by Kait Nolan
She wanted to drop her head in shame. Instead, she held Brody’s gaze, waiting for whatever judgment he was handing out. “Say what you need to say.”
“Last year you gave me some pretty frank advice, and you saved me from making a huge mistake. I’m here to return the favor.”
It was so far from the accusations she’d expected, Corinne could only stare at him.
“I was all set to give you a piece of my mind when I got here, but you look as bad as he does, so I can tell you’re hurting, too.”
She felt like she’d been bleeding from a mortal wound since Friday night.
“The fact is, Corinne, you told me once you wanted somebody to look at you the way I look at Tyler. Tucker does.”
Her throat slammed closed and all her efforts had to go toward not bursting into tears again right here in the middle of the coffee shop.
“Now I don’t know if you can’t see that or if you don’t believe it. But as one of his best friends, let me tell you, you’re making a huge mistake cutting him off. He’s crazy about you. And your son. The point is, if something is wrong between you and Tucker, you have to fix it. You can’t let the gift of that kind of relationship go just because stuff got hard.”
Hearing the advice she’d given him thrown back at her made her want to curl into a ball. “That wasn’t why.”
“I don’t much care about the why. Do you love him?”
“I’m not good for him.”
“I disagree, and that’s not what I asked you. Do you love him?”
She had to swallow several times before she managed to get the word out. “Yes.”
Brody nodded and shoved back from the table. “Then don’t let go. Talk to him. Work out your shit. You owe it to both of you.”
He walked out without another word.
Corinne stayed where she was, paper cup clutched between shaking hands.
It couldn’t be that simple. She couldn’t just go to Tucker with the knowledge of what she’d done so stark in her mind. She couldn’t allow herself to chase after happiness, not when Whitney was caught in her own private hell.
What if you got Whitney out?
Even as the question popped into her head, she knew Whitney would never listen. She’d made it perfectly clear that she’d never trust Corinne again. And yet… If Corinne could find a way to convince her to leave, to get out before Garrett snapped—if he hadn’t already—that might go a little ways toward redemption. If she could get Whitney out of her abusive marriage, maybe she could actually live with herself again. And maybe, just maybe, she’d feel like the kind of woman who deserved the love of a man like Tucker McGee.
Chapter 16
Court hadn’t gone well. Tucker had been so argumentative, Judge Carpenter had threatened to charge him with contempt. If he’d had his way, he’d have asked for a continuance until he had his head screwed on straight, but that wasn’t an option for this particular case. At least they hadn’t lost. After a long-ass afternoon of deliberation, the jury had finally come back in favor of his client. Instead of celebrating, he’d be holed up in his office, catching up on paperwork because he wasn’t fit for human company right now.
A scuffle sounded down the hall from his office. The voice of his legal secretary, Margaret Prescott, came floating back. “—can’t let you—”
The door swung open and Malika barged in, hand balled on her hip. “I need to talk to you.”
Behind her, Mrs. Prescott pressed her coral-coated lips together. “I’m sorry, Tucker, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. P.” He checked the clock. “After five. Why don’t you head on home? You can finish up those depositions in the morning.”
“You sure?” Mrs. Prescott, who was sixty-five if she was a day, shot her gaze to Malika.
“Positive. And thanks for all your hard work today.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Come in late. You aren’t scheduled for court tomorrow, and you need some sleep,” she ordered.
That was the truth. “Yes ma’am.”
Once she was gone, Malika shut the door. “I heard about you and Corinne.”
Tucker leaned back in his chair. “Are you here to deliver retribution of some kind? Because if she actually told you what it was I did wrong, you’re more in the know than I am.”
“No. Not retribution. But I think I may know what went wrong. Some of it anyway.”
He hadn’t actually expected that. Rising, he circled around his desk and gestured to one of the chairs. “Please, have a seat. I’d actually been hoping to talk with you, but I didn’t know your last name and hadn’t quite had time to track you down.” Not the full truth, but admitting he’d been drunk off his ass or hungover for much of the last three days didn’t seem the right move.
She sat, tucking her purse neatly in her lap. “How well did you know Corinne in high school?”
Not the tack he’d expected. “Better than she probably realizes. I’ve known her since elementary school.”
“Was she really the mean girl she says she was?”
“Sometimes. Her parents put her under a lot of pressure and that led to some...less than noble behavior. But everybody grows up. She’s not like that anymore, and she’s worked really hard to prove it.”
“Seems like memories here are pretty long.”
“You’re not wrong. What happened when she went off with you Friday night?”
“We were out in the lobby talking, catching up. Talking about you. She was happy.” Those big dark eyes drilled into his, bringing home the point. “You make her happy.”
He’d certainly thought so. “Go on.”
“She saw somebody she knew, got this real concerned look on her face, so we ended up following this couple down the hall toward the bathrooms. The guy was being rough with her and Corinne intervened.”
“Intervened how?”
“Asked the woman if she was okay. The guy hid it fast, but I could see he was really angry she’d said something.”
Tucker leaned forward. “Did he do something to Corinne? Say something?”
“No, but after he left—without his wife, I might add—she said something. She was in total denial there was a problem and Corinne kept pushing her to let her help, to trust her. I guess they must’ve had bad history because the other woman—Whitney, I think, was her name—she got all snappy and ugly with Corinne.”
Of course it would be Whitney Harrington. Because, for whatever reason, Corinne would never fight back against her. “What did Whitney say?”
“That she’d trusted Corinne once and Corinne had turned on her, acted just like her mama.”
If there was a bigger insult to Corinne, Tucker didn’t know what it was. His hands clenched to helpless fists. “What else?”
“That nobody believed Corinne had changed and she was still the same hateful person she was back in high school. And...”
“And?”
Malika winced. “And that one of these days you’d figure it out and drop her because she wasn’t worth your time.”
Tucker swore. “What did Corinne say?”
“Nothing. She just told Whitney to get some help, if not from her then from somebody else. And then Whitney left. I knew Corinne was upset. She wanted to find you. I didn’t know she’d do something drastic. I thought when I left her with you that she’d wanted you because you make her feel better.”
He did make her feel better. And that was entirely the problem.
Tucker dropped his head, shoving both hands through his hair and sighing. This was the same old shit. Guilt about her past was eating her up inside and convincing her she didn’t deserve to be happy. They’d been through this. What more did he have to do to convince her? And why the hell should Whitney’s opinion matter so much that it overrode everything he’d said, everything he’d done?
“Tucker?”
“Yeah?”
“Look, I know Corinne’s maybe not the easiest person to deal with. She’s got
some issues. I don’t know how much she may have told you about them.”
He straightened to look at her then. “Not nearly enough.”
Malika shrugged. “She hasn’t told me much, but I’ve inferred plenty. She’s had a rough road. I just…I came because I wanted to tell you I don’t think any of this is your fault and to ask you not to give up on her.”
Tucker didn’t want to give up on Corinne. He liked what they were together, and he liked the possibility of what they could be. But the things at the root of this whole mess were bigger than him, bigger than both of them, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to keep fighting.
~*~
Corinne sat in her car in front of the sprawling, two-story brick house, one of several McMansions peppering one of the nicest neighborhoods at the edge of Wishful. Her stomach twisted into a sick knot in her gut. It was so like the house she’d shared with Lance. The garage door was down, so she couldn’t tell if anyone was home. She hoped she hadn’t come all this way for nothing. It had taken most of the drive back from Tupelo to get up the nerve to come over here, and she wasn’t sure if she could do it again.
Bright seasonal flowers lined the long walk, bobbing in the hot breeze. The vast expanse of lawn was a healthy green, and huge, curving flowerbeds accented the house and the few young trees. In her experience, people who lived in places like this didn’t actually do yard work. The whole point was to have a showpiece of a yard and a service to maintain it, which served double duty in showing off the wealth behind it.
With a bracing breath, Corinne got out of the car. Even from thirty feet away, she could hear the sounds of shouting. She broke into a run, headed for the double doors.
“What were you thinking?” The angry roar carried through the wood and brick and had Corinne trying the knob. Locked.
She circled around the house, fumbling with the gate of the low, wrought iron fence and hurrying past the pool to the back door. It opened into the living room. Inside, off to the right, she could see Garrett looming over Whitney in the kitchen. Tears streaked her face as she cowered back against the counter, saying something too low for Corinne to hear. It wasn’t the right answer. Garrett drew back his arm, backhanding Whitney across the face, knocking her into a cabinet.
Corinne was through the door, into the living room, before she could think better of it. “Get away from her!”
Garrett turned, startled, and she used the instant of surprise to grab up the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon. He didn’t move, though she doubted it was because of the fireplace poker in her hands. A man like him didn’t see women as a threat.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“The police are already on their way.” Belatedly, it occurred to Corinne that she absolutely should have called 911 before she decided to play hero. Too late now. She tightened her hands on the poker and advanced into the kitchen. “Back away from her. Slowly.”
“She’s my wife. I’ll do with her as I choose. That’s no one’s business but mine.”
“You need to leave.” Corinne edged around the big center island, coming up behind where Whitney lay sprawled and dazed on the floor. Blood streamed down from her temple. Jesus. “Whitney, can you hear me?”
She groaned. “Corinne?”
Still conscious.
“You’re getting arrested, Garrett,” Corinne said.
He smirked. “I’m doing no such thing. She fell.”
“Not gonna work since you’ve got a witness to the contrary.”
“Who do you think the cops are gonna believe? A piece of trash waitress or a candidate for state senate?”
Corinne advanced on him, choking up on the fireplace poker like a baseball bat as she put herself between him and Whitney. “They’ll believe the evidence. Falling doesn’t give you a black eye on one side and a concussion on the other. You weren’t careful this time.”
He looked down at Whitney, where the side of her face was already purpling with bruises from where he’d struck her, and the first hints of doubt flickered in his eyes.
“Get the fuck out of here,” she demanded. “Or don’t. You could always stay. I’m sure plenty of your neighbors would love to see the senatorial hopeful get carted away in handcuffs. In these days of smartphones, I’m sure it’ll wind up on YouTube. That’d be great for your campaign.”
“You bitch,” he snarled.
“That’s Queen Bitch to you. Leave, Garrett. Before I remind you up close and personal that I played varsity softball.”
“This isn’t over.”
No, it was just beginning, and it would be ugly.
But he left. Corinne held her position until the garage door slammed and a car cranked up. Then she dropped into a crouch, already assessing Whitney.
“What are you...doing here?”
“Trying to save your ass.” She grabbed a dish towel and blotted at the gash on Whitney’s temple. “Here, can you hold this?”
She lifted her hand and Corinne was relieved to see she could hold the pressure. Corinne rose, tugging open drawers until she found the Ziplock bags to make an ice pack. “We need to get out of here.”
“But the police...”
“I was bluffing. And I don’t know how long Garrett will stay gone.”
“He’ll be furious if I’m not here when he gets back. It’ll be worse.”
“There will always be some reason, some excuse, for it to be worse. Has he hit you before today?”
Whitney started to shake her head and winced. “Jerked me around some. Yelled a lot. But I never thought he’d hit me.”
Corinne had to tamp down the simmering rage, to do what needed to be done. “They always make you think that. And when they finally snap and do hit you, they make you feel like it’s all your fault. That you deserved it.”
“I did deserve it. I—”
“I don’t care what you did. No man should ever hit a woman. No one should hit, period. You have to leave him.” She carefully pressed the ice pack to Whitney’s cheek.
“I can’t leave. Everything’s in his name. If I leave, I’ll have nothing.”
“You’ll have your life.”
Whitney’s eyes widened. “He wouldn’t…”
“He would. Sooner or later, he would. He’s an abusive son of a bitch. I knew this was coming when I saw you together the other night.”
“How?”
“Because I lived it.” How much time had passed? Was Garrett coming back yet? “There’s not time to get into this now. We need to leave. You need to be checked for a concussion, and you absolutely need a couple of stitches.”
“But I—”
“Look, I know you have no reason to trust me. I know I can’t ever make up for the things I said and did to you in high school, and I’m sorrier and more ashamed than I can say that I had any role in starting you down the path that landed you here in this situation. But, Whitney, Garrett isn’t going to stop. You can plead and you can promise and try to predict him, but, sooner or later, he’s going to snap again, and next time it might not be just a black eye or a a concussion.”
Whitney exhaled long and slow, resting her head back against the cabinet. “I don’t know how to start over. I don’t know the first thing to do.”
“I do. You just have to take the first step and come with me.”
Her eyes began to droop, and Corinne knew she had to get Whitney on her feet.
“Why would you help me?”
“Because I can. After tonight, if you never want to see or talk to me again, fine. I don’t blame you. But let me help you now. Let me see you safe.”
Her eyes slid closed.
Corinne’s hand shot out, taking her by the shoulder. “Whitney!”
“I’m not passing out,” she said, though her voice sounded leaden. She heaved another heavy sigh before curling her fingers around Corinne’s arm. “Help me up.”
Relieved, Corinne levered Whitney to her feet. “We’re going to get you taken care of. Just ha
ng in with me for a little while longer.”
Chapter 17
Tucker woke from a fitful doze. The digital clock read 11:37. Barely an hour since he’d fallen into bed. On the nightstand, his phone vibrated again. He answered without checking the display, his heart leaping into the thundering tattoo of Emergency! Emergency!
“Tucker, it’s Lily Mae.”
Not his parents. Not his friends. He exhaled some of the anxiety.
“I’m sorry to call so late, but we’ve got a sensitive case here and we’ll need a restraining order filed first thing in the morning.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, palm rasping over stubble. “On my way.”
Pulling on jeans and a polo, he gave fleeting thought to coffee, but Lily Mae had an eternal pot going out at the shelter. He’d get a cup there while he took the victim’s statement. His lone concession to professionalism before heading out the door was to grab his briefcase.
A Wishful PD cruiser was parked in the driveway when he arrived. They’d left the porch lights on. Tucker climbed the steps and, as usual, the door swung open before he could knock, Lily Mae filling the doorway. Her eyes glittered with temper and a muscle jumped in her jaw. Tucker knew that look, knew that whoever had come in tonight was in bad shape.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” He followed her inside.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“I’d happily give up my first born for one.”
“I’ll see to it. They’re in the study.”
He saw the cop first. Judd Hamilton stood in the doorway of the study, thumbs hooked in his duty belt. “There’s been no sign of him back at the house, but we’ve got officers posted. Can you think of anywhere he might go to ground?”
“I don’t—wait. There’s a hunting cabin. Somewhere up near Sardis. I don’t know where exactly. I wasn’t ever allowed to go there.” The woman’s voice quavered.
“It’s okay. We’ll track it down.” Judd turned as Tucker stepped up. His expression was set in reassuring lines, but Tucker could see the snap of fury in his eyes.