She lifts her head back up to look at me, the anguish swirling in her emerald eyes making me inhale sharply.
"You couldn't hurt me any more than I already have been."
I watch the emotions play across her face as she decides what to do. She is obviously smart—you can tell that from just talking to her—so going home with a stranger would usually be a definite no-no, but we both know that she has very few options open to her right now. She takes a deep breath, wincing slightly, reminding me that she has other injuries besides her face that need tending to. She nods before offering me her hand.
"Okay, thank you. I'm Frankie, by the way."
I place my large hand around her tiny one and shake it gently.
"I'm Joe."
* * *
The doctor closes the door to the guest room quietly behind her. Her shoulders are held rigid. Her blonde hair flips behind her shoulders as she turns to look at me. I can see the strain on her face and I mentally prepare myself, knowing that I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear. I watch as she brushes imaginary lint off her grey blazer before smoothing her hands down her black pencil skirt. An odd reaction for a professional doctor—to fidget whilst talking—but I know that it has more to do with my intimidating presence than anything else.
"I have given her a mild sedative. She is sleeping now but she was happy enough for me to share my findings with you.” She coughs to clear her throat before beginning.
“She is covered in scrapes and bruises. Abrasions and friction burns on her wrists and ankles indicate that she has been restrained with what I am guessing to be a rope of some sort. She has some bruising on her ribs which, given the size and colouring, will be very painful for a while. Her breathing seems fine, which is good, but without an x-ray, I can't guarantee that they are not broken. I have completed a rape kit, which she asked me to do. I have found extensive bruising and some small tearing, which I have tended to. I have given her an emergency contraceptive pill, some painkillers to take when she needs them, and a strong dose of antibiotics, which she needs to take the full course of. I will give you a call in a week with the results of the STD tests, but fingers crossed, they should come back clear as the assailant wore a condom. Take care of her, and if either of you needs me, call me."
I show her out then head to the guest room and sit in the large chair in the corner, watching her sleep. I know it is kind of creepy, but I just want to keep her safe. She said "hurt" but she didn't say "raped". I wonder if this beautiful broken girl even knows how strong she really is. There was something in her eyes that spoke of the demons she fought to keep at bay, and God knows how she must have fought day-in, day-out just to survive, as I’m under no illusions that this was the first time. It’s clear she is reaching her limit, swimming through the shit that life has thrown at her, so much so that if someone doesn’t reach out a hand to grab her, she is going to go under. She’s haunted by memories and dreams that I have no way of erasing, but I want to. I want to save her. No, I need to save her. I need a plan, because one thing is for sure: I am not letting that bastard hurt her again.
* * *
I hear Frankie on the stairs as I plate up the toast and scrambled eggs I've made for breakfast. I watch as she rounds the corner with her head down. She sits gingerly on the bar stool at the counter, her tiny rumpled frame in yesterday’s clothes looking out of place in my pristine black and white ultra-modern kitchen. I pour some juice and slide it in front of her along with her plate of food.
"Morning, Frankie. How are you feeling this morning?"
I watch her dig in ravenously, wondering when she last ate.
"I'm okay,” she answers in that soft voice of hers. “Sore but okay. Thank you… for this and, well, everything. I will get out of your way when I'm finished." I lean across the counter, place my finger under her chin, and raise her head gently until her eyes meet mine. What I'm about to do could end up being a colossal mistake but it's a risk I'm willing to take.
"About that… I spent most of the night thinking about how I could help. The biggest issue we have now is your age. Your mother has parental responsibility, but not her boyfriend. What about your real dad?"
"He died in a car accident when I was nine."
"Legally, you can move out from your parental home at sixteen, but there is still a grey area over her parental rights, and I don’t trust your mother to just let you go. She could just as easily have you declared mentally unfit and have you dragged back, so we need to play her at her own game.”
“The only thing my mom really cares about is money. She is a thief and a con woman, and there is no way she will give me up if it means she stops getting benefits for me.”
“We could report your assault. I would go with you.” Although even if we are successful she might end up in the foster system, and I don’t want that either.
“They won’t listen. Not now. I’ve been sent back time and time again. I can’t risk it. I think there must be something in my file that declares me a pathological liar or something.”
“Then I guess the only way we can stop you from being returned to your mother's care without us being able to prove her boyfriend is abusing you is to take away her parental rights. The best way to do that would be if we got married."
She chokes on the eggs and coughs to clear her throat. I lean back as she stands up forcing the stool back with a screech across the kitchen floor. I watch her wince as she blinks back approaching tears, knowing she has just pulled her ribs, and step towards her with my hands up in a placating gesture. She looks so disappointed, and I realise I’ve done a shit job of trying to explain my intent.
"I am not a whore to be bought and sold. What the fuck, Joe? I thought you wanted to be my friend." I hurry around the island counter and stop right in front her before she can run off upstairs.
"I do want to be your friend, Frankie, more than you could possibly understand. I mean a marriage in name only. Separate bedrooms. I promise this isn't a trap. I just really think I can help. I don't look at you that way at all. I just feel protective, almost fatherly towards you. That’s all. Trust me, this has nothing to do with sex. I will never ever want that from you, sweetheart, ever. To the outside world, it's going to look fucked up but it's not like we would advertise it, so it shouldn't really be an issue. It's not as if you will be stuck with me for long, either. I'm dying, remember? We just need to get your mother to sign away her rights and get her written permission of her approval for you to marry."
"She will never agree to that. Rob won’t let her, and she will never go against his wishes. She will never let me go, and she will have you arrested on some trumped-up charge of kidnapping or something."
"Leave her to me. If I can get her to sign, would you do it? You would live with me, go to college, do whatever you want, but most importantly, you would be safe."
"Why would you do that for me? What's in it for you?"
I tell her the truth, because at this point I have nothing left to lose.
"I need a friend, someone to come to chemo with me. Someone to help when I'm sick. I don't want to die alone, and I can't stand the thought of sending you back to that hell hole. Two birds, one stone. Please, Frankie, I swear to God I will keep you safe."
She searches my eyes for any sign of deception, but I know that all she will see is sincerity. She takes a deep breath in and forces a deep breath out. I can tell she thinks I might be out of my mind, but that it's worth a shot. She gives a small nod and I feel the tension in my shoulders ease.
"If by some miracle you can convince my mom, then yes, I will marry you."
My smile is huge, and although her responding smile is a lot smaller, it's filled with a mix of hope and trepidation.
"Leave it with me. Now eat before it gets cold."
* * *
After our chat, I called my solicitor, Malcolm, and explained what I wanted and why. He was shocked and tried to talk me out of it, but he knew I was a stubborn son of a bitch when I had my
mind set on something. It's now late evening and I'm still waiting for a call back. As if thinking about him summons him, my phone rings.
"Joe, its Malcolm here. I've got what you need. She refused adamantly until I offered her the money you said to. I made sure the boyfriend was out, so he wasn't an issue. She is under the impression that I work for a buyer who specializes in child brides. I offered her half a million for the sale of her daughter and she snatched the pen to sign the release forms before I could finish speaking. I went with the cover story because I sensed that if she thought Frankie was going to end up happy and safe, then no amount of money in the world would have convinced her to hand her over. She hates Frankie and likes to see her suffer. It's messed up. I can’t believe that fucked-up bitch just sold her daughter to a stranger who, as far as she knew, was going to rape and abuse her.”
“Why? She lets her boyfriend do it for free,” I say with exasperation.
“I would get far away from here, because once that money is gone, she will come after either you or Frankie again if she figures out who you are. There are a few properties down here in London. I will check them out and let you know if any are suitable. It will be easier, with everything going on, if I’m close by, and London is far enough away from Birmingham that her mother shouldn’t be able to find her.”
"Thank you, Malcolm. I'm making some changes in my life. You, my friend, are one of the few people I trust, so I would like it if you could come over for dinner. I want you to get to know Frankie. When I'm gone, I trust you to continue as her solicitor and confidant. I also have a request, but I don't want Frankie aware of this until after my death. I want to leave her everything. Make it ironclad. It's bound to be contested, but I don't give a shit. She gets it all."
"I can do that, of course, but are you sure? This girl comes out of nowhere and now you want to marry her and leave her your empire. What about Caleb?"
"Caleb is on a slippery slope to becoming me. He is rude, and he can be cruel, and he will die alone if he can't get rid of that giant chip on his shoulder. Maybe it will be the wake-up call he needs. I don’t want him to get to my age and have the same regrets I do. He has the money to start his own empire if he wants to, but he has never shown any interest. He has trust funds in place so that he never has to work again if he doesn't want to. He certainly doesn't need me to give him any more. He doesn’t need anything from me, and what he wants I can’t give him, which is a rewrite of the past. Hell, we all want our pasts rewritten but it’s not something I can give. Frankie has nobody, and yet in her darkest hour, she shone a small light on me. Caleb might not want me in his life, and lord knows he doesn’t need my help with anything, but I can help Frankie. It's hard to explain, but I just know that she has the potential to grow into an amazing woman. She just needs someone to raise her up instead of holding her down."
"Okay, Joe. You have my word. I will drive up on Saturday and bring some Italian from that place on the corner I like, and we can finalise your will. Your marriage licence should be here by then, too. You will be able to get married next week at the local registry office. How does that sound?"
"Perfect."
And it was. We moved to a large house on a lake not far from Malcolm and made it a home. I held on for five years, and in that time Frankie gave me more than I would ever be able to give her. We became a two-person family. She made me laugh and wiped my tears when I cried, never once deeming me less than a man for doing so, or when my body became too weak to continue. She was my redemption, my forgiveness and my salvation. She says I saved her life, and maybe that's true, but she saved my soul, and knowing this meant that when my last breath escaped me I was ready, having at last found peace.
Chapter One
Five years later
CALEB
"This is fucking bullshit!" I roar, jumping up out of my seat. I toss my grey suit jacket onto my chair as I start pacing the room.
I look to the left at my team of solicitors in disgust, each of them fidgeting in their seats, glaring across the table of the conference room, ready to blame anyone else for their incompetence before turning on each other.
"Are you telling me that this gold-digging whore stands to inherit most of my father's money and assets just because she spread her legs for him for the last five years?"
I can't believe what I am hearing. Now it’s my turn to glare at her from across the table. She is beautiful, I will give her that. Dressed in a demure pink fitted dress, she stands out in the sea of cocks and suits filling this room. She is a tiny little thing, with waves of black hair cascading over her shoulders, big innocent looking green eyes and a small mouth with pink pouty lips.
Cock-sucking lips. Daddy dearest certainly must have liked them.
My dad was a dick, and we haven't spoken in years, but this is insane. There is no way I am going to let this happen. Malcolm, my father's solicitor, who coincidently is sat next to the bitch, looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and distaste.
"You were supposed to be Dad's best friend. Let me guess—you're banging the little tramp on the side?"
Malcolm stands, his six-foot-one frame towering over everyone but me, and the room falls silent. Dressed in a navy-blue pin-striped suit and matching tie, with his salt-and-pepper hair cut short and styled neatly, he looks every inch the professional, but nobody can miss the look of barely concealed fury on his face.
"We are done here, Mr Taylor. You will not address my client at all. If you have any further questions, you can reach me at my office. I can, however, tell you two things right now. One, nothing you can say or do will change the outcome of today's proceedings. Your father's Will and clauses within are ironclad. I know. I was with him when he wrote them. Two, if you ever speak to my client that way again, I will personally shove my hand down your throat and rip out your spine."
My solicitors feel the need to jump in then, objecting here there and fucking everywhere. It is giving me a damn headache. Why is Malcolm protecting her? I lift my eyes to her again to find that she is, in turn, watching me, studying me like a puzzle that needs solving.
Not happening, sweetheart.
Feeling unnerved by the way she is dissecting me, I decide to level the playing field by throwing her off her game.
"Looking for a new sugar daddy, sweetheart? I'm not usually into sloppy seconds but for you, I'm sure I could make an exception. It seems you have a golden pussy. Maybe I want to see what all the fuss is about."
Malcolm goes to grab me but she puts her hand on his arm, causing him to pause.
"It's okay, Mal," she tells him in a sweet voice that goes straight to my dick. I sit back in my chair so that nobody notices my body's inappropriate reaction.
Those are the first words she has spoken in the hour in which we have all been here, and as a result, everybody shuts up to hear her. My eyes track her movements as she stands from her chair, her five-foot frame commanding the attention of every man in the room. She should have been intimidated, but if anything, she looks bored as she walks around the table to me.
"I don't need a sugar daddy, Mr Taylor. Unless it escaped your attention, I'm a millionaire. However, if you keep bad-mouthing my husband, I'm going to start getting pissed, especially because he isn't here to defend himself." She chokes on the last word, showing her first real sign of emotion. I cut her off before she can finish her little woe-is-me act.
"You hit the mother lode with him, didn't you? Was Daddy Dearest trying to atone for his sins by taking in little Miss Jailbait, or did he just have a hard-on for little girls?"
I know as soon as the words leave my mouth that I have crossed an invisible line, the tension in the air becoming tangible with fury. What I don't expect is the right hook to the face.
"That was something else your dad gave me, lessons in how to treat an asshole."
She smirks as she turns to grab her bag before facing me again. I stand and move so that we are as close to each other as we can be without touching.
Le
aning down, I place my lips against the shell of her ear, loving the rush I feel as her breathing speeds up.
"Every time you open your smart mouth I picture you on your knees with your lips wrapped around my cock."
She looks me dead in the eyes before answering, her expression giving nothing away.
"Sorry, Caleb, but I was told never to put small objects in my mouth."
And with that parting shot, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and struts out of the room like a catwalk model.
Turning towards Malcolm, I toss him a look that would have lesser men cowering, but Malcolm is unfazed. Still feeling aroused and pissed off, I bark at him, "He married a seventeen-year-old school girl?"
Malcolm just smiles at me like he knows something I don’t, which the dickhead probably does, but before I can say anything else, he carries on talking like the last five minutes never happened.
"As I was saying before the interruption, Mrs Taylor inherits everything except for what has been put into a trust for any children that you may have in the future."
I am utterly dumbfounded. What the hell is going on? This must be a fucked-up dream because none of it is making sense. Malcolm takes pity on me and explains further.
"Look, I get that it's not ideal, but your dad had his reasons for doing this. He loved you. He just didn't know how to fix the damage between you. What you need to realise is that the man who married Frankie was a different man to the one you last saw. Frankie changed him, and he adored her. She gave him a family again but not in the way you are thinking. He was a father figure and friend, nothing else. If you want to know what kind of man he became, you will need her. She can give you all her memories and tell you things that only she knows. She loved him, never doubt that. I know you're angry, but she did nothing to earn your wrath. All she is guilty of is bringing a measure of peace to a lonely man."
Rewriting Yesterday Page 2