by Bo Reid
As I’m still coming down off my Kasen induced high, he flips me over onto my back and quickly moves inside me. I trail my fingernails down his back as he pushes inside me, chasing his own release.
“My Hart,” he whispers against my lips as he comes.
He collapses on top of me but places most of his weight on his forearms. I hug him close to me, wrapping my arms and legs around him. I kiss his shoulder. His chest. His biceps. His neck. Slowly he pulls out of me, placing a kiss to my lips, then my nose, then my forehead.
“I lo...” he stops, panic on his face over what he almost said.
“We should get ready,” I whisper, “while Brooks is still asleep.” He nods, sitting up and arranging his dick back in his pants. He then holds out his hand to help me up.
I don’t bring up what he almost said, and neither does he. Technically, we’ve been together for a week but it feels like we have been together since the accident, and that was six months ago. If he would have finished that sentence there isn’t a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t have hesitated to say it back to him.
There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I love him. But him holding back tells me he still doubts his feelings for me. And I won’t lie, that fucking wrenches my heart.
I arrange Brooks bag and set out a fresh outfit for him. I call Martha and make sure it’s still okay for Brooks to be dropped off. It is. I tell her Kasen will be bringing him by and picking him up. She adores Kasen, tells me every time we talk about how wonderful he is. That he is a wonderful father, even before we were a ‘we.’
Even after I explained he wasn’t Brooks father, she would tell me that was nonsense, that being a parent wasn’t determined by blood, but by love.
Kasen is silent for the rest of the morning. He takes Brooks’ bag out to the car while I get Brooks ready and throw some extra milk in the cooler. I bring him and the cooler to the car. Kasen takes the cooler and I buckle Brooks in, telling him to be good for Mrs. Martha. Kasen leans down and kisses me, telling me to have a good hike and to let him know once I’m back home. He gets in the car and I watch as they drive away.
I head back in the house to get ready for my hike, seeing as how I never changed out of Kasen’s t-shirt and failed to put pants on. That’s the great thing about living in the woods, you don’t have to wear pants in your front yard if you don’t want to. Just as I’m about to put my pack on and head out back towards the trail I hear a knock at the front door.
When I open it, I’m not expecting Lucas to be standing on my front porch.
“Morning Hart, lovely weather we’re having isn’t it?” he asks.
“What are you doing here Lucas?” I ask, stepping out on the porch and closing the door behind me.
“Well at first I was going to come here and talk to you. Offer you the opportunity to come back to me, where you belong. The boy too,” he says as if Brooks is an optional accessory.
He doesn’t even know his own child’s name. My blood turns to ice, a thunderstorm of rage beating in my heart. How dare he come here.
“But then I saw that felon leaving with my son,” he spits.
“You don’t legally have a child Lucas, and you’re trespassing so you can leave now. We have a contract and you’re breaking it. Don’t make me break my end of the bargain as well,” I say.
“You know dear Hart I wish you would, then I could go after my parental rights. And who do you think would win that battle? You’re shacking up with a convicted felon, someone charged with murder. And me? Well, I’m an upstanding member of this community,” he says with a wicked grin.
“No, you’re a rapist,” I spit, venom in my words.
“It’s your word versus mine, and I can think of at least two witnesses that would testify that a rape never happened. That you wanted it. That you begged for it.”
I’m frozen to my spot, that’s exactly what I’ve always feared. That I have no witnesses on my side. That his friends would say whatever he wanted them to say, and that all of my proof, would just serve to corroborate his story. Even our contract could be used against me. They could twist it, saying that I claimed I would report a false allegation. He could potentially take my son from me.
“Get. Off. My. Property,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
Instead of leaving he reaches out to grab me by the arm, squeezing so hard he’ll leave a mark for sure. He pulls me into him, breathing on me. I turn my face away from him, but he uses his other hand to roughly grab my jaw forcing me to look back at him.
“Or my dear Hart,” he spits out my name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “I could just take you again right here. After all, you’ve always been mine. I could take back what belongs to me. What you have willingly given to some thug. You think you’re too good for me Hartley? You parade him around town, in your store, at events where he doesn’t belong. And you spread your fucking legs for him too, I can smell him on you.” He lets go of my face to reach down and roughly cup my core, a threat that he can do whatever he wants to me.
Instead of backing down and quivering to him, I plant my arms on his chest and push him back as hard as I can. He stumbles slightly, more from shock than my actual force, I try to move to the door as fast as I can, but he recovers too quickly.
Grabbing my arm again he swings me around and my face collides with his fist. Searing pain spreads across my cheekbone, and bright white light blasts behind my eyes. I taste blood on my tongue. I fall to the porch as another blast of pain hits in my stomach, a kick. Just like Lucas to kick someone once they’re already down, like the coward he is.
I brace myself waiting for another blow, I curl into a ball trying to protect what I can, but I hear footsteps walking away from me. When I open my eyes I see Lucas getting into his car, but I don’t dare move until I can no longer see his tail lights.
I manage to pull myself up from the porch. My head is cloudy and my vision blurs, but I manage to stumble inside and lock the door behind me. I slump down with my back to the door and cry.
Not from the pain, but fear. What if Brooks had been here, I couldn’t have protected him. Sometimes I wonder if staying here was a mistake; if I should have packed up and gotten out after he attacked me the first time.
After a while, I manage to pull myself up off the floor and go to the kitchen for an ice pack. I find my phone by my pack at the back door. Today could have gone differently. What if I had just managed to leave 5 minutes earlier? Would this have happened? Would he have left or gone looking for me in the woods?
If we were alone in the woods would he have done more? Too many questions without answers. Too many ‘what ifs’ play in my head.
When I open my phone there are several texts from Kasen and Sol.
KASEN: Brooks is with Martha, both are happy as can be.
BROSKI: Tell Kase to get his ass here.
BROSKI: Never mind he just walked in.
KASEN: How’s the hike?
KASEN: I called Martha and she said Brooks is doing well, so I’m going to stay and help Sol with a few other things for the trip.
I set my phone down on the coffee table and get up to go into the bathroom. Checking my face I see the bruise already starting to form. I lift up the sleeve of my shirt and see the bruise of his hand. And last the hem of my shirt. I touch two fingers to the dark purple bruise on my side and wince.
I can breathe fine, so I suspect he didn’t crack any ribs. Picking up my phone and noting the time, Kasen wouldn’t expect me back from hiking for at least another hour. Possibly more, but I’m not sure when he’ll be back. I decide to dial the sheriff’s office.
“Crystal county sheriff,” the lady on the other line says in a calming voice.
“Hello, I would like to speak to a deputy if one is available,” I say.
“Is this an emergency?”
“No ma’am I just have a few questions, I can call back another time if they’re busy,” I tell her.
“Not at all honey, hold one moment please,”
she says and clicks on the operator music, it isn’t long before the line picks up again.
“Deputy Davis, how can I help you?” a kind, older sounding man answer.
“Hello Deputy Davis, I have a few questions”
“Okay, can I get your name miss?” I bite my lip, reopening the cut and tasting blood again.
“I would rather not give my name yet if that’s okay?” I ask.
“Alright, are you in trouble miss?” he asks, his tone getting a slight edge now.
“No, not at the moment, I can speak freely if that’s what you mean.”
“Yes. Okay, very well, go on then. You don’t need to leave your name.”
“If I filed a report, but wasn’t sure I wanted to press charges yet, would you be required to press charges, regardless of what I wanted?” I asked.
“That would depend on what the report is for,” he says.
“A rape from a little over a year ago, and a more recent violent assault,” I say plainly, and I hear him suck in a breath.
“Well do you want me to be honest with you?” he asks gently.
“Yes please, give it to me straight.”
“I’m unsure what we could do about a rape that happened so long ago. Legally, you can still file a report and press charges and we can investigate or arrest the person responsible if they’re a known party. However, I won’t promise a conviction, or even it going to trial,” he says softly.
“I have a copy of the rape kit done at the hospital the night of the assault. My recorded statement also from that night. And a copy of the DNA test proving the father of my child was my rapist. Does any of that help?” I hear him suck in a shocked breath.
“Yes all of that would help very much, may I ask why you have waited to pursue a report?”
“I’m still considering a report, there are other circumstances at play here, it isn’t simple. And I’ve waited because I wasn’t sure I wanted to pursue charges, I’m still not. But I’ve watched enough Law & Order to have a general idea of what might better my chances at a later date,” I say.
“Fair enough, and the more recent assault. Was this… another sexual assault?” he asks.
“No, I was hit, grabbed, and kicked. By the same man that raped me before,” I reply emotionless.
“We can file a report and you can refuse to press charges at this time, but the evidence would remain on file in the report for if and when you do decide to press charges. But I would highly recommend pressing them, along with filing charges for the rape. This is becoming a pattern for this person, he may start to escalate his level of violence against you,” he says.
“Okay, do I need to come into the station?” I ask.
“No, we can come to you,” he says. I give him my name and address… and wait.
It doesn’t take Deputy Davis long to show up. I’m surprised he came himself, rather than sending someone else. I already dug out my file from the rape to give to them, including the rape kit results, my statement burned to a DVD, and Brooks DNA test.
I also added a copy of our contract stating I wouldn’t press charges if Lucas gave up his parental rights. I want to make it crystal clear what our situation is. I want brutal honesty of the chances of Lucas going free on both counts, as well as his chances of being able to gain custody, even partial custody of Brooks. That is something I will never risk.
Brooks is and always will be my main concern, if there is even a two percent chance of Lucas being able to get to Brooks, it isn’t worth pressing charges on either count.
I sit in the living room and talk to Deputy Davis while the other officer, Deputy McKinney, takes pictures of my bruises from different angles, and uses a tape measure to show the sizes.
When we finish everything up for both reports, Deputy Davis tries to get me to press charges one last time. When I refuse again, he asks me to get a lawyer to look over our contract and get advice on it.
When they leave, I grab my phone to text back Kasen, but I don’t want to lie and say I just got back from my hike. That would be pointless anyways, as I would have no explanation for the bruises. But I also don’t want to tell him what happened yet.
So, in the end, I do nothing. I set my phone back down and ice my face some more to try to prevent swelling. I decide to lay down on the couch and promptly fall asleep.
Chapter 29: Hawthorn Tree
Kasen
Do you ever just get this twist in your gut that something isn’t right? An urge to call someone? To just pick up the phone so you can hear their voice, and know they’re okay? That’s the feeling I’ve had since I left Hartley this morning. I didn’t even make it halfway to Martha’s before wanting to turn the car around to check on her.
I almost told her this morning that I love her, and I do. I feel that warmth inside my chest when I think of her and Brooks, and I think that feeling is clouding the judgment in my head. I’m going against my gut instinct that is telling me she needs me because I’m too goddamn worried about crowding her space. Of taking away the sense of freedom that she clings to.
I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I just know in my gut that she isn’t okay. She never texted me when she got back from her hike, and that is just one more reason I have an urge to hear her voice. It’s so unlike her to not keep in touch, she knows how much both Sol and I worry about her.
When I can’t stand it anymore I leave Sol to go pick up Brooks and go home.
Home.
The word is unknown to me, I haven’t had a home in such a long time, long before prison. When I think about ‘home’ I don’t see the house, I just see Hartley and Brooks. They’re my home. Where ever they are, that’s where I belong.
I almost said those three little words, the ones you can never take back. But I panicked at the thought of her not feeling the same about me. I didn’t want her to feel like I was pressuring her or rushing her. We’ve only been a ‘we’ for a week, but it seems like she’s always been in my heart. That even before we met she was mine, and all I had to do was find her.
Shaking my head clear of thoughts of Hartley, the good and the bad, I climb out of the car. Making my way up the walkway, I knock on Martha’s door. When she opens it a smiling Brooks is in her arms.
“Oh, here you go son, let me just grab his bag. He’s had 4 bottles since you dropped him off, hungry growing boy that he is,” she says smiling and retreats inside the house to get his things.
“Are you hungry little man? Are you trying to grow up big and strong like dad?” I ask and grab his arm to make little muscles before I realize I just referred to myself as ‘dad.’
“Dada,” he says and reaches up to my face, pulling on the day-old growth, and I feel a sting of tears pricking the back of my eyes.
“Dada, Dada.”
Martha comes out and smiles when she hears him but doesn’t say anything. She just hands me his bag, tells me she will see us soon, and closes the door.
I walk to the car and buckle in Brooks. We drive home with him saying dada on repeat almost the whole way until he finally falls asleep in his seat.
When we pull up to the house, everything seems just a little too quiet. A little too still. I sigh before scrubbing my hand over my face, its nothing. I’m getting myself worked up over nothing.
And anyways I have good news to share with Hartley, at least I hope she’ll think it's good. If I can get him to say it again in front of her, I just know she’s going to melt. Gently I unbuckle him from his seat and lift him into my arms. Slinging his bag over my shoulder I slowly walk up to the house, making sure I don’t jostle him around too much so that way he stays asleep.
Inside everything is quiet. I don’t call out to Hartley since I don’t want to wake Brooks. I scan the living room for signs of life before walking Brooks down to the nursery, placing him in his crib.
I make sure to pull the cooler out of his diaper bag but leave the bag by the changing table. Hartley likes to go through it and restock anything. It's all these little details
about her, about Brooks, that I love.
The fact that she likes to mentally check off everything in his diaper bag so she’s never not prepared. She treats his bags as carefully as she treats her hiking packs.
The fact that she meal preps for the week but still wakes up early enough to be able to do everything in the morning if she wanted to. How she does everything she can do to give her employees the time off they request, even if it means she works more over time.
How she gushes over Ava any time she comes into the store. And that Ace is practically her unofficial brother.
I bring the cooler back into the kitchen and put the thawed milk back in the fridge. Walking into the living room I see a sleeping Hartley on the couch.
I take a moment to scan around the room and see her hiking pack by the back door. Strange, she never leaves it there? I see her hiking boots kicked under the coffee table, another item out of place, and the twisting in my gut wrenches again.
Hartley is a lot of things, disorganized is not one of them. Slowly I walk over to the other side of the couch and sit on the coffee table, taking a moment to study Hartley. She shifts slightly on the couch and when she turns her face, I see the edge of a dark purple bruise. It takes more effort than I care to admit to contain the deep growl about to burst from my chest.
I reach over and gently pull down the blanket she’s covered up with, and I see a bruise wrapped around her upper bicep in the distinct shape of a hand. Fury rages through my veins and it takes everything I have in me to attempt to stamp it down.
Pulling down the blanket even more, I reach for the hem of her shirt, and as gently as I can I pull it up to reveal a black and blue bruise against her side.
When I turn back to look at her face, her eyes are open, and she is silently watching me. I feel my blood boil. Fire rushes through me, and my heart is beating in my chest so hard it might very well break through my ribs. There is not a single moment in my mind that I can recall ever being this angry.