Ty scrubs his scalp with both hands and paces away from me, then returns to me, standing two feet away, but doesn’t touch me.
“What, exactly, did he say?”
“I’m not telling,” I whisper.
“Oh, yes, sweetness, you are.”
“You’re not my husband and you’re not my lawyer, Tyler Sullivan.”
“I’m the one person in your life who cares about you above everything else, goddamnit!” His eyes are hurt as he watches me, and I feel like such a shit. Ty is the last person I ever want to hurt. I swallow hard and mentally pull up my big-girl panties.
“He said that if I didn’t give him what he wants, he’d come back and remind me what it feels like to have him fuck me.” The last five words are whispered so softly I don’t know if Ty can even hear me. Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I swallow hard again and meet his eyes. “It’s mortifying that I was ever connected to someone like that, Ty. Why would I tell you that?”
“Because I’ve been going through all of this shit with you.” His voice is still hard. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
I shake my head and laugh humorlessly. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.” I move away from him, hitching my purse over my shoulder. “I have a deadline to meet in”—I check my watch—“thirteen hours, and I still have two chapters to write.”
I turn to leave, but he halts me with a quiet “Stop.”
I turn to face him. He hasn’t moved. He’s watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. “We are too important for you to just walk away, Lauren.”
“I’m not walking away from you. I’m irritated with you and I need to go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You don’t want me to come over tonight?”
I shake my head no. “Let’s just take a night off from each other, Ty. I’ll be working all night anyway.”
He nods, still angry, but his eyes have softened. In relief? I’m not sure.
I leave his office, ignoring Sylvia as she calls out to me, asking if I want to make an appointment with Cary.
I can’t deal with this right now.
I took the afternoon off because I missed Ty and I wanted to see him in action in the courtroom. Now I have a good eight hours of work ahead of me before I can e-mail the manuscript to my editor. She wants it by the time she gets to her office at 9:00 a.m. eastern time.
I can do this.
I push thoughts of Ty and his hurt eyes out of my head as I pull up to my house and let myself in and march straight back to the my pool house. The men finished up yesterday, thank God, and I can finally swim again. Seventy-five laps or so should get my head back in the game.
I strip naked and swim. I love the feel of the water over my skin, the sound it makes as it rushes past my ears.
Fuck, I even love the way it smells.
After the last lap, I climb out and brace my hands on my knees, panting and dripping water all over the concrete floor. I reach for a towel, dry off, and pull my clothes back on. I stop in the kitchen to grab an energy drink on my way to my office.
Two hours later, there’s a knock on my door, pulling me out of the story. I save the document and walk to the front door, surprised to see Jillian standing there, white plastic bags dangling from her hands and a big grin on her pretty face.
“I’ve come with provisions, per Ty’s orders.”
“What did you bring?” I step back and let her breeze past me, shut the door, and follow her to the kitchen.
“He said you’re writing tonight, and you forget to eat, so he made me bring you some homemade soup from Mrs. King, sandwiches from Mrs. Blakely’s deli, and chocolate-chip cookies that I baked, but don’t get too impressed because they’re the ones you buy in the store and just bake in the oven.”
“Thank you.” I’m amazed at the spread before me. I’m mortified to feel tears gathering in my eyes as I remember how frustrated I was at Ty earlier and how I ran as soon as things got rough. “I wasn’t very nice to him earlier.”
“He’ll be okay.” Jill waves and unpacks her bags. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get out of your hair. Just eat the soup while it’s hot. The rest will keep until later.”
She kisses my cheek and bustles back toward the door. I hear the door shut behind her.
I take the soup and the plastic spoon that Nancy King remembered to include back to my office and reach for my phone.
Thank you, I text to Ty.
You’re welcome.
I eat the soup quickly, not wanting to lose the momentum of the story and eyeing the clock. I have nine hours to finish.
I flick on the desk lamp, pull my feet up under me in my chair, and dive back into the story. I’m vaguely aware of my phone pinging with incoming texts, but I ignore it and focus on the task at hand.
When I’m in this mode, there is no interrupting me.
I work without moving for the next two hours, until I type the words The End. Then, without a pause, I scroll up the document to the very beginning and read it straight through, looking for typos and awkward words, tweaking here and there until I’m completely happy with it.
There will be edits and revisions after my editor reads it, but for now I’m content knowing that it’s as perfect as I can make it.
I open my e-mail and compose a note to her, attach the book, and send it off, then check the time.
It’s five in the morning here in Montana, so I managed to sneak it in two hours early.
Go me!
I mentally give myself a high five and stand, stretching my arms high above my head and then down to my toes, trying to loosen my muscles.
I should have installed a hot tub long ago, for moments just like this.
I check my phone and see that I’ve missed texts from Cara and Jill. Nothing from Ty.
Cara: I don’t have class until 9 tomorrow. Meet Jill and me at Sips for coffee at 7:30?
And the next one is from Jill an hour later: Meet us for coffee at 7:30 or I’ll come find you!
I chuckle and quickly type a reply, hoping I don’t wake them.
Me: See you there!
I pad into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of celebratory wine, raise the glass in salute, and take a long sip.
I wish Ty were here.
If Ty were here, he’d celebrate with me, most likely while we’re both naked and he’s inside me, rather than with just a glass of wine that tastes like it’s on its way to being stale.
I think about calling him, but then quickly dismiss the idea. He’s probably still asleep, and we have some talking to do before we are okay again.
Taking my glass with me, I turn the kitchen light out, and as I walk toward the stairs, there’s a loud banging on my front door.
I grin to myself. Ty must have decided he couldn’t wait any longer to see me and come over before work.
Without looking out the peephole, I unarm the alarm and swing the door open wide. “I was hoping I’d see you—”
I come up short when I see that it’s an angry, snarling Jack standing on the porch.
“I fucking hate you,” he growls, and backhands me square across the cheek, sending me flying back into the foyer and the glass in my hand crashing to the floor. “Did you think I’d never find out?”
His words are slurred and I can smell the whiskey coming off him in waves as I try to scurry backward on my hands, unable to pull myself to my feet. I’m still seeing stars, for fuck sake.
He kicks me in the ribs twice, then pulls me to my feet by the hair and punches me in the nose before he pulls my face up to his. “Answer me, cunt.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can’t breathe. I think my nose is broken. I can barely see the three Jacks standing right before me.
He bares his teeth in a snarl and pulls me, his hand still buried and gripped onto my hair, behind him to my office. He holds me up and points to the book covers on the wall.
“Peyton Adams, Lauren? Really? You made your
fucking pen name the one we planned to name our daughter and your mom’s maiden name?”
I flinch and clench my mouth shut. How do I get out of this alive?
“I’m going to kill you, you selfish motherfucking bitch,” he breathes into my face, making me gag on his horrible, foul breath. “But first, I’m going to make you fucking suffer.”
“Being married to you was suffering, Jack.” My voice is raspy and my vision is tunneling quickly, but I pull myself together as much as possible. If I pass out now, I’ll never get out of here.
He balls his fist and punches me on the jaw, snapping my head back. I can taste the coppery essence of blood as I pull my head back around to glare at him, blinking furiously.
“You owe me a whole fucking slew of money.” He spits on me, then pushes me back against my desk. I brace myself with my hands, panting, tears rolling down my face from the shot to my nose, and watching him as he turns away and tears one of my covers off the wall, shattering it on the ground. “I can’t believe you like to write books about fucking,” he sneers, and laughs over at me before he pulls the next cover off the wall. “You were a fucking joke in bed.”
“Pot, kettle,” I mutter viciously, and feel around the desk for my letter opener. It’s the only weapon I have here in the office.
He turns and glares at me, then stomps toward me and slaps me across the face again, on the opposite cheek this time. I move quickly, flailing out with the letter opener in my hand, doing my best to cut him, but he laughs as I stumble about and grips my wrist in his hand, wrenching the tool away from me.
“God, you’re so pathetic.” He shoves me back, then narrows his eyes on my laptop.
Dear God, he’s going to destroy my laptop.
I lunge for it, but he’s faster, scooping it up off the desk and throwing it with all his might against the wall. I stand, dumbfounded and numb, as I watch it shatter into about a dozen pieces.
Thank God I sent the book to the editor before he got here.
I laugh hysterically, finding it ironic that my first thought automatically goes straight to work. Jack could conceivably kill me this morning, and my biggest concern is losing my book. My ribs scream with the effort of the laughter, but I can’t seem to stop it.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Just remembering how tiny your dick is,” I rasp. If he’s going to hurt me, I’ll get my own hits in, even if they are verbal. My face is swelling as I search furiously for a way out of this room, but Jack is blocking my path to the door.
“You’re a fucking bitch.”
“So you’ve said,” I wheeze.
He advances and swings, intending to punch me, but I duck out of the way, infuriating him even further.
Suddenly, he pulls a long knife out of his back pocket and holds it in front of him.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re nuts.”
“You’re a whore. Get on the floor.”
“Just lie down and let you carve me up?”
My phone rings, distracting me, and he lunges, punching me with the handle of the knife in the temple. I fall to the floor, blinded, crying out. Jack lands three more kicks in my ribs and I throw up uncontrollably, propped on my side, as he continues to kick me in the ribs and down my back.
“Do you like it when I beat on you, you little whore?” Jack asks maliciously. His voice is pure evil. “I’m gonna fuck you before I kill you, Lo.” He pulls me onto my back and holds the knife to my neck with one hand while he unbuttons his jeans with the other. “My cock inside you is the last thing you’re ever going to feel, you stupid cunt.”
“Your cock is so small, I never could feel it anyway,” I growl.
He bares his teeth in fury and, throwing the knife aside, grips my hair in both of his fists, lifts my head, and smashes it against the hardwood floor of my office.
The only thought I have just before the darkness settles in around me is that I hope Ty doesn’t find me like this.
CHAPTER
Seventeen
TY
“Court is adjourned for lunch.”
Thank God.
I rise and leave the courtroom, fishing my phone out of my pocket. I tried to call Lo early this morning, unable to stand being away from her any longer, but I couldn’t reach her. She was probably either sleeping soundly or still working.
I should have said fuck it and gone over there to be with her, hold her. Make her breakfast.
Reassure both of us that we’re okay and remind her why she needs to be honest with me when it comes to her asshole of an ex-husband.
I turn my iPhone on and wait impatiently for it to wake up. When it finally does, I have twenty-two texts.
Twenty-two.
They’re all from Jill, Cara, and the guys. Nothing from Lauren, and my blood runs cold when I start from the beginning and begin to read them.
Jill: Lo didn’t come to coffee. Know where she is?
Cara: J and I are gonna go check on Lo. She’s 30 mins late.
Jill: We need you, Ty! Lo’s hurt. Going to hospital.
Josh: Man, check your phone. Come to the hospital ASAP.
I’m running toward my house now, cursing myself for walking to work today. I continue to check messages as I run, not paying attention to what’s happening around me.
It’s a wonder I don’t either get hit by a car or fall on my ass.
What the fuck has happened to Lo?
Jill: Call me! Now!
My phone rings in my hand. It’s Zack.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Thank God you’re out of court.” Zack’s voice is low and tight. “You need to come to the hospital, man. Lauren’s been hurt.”
“How bad?” I unlock the Jeep and throw my shit in the backseat, start it up, and peel out of my driveway.
“Bad. The girls found her. They went to her place to check on her when she didn’t show up for coffee. Since we’ve been at the hospital, they won’t let us back to see her because we’re not her family.” Zack’s voice is filled with frustration.
“They’ll let me in.”
“How?”
“I’ll lie and say she’s my fiancée.” It’s not much of a lie anyway, since I plan to make her exactly that as soon as she’ll say yes. “I’m almost there. Where are you?”
“ICU.”
I hang up and shove my phone in my pocket as I find parking and run into the hospital. The ICU is easy to find. This hospital isn’t that big, and I find the whole gang sitting in the waiting room.
“Ty!” Jill jumps up and runs to me, throws her arms around me, and lets loose with a long sob.
“Hold on, sweetheart.” I pass her off to Zack, who wraps his arm around her and pats her back as she cries into his chest and I turn to the receptionist. “Lauren Cunningham, please.”
“Are you family?”
“I’m Ty Sullivan, her fiancé.”
“I’ll call back to the doctor. He’ll come out to you in a few moments.”
I nod and back away, and Jill throws herself back into my arms.
“Hey, princess, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.”
“Jack almost killed her,” she cries, dabbing at the tears coming out of her eyes.
“What?” I jerk my gaze up to Zack and Josh, who both nod.
“They’ve already arrested him,” Josh confirms. “He bragged all about it to Misty, and she may be a bitch, but she had the brains to call the cops.”
“When we got to Lo’s house,” Cara begins, her own eyes red from shedding tears, “her door was standing wide-open. When we went inside, we found her in her office, beaten bloody. The room was torn apart.”
“It was so much worse than anything Dad ever pulled, Ty. A hundred times worse,” Jill whispers, and clenches her eyes shut against horrible memories from our childhood.
“Where is the doctor?” I pace back and forth, watching for the man to come out of the door that leads to the patient rooms. I need to see her. I need
to hold her, make sure she’s whole.
I need her.
“She was breathing, but she never woke up while we were with her,” Jill adds.
“What time was this?” I ask as I pull my phone out of my pocket and text a note to Cary, asking him to take care of court for me for the afternoon.
“Around eight,” Cara responds softly.
Shit, it’s noon now! “When did he . . . ?” I’m unable to complete the thought.
“We don’t know,” Cara replies. “The blood was dried on her face when we got there, so she’d been lying there for a while.”
My heart drops to my knees. Jesus, she was lying on the ground, hurt, and I wasn’t there to stop it.
To protect her.
“Stop it, man.” Zack plants his hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t your fault.”
I shake my head and walk away, shoving my hand through my hair. “I need to see her.”
A tall gray-haired man in a long white lab coat walks into the waiting room, holding a chart. “Mr. Sullivan?”
“Yes, that’s me. Call me Ty.”
“I’m Dr. Black. Would you like to come somewhere private to discuss your fiancée’s condition?”
“No.” I shake my head. “We can talk about it with this group of people. They’re our family.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Lauren has been severely beaten, Ty. Her eyes are both swollen shut and her nose is broken.”
My hands fist at my sides and blood rushes to my head. I drop into a seat, my legs unable to continue holding me, as the doctor continues.
“She was obviously kicked in her side and back, and she is lucky to just be bruised. He didn’t break her ribs. We were worried about her kidneys, but the MRI didn’t show any bleeding.” Dr. Black sighs and sits down next to me. “The most concerning injury is her head.”
“What happened to her head?” I whisper.
“I think he must have either hit her in the back of the head with something hard, like a bat, or he could have slammed her head against the floor.” The doctor swallows hard, obviously upset by Lo’s condition. “Her skull is fractured, and her brain is swollen. That’s why she hasn’t woken up. Her body’s automatic defense mechanism kicked in and shut down, trying to recover on its own.”
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