Left (Still Standing, #1)

by Graves, T. R.

  "As soon as I said divorce, he went berserk. He started screaming about how he'd always known I would pick Ryker over him. When I agreed and told him any good mother would pick their kid over another person, he grabbed me around the neck and began choking me. Right before I passed out, he slung me onto the couch and began punching me in the face with his fists, swearing if he couldn't have me, he would make sure no one would ever want me again. He had every intention of making me live with lifelong deformities, and if Ryker hadn't come home when he did, he would have succeeded."

  This time when Joss gets quiet, I know she's finished. She's still guilty about everything she put Ryker through, and I don't want her to have to dwell on it anymore.

  The car is quiet with the exception of the distant road noise. I think about Colt and try to make the comparisons. I know in my gut that if Colt continues down this path, he'll beat me every bit as terribly as Joss was beaten... only he'll have lots more resources to convince the world that I deserved every broken bone.

  "Joss, if I talk to you about what happened tonight, can it be just between you and me until Ryker comes back and I tell him myself? I'll tell him. I promise. I just don't want him worrying about me while he's out of town. The last thing in the world I want is to become a burden for him... make him think I need him around all the time."

  Joss watches the road and says, "I know Ry better than anyone. He cares for you, Baylee. He worries about people he cares for when he knows they're in trouble. He talked to me earlier and told me he wished I would've had someone I could talk to about Bob before things got as bad as they did. He told me to be whatever you need, do anything you ask, and keep whatever secrets you request of me. He's more concerned with you having someone to talk to than knowing anything you're not ready to share."

  I think about what Joss has confided in me. The fact that Ryker cares for me and it is obvious to his mother makes my heart squeeze tight. I can't help but wonder what I'd be going through right now if it weren't for him.

  After a loud gulp, I close my eyes and say, "I was in the hotel room after Ryker left for Austin. Someone knocked, and I thought it was room service. I opened the door... and Colt was standing there. I could tell by the crazed look in his eyes something was real wrong with him. I tried my best to talk him down like I would a patient in the emergency room," I say just as a sob breaks free. It takes me a few minutes to be able to speak, and when I do it's muffled by phlegm. "When I told him I couldn't go anywhere with him until he agreed to get some help, he started calling me a whore. I was pulling away from him when he pushed me. I flew across the room, cut my head bad enough to need eight stitches, and broke my wrist."

  Joss sits nonjudgmental, quiet, and prepared to listen as long as I need to talk.

  "I-I just don't know how to help him... or myself. I do know I can't keep living like this. I-I'm afraid of him now, and I've never been afraid of him before."

  The woman who knows and understands exactly what I'm going through says, "You don't have to keep going like this, sweetie. There's only one person who can get help for Colt, and that's Colt. You can't keep him from wanting to abuse you, but you can file a restraining order so he stays away from you. Protect yourself. Let me and Ryker help you. There's no shame in needing other people. If it hadn't been for other people, I'd be dead right now and Ryker would've been a motherless teenager who had to live in foster homes. Take what we're offering and help someone else out later. That's how you pay back these debts."

  I think long and hard about what Joss has said to me. I know in my head that every word is true and I need to take her advice. It's my heart—the one breaking for the man I've loved—that screams for me to fight for him so he doesn't end up like my mother.

  Neither of us says anything else for the rest of the car ride. After we make it to Joss's and while we're standing in the kitchen, I ask, "Joss, do you mind wrapping my arm in a plastic trash bag? I need to take a shower and get all this blood off me and out of my hair. The smell is just about to make me sick."

  Joss goes to work, and quicker than I would have ever thought possible, she has a white plastic trash bag and a roll of tape sitting on the bar.

  "Put your arm up here for me," she says, patting the black stone countertop.

  I follow her orders after I put my hand, wrist, and half of my arm into the plastic bag. She rotates and folds the sack until it's snug with my cast and skin. Then she wraps it all up tight with tape. Satisfied with her handy work, she says, "There. Now you can take a shower and not have to worry about ruining your cast."

  Joss lifts my arm to look underneath and make absolutely sure there are no places for water to leak. When she does, she gasps. I know instantly that she's seen something that bothers her. I glance over and try to figure out what is upsetting her. Before I can say anything, she grabs my other arm and looks at the back of it.

  "Jesus, Baylee. The back of your arms are black, blue, and purple. He had to squeeze you pretty hard for the bruises to be the perfect shape of his handprint."

  I look away. "Yeah... he did."

  Joss gently strokes her fingers over the bruises before wiping another tear from the corner of her eye. She doesn't just talk the talk. She walks the walk. She is a battered woman's advocate, and it kills her see the proof of what I've been made to endure.

  Concerned more for her than myself, I shrug my shoulders. "It'll heal, Joss," I say before changing the subject as casually as I can. "Do you think Ryker would mind if I borrowed another car to drive to work tomorrow? I'll get them both back to him after work. I promise."

  Joss wrinkles her forehead. "You can't go to work tomorrow. You need to take a few days to rest and recover."

  I bounce my head. "Yeah. I know I should, but I have an important meeting with a client in the morning. It's one I can't miss. There are too many people watching my every move. I absolutely can't afford to skip a beat when it comes to my projects," I insist.

  Joss decides it's best not to argue with me today. "If you're going anyway, I'll drive you there and pick you up. You'll have to take the pain medicine the doctor ordered, which means you shouldn't be driving."

  Damn! The pain pills. I forgot all about them.

  Shaking her head, Joss suspects what I'm thinking. "I have a pharmacist on her way here right now to pick up your prescription and drop off your pain medicine. I'll bring them to your room as soon as she gets here."

  I send an admiring grin her way. "I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done for me tonight. I have friends, but no one that I would have trusted with the information I shared with you. Talking about Colt and what he did to me with you... it's helped me more than you know."

  Joss very carefully wraps her arms around me and whispers, "I'll be there for you anytime and anyplace. You need to know that will always be true."

  I nod. "Thanks."

  We pull away from each other, and before I can stop it, a giant yawn breaks free.

  "You get some sleep. Come get me if you need anything. I won't mind a bit," Joss assures me.

  "I will," I say before going to Ryker's room.

  Beyond exhausted, I look longingly toward Ryker's bed, but I don't stop. I go straight to the bathroom and strip. A glimpse in the mirror reveals copious amounts of blood dried and matted in my hair, buried beneath my nails, and smeared along my cheeks and neck.

  I climb in the shower and let scalding hot water rain down on me. At first, the water pooling at my feet is tinged dark pink. Before long, it fades, and eventually, it's clear enough for me to turn off the water and climb out. Dripping wet and unable to do much with my hand, I wrap up in a robe—one that smells like the cucumber melon scent that reminds me of Ryker—and brush my hair.

  Too weak to do anything else and with my eyes half-closed, I climb into Ryker's bed and nestle beneath his covers. I'm surrounded by him—his belongings, his scent, his family—but he's not with me. With an ache that makes me want to curve in on myself, I suddenly miss him more
than I have all night.

  I have to talk to him. I long to hear his voice, and I need it now. As soon as I pull my purse off the nightstand to get my cell phone, I see Joss has left a glass of water and the medicine bottle full of pain killers next to it.

  Thank God!

  I open the childproof lid, dig my fingers down into the middle of the tablets, and grab one. Without hesitating, I throw the giant white horse pill to the back of my throat and take a long drink of water. As soon as I swallow, I know the pain that's been progressively getting worse ever since we left the hospital is about to ease up, and that knowledge makes me a lot less anxious.

  Before the medicine knocks me out, I sift through the contents of my purse in search of my phone. By the time I find it, I'm as desperate to talk to Ryker as a junkie searching for her next fix. I don't pay any attention to the time. Late hour or not, I'm calling him. I push the button and wait for him to answer.

  Please let him answer.

  "Hello," he says quietly before the phone finishes ringing the first time. There's not the slightest hint of sleep in his voice so I know he's been up... waiting for me to call.

  "It's me," I whisper.

  "I know."

  We don't say anything. We just listen to the other breathe, basking in the few minutes we've stolen.

  "Tell me what the doctor said," Ryker asks, and he's still as soft-spoken and undemanding as he'd been when he answered the phone.

  I groan more to myself that out loud. "I have a fractured wrist and a cut on my head that required eight stitches."

  I can almost hear Ryker's teeth grinding.

  "Are you in pain, babe?"

  "Yeah... but I'll be honest with you. None of that is bothering me nearly as much as the way I'm missing you," I confess.

  Softening, Ryker huffs. "I miss you, too. In fact, I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to leave you again."

  And with his words, his kindness, his virtual nearness, I relax for the first time since he left the hotel earlier. The longer we're on the phone, the more malleable my rigid and bruised muscles get.

  "I'll hold you to that, Ry," I say, purposefully using the name his mother used earlier.

  Ryker laughs out loud. "I'm taking it Mom has used my nickname while talking to you."

  "That she has. I love it so much that I thought I would give it a try. Do you mind?" I ask, playfully smiling... maybe for the first time in hours.

  "For you, anything," he says, and I know he means every word.

  Again, we sit in a peaceful and contented silence, listening to the other person's every breath and refusing to sever the phone connection.

  "I'll be back tomorrow night unless you want me to come back right now," Ryker reminds me.

  "I have to keep living my life... making sure I'm standing on my own two feet. I'm going to work in the morning, and I'll be meeting the realtor at lunch tomorrow. I'm not as dependent on Colt as he seems to think," I say.

  "Bay, you've been up half the night. You need to rest tomorrow. Don't go to work. That's an order from your boss," Ryker says, and while I know he means it, I'm not going to follow his order.

  "I don't want everyone to think I'm getting any sort of special treatment, Ryker. I can do this. Let me. Besides, it'll keep my mind off everything," I say reasonably. "Joss is going to drive me so I'll probably be late... if you don't mind, but I'll be there for my meeting with Luke."

  "I'm telling you to stay home so I sure as hell don't care if you're late," Ryker reminds me.

  "Thank you," I murmur.

  "I want to see you the instant I land. Can you meet me at the airport at eight tomorrow night?"

  I think about the logistics. "Sure. Joss can take me to work in the morning and I can drive the Bugatti over to meet you."

  "Perfect. From there, we can go back to the hotel," Ryker says innocently.

  Without skipping a beat, I say, "No. I'd prefer to stay here... at Joss's."

  Right now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go back to that hotel. I can't go anywhere Colt will be able to find me.

  Ryker is quiet. I can almost feel the questions he wants to ask and am thankful when he doesn't utter them.

  Finally, I offer him the reprieve I know he needs. "I-I'll tell you everything tomorrow night. I swear. I just... I just can't right now, Ryker. It's all too much. I hurt all over, and..." I say and even to my own ears my words are noticeably slurred, "my... Vicodin... is... kickin'... in," I mumble.

  In my drug-addled daze, I swear I hear Ryker say, "Sweet dreams, Bay. I love you."

  I beg my eyes to open back up and my mouth to work, but all I'm able to say aloud before falling into a deep sleep is, "M mmmm mmm, mmm." I love you, too!

  CHAPTER 20

  ADDICTED

  Baylee

  When I wake the next morning, I hurt from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. I'm afraid to move but am determined to get up and about, praying the more I move, the less stiff I'll be.

  There's something hard against my cheek. When I reach up, I realize I slept on the cell phone all night. I mindlessly wonder if I ever officially hung up with Ryker. Since there is no charge left, I assume I did not. I make a mental note to charge it and give him a call later.

  Groaning, I sit up.

  Slow.

  Careful.

  Holy hell, is there any muscle in my body that doesn't hurt?

  I sit on the edge of the bed and acclimate myself to movement, to the light of the day, to my asinine commitment to go to work.

  Ugh!

  Just as I decide there's no time like the present to get up and get ready, I hear a light knock on the door.

  "Come in," I say.

  Joss opens the door and pokes her head around it. "Good morning, sweetie. Are you still going to go into work today?"

  "Yeah. I think I better," I mumble.

  "Is there anything I can do for you?" Joss asks, and from her chipper mood, I'm sure she's a morning person just like Ryker.

  "No. I'm fine. It's just taking a few minutes for me to get moving," I admit.

  "You get dressed. I'll go make some breakfast," Joss says before closing the door behind her.

  It's now or never.

  I head toward the bathroom, going through a very abbreviated morning-time ritual, one geared toward becoming as presentable as possible for work without doing anything extra.

  In the closet, I find a hot-pink, pleated blouse, a pair of black slacks, and snakeskin Christian Louboutin wedges. My clothes today are more about function than style.

  The long-sleeved blouse, one picked specifically to hide the bruises on the backs of my arms, has tight arm holes, a problem for the cast. Because of that, I spend longer than I would have ever thought necessary shimmying my cast through the sleeve before pulling it up to my elbow and accommodating my new bulky and unfashionable accessory.

  After I'm dressed—finally—I slip on the wedges and stand up. I test them by pacing the room a few times and making sure I'm going to be able to walk in them. I specifically chose them because I'd hoped they might offer a little more stability than pumps. After a few minutes, I'm sure they'll work for me.

  After all the moving around I've had to do to get dressed, I feel a lot less sore. I still ache, but I'm at least sure I'll be able to make it through the day without pain medication. Before I leave the room, it occurs to me that I still haven't charged my cell phone.

  Dammit! I really want to talk to Ryker before I make it to work.

  In the kitchen, I find Joss bustling around and making me a plate that includes eggs, an English muffin, a piece of Canadian bacon, and several sliced strawberries. I can tell by the food's beautiful presentation that she's spent a lot of time working on my breakfast. Unfortunately, I have no appetite.

  "This looks wonderful, Joss," I lie, sitting down at the bar. "You went to too much trouble for me."

  Joss slides the plate in front of me before grabbing her own breakfast and joining me at the bar. With the fi
rst bite, I realize that I might actually be able to eat something after all. Before I know it, I've eaten nearly everything Joss put on my plate and finished off a giant glass of orange juice.

  "Joss, you're an amazing cook," I exclaim, shoveling the final strawberry slice in my mouth.

  "I worked with some of the best chefs in the world when I was a maid at several of the most exclusive hotels around Houston. I consider myself fortunate that they were so generous with their secrets. I memorized—periodically wrote down—everything they were willing to share," Joss says, smiling with the memories that only she could recall.

  She stacks her plate on top of mine and puts them in the sink. I walk around the counter, prepared to help her clean the kitchen.

  "Leave them. I'll take care of them when I come back. You and I have a stop to make before I take you to work," Joss says without elaborating any further.

  I decide not to ask question. She's done too much for me not to trust her.

  "Okay. Let me get my purse and we'll go," I mumble.

  We don't talk much in the car, but I can tell Joss is nervous. She's not sure how I'm going to feel about what she wants me to do. Again, I'm determined to keep an open mind for her sake... because I know that whatever it is, it's something she feels strongly about.

  When we pull up in front of the Dickinson Police Department, I suspect what we're about to do. She'd suggested on our ride to her house last night that I file a restraining order. I don't argue. After she's parked, I get out of the car and we head toward the front entrance of the relatively new building.

  Inside, we're met by a dispatcher. Joss seems familiar here. "Pam, can you get the chief for me," she orders without any sort of preamble.