiny, I get the feeling I might be pulling up short.
“J.” He nods at the other lady who is pale, looks fragile, and without being too rude, looks like she might be nearing triple digits soon. She’s pulled up to the table in a wheelchair, and I notice some streamers tied to the handles and a few stickers of cartoon dogs stuck about in random places.
I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2) Page 16