Tin

by K. S. Thomas

Chapter Eighteen

  Riker

  It’s been almost two weeks since Kirsten was here. By the time she left, I was determined to go after Quinn. I was all packed and ready to go when I realized what I was doing and unpacked again. She has enough on her plate. It doesn’t matter how badly I want to be there for her if she doesn’t want me there. Showing up. Fighting her on this. It would only add to the turmoil. And I don’t want to be one more asshole who brings her heartache.

  So, even though being stuck here, while she’s fighting for her life again, is killing me, I’m staying put. Waiting. Counting the seconds as they pass by and hoping that I’m getting closer to seeing her again with every tick of the clock.

  To keep me from losing my shit altogether, Sid’s keeping me closer than usual, making long ass to-do lists for me at the ranch I know I’ll never finish, mostly because I keep re-doing the same shit day after day. If she has me move that damn wash rack one more fucking time, I’ll probably tell her to shove it, even though I know she’s only doing it to keep me busy and distracted. It’s not working. No matter what she has me do, Quinn is all I can think about. And it’s not letting up now that Harley is staying with me while Kirsten’s in California.

  “You have a phone call.” Sid’s standing over me while I’m lying on my back, half under the tractor.

  “Here?” I can’t think of single person who would try to reach me at the ranch. Everyone I talk to has my cell number. And that list is short. Half of it is standing next to me.

  “Yeah. It’s some lawyer. Said she got this number from Kirsten.”

  I jerk up so fast I hit my head. “Shit.”

  “You okay?” Sid’s leaning down, searching for me.

  I slide out from under the tractor still holding my forehead. “Yeah, I’m fine. Office phone?” I’m already on my feet and headed that way.

  “Yeah. The one on my desk,” she calls after me and I give a backwards wave to let her know I heard her.

  A second later I’m in the office, rushing for her desk. I grab the phone lying on a pile of shot records for one of the horses. “Hello?”

  “Is this Riker Shepherdson?” It’s a woman.

  “Yeah. Is Quinn alright?” I don’t even care that I sound desperate.

  “Alright might be a stretch,” she says dryly. “My name is Devyn Hartley. I’m representing Quinn in the wrongful death suit brought against her by Jackson Murphy’s family, but I’m sure you’re already putting that together for yourself.”

  I close my eyes to try and focus my rapid thoughts. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” She sounds surprised.

  “For taking care of her.” It seems like such a stupid empty thing to say, but I mean every word of it.

  “I’m not sure I’m doing a very good job right now. Quinn’s not making it easy.” Of course not.

  “What can I do to help? Please. You can’t give up on her.” I’m still rubbing my forehead where I hit it, but it’s no longer from the pain. Just the anxiety of not knowing what’s happening out in California.

  “Trust me, I’m not giving up on her. Ever. But I do need your help.”

  I sit down, the sensation of relief moving in just from knowing there’s finally something productive I can do. “Anything.”

  “Kirsten tells me you and Quinn were involved, and since that would make you the only other man she’s ever had a relationship with, I need you to come and be a character witness.”

  I yank a pen from the old coffee mug Sid uses as a pen and pencil holder, and search for a piece of paper to take notes. “I’ll be there. Just tell me when.”

  “Hold your horses, buddy. First we need to discuss the nature of your relationship. I can’t take you into court unless I’m sure you can actually help the case.” I can hear papers being shuffled on her end as well. She probably has a list of questions all ready to go. I only have one.

  “Why do you think my testimony will help at all?”

  “Because the last time Quinn was on trial, Jackson’s family did a bang up job of painting her as the aggressive one. Everyone, including her best friend, his sister, got up on the stand and told the jury about Quinn’s scary temper. How she had mood swings that would turn violent and that it was actually Jackson who was constantly having to defend himself against her.” She sounds pissed, like she’s spitting the words instead of speaking them.

  “That’s fucking insane.” Then I realize I just swore at her attorney. “I mean, how could anyone in their right mind believe that?”

  “Because. It was her family against his. Quinn didn’t have any other friends or boyfriends. Jackson had made sure of that early on. Then the district attorney came along and pointed out how physically strong Quinn was. How she’d been wrangling twelve hundred pound horses from the time she was five. They showed pictures of her tossing hay bales around in the barn like they were pillows. Others of her hoisting multiple fifty pound feedbags on her shoulder from the time she and Jackson’s sister had a bet on who could carry more. Quinn was a tough girl. It was almost impossible to listen to them talk about her, see those pictures and then look at her in person and still believe that she would just take a beating from anyone.”

  There’s silence on her end of the line, but I’m still trying to understand everything I’ve just heard, so I don’t say anything either and just wait for her to continue. “Self-defense was even harder to argue when there were no weapons in the house. No proof she’d had reason to believe her life was in danger, none of the abuse had ever been documented. All the jury had to go on was what the State was telling them. And our repeated insisting the State was getting it wrong. But this time, things are different. This time, we have you. And I’m hoping, that you’ll be able to paint a different, more accurate picture of who Quinn really is. I would like you to come here, and tell the jury about the Quinn you know. So they can see her the way you do. Not the way the Murphys want people to see her.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can. But I should warn you. You may have another client on your hands if any of those assholes cross my path or say a single word against her in my presence.” I know I sound like a macho douchebag, but I can’t help it. I mean it. I’ll lose it if anyone inflicts any more pain on her.

  “Trust me. At this point, we’ll all be going to prison. I don’t think any of us can take any more of this shit than we already have.” Then she hangs up without saying goodbye and I feel like she must have a lot of phone conversations with Quinn.

  A little while later I get a text from Kirsten with my flight confirmation info. I’m leaving tonight, and this time, I’m not coming back without her.

  ***

  Quinn

  I catch myself cradling my own stomach again. I’ve been doing it all morning. Ever since I saw the results. There’s a baby in there. And that thought alone fills me with more joy than I ever thought possible.

  A baby wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet anyway, but now that it’s happening, I just know it will change everything. This baby will save us. It will save Jackson. He’ll finally have to get help. I know he will. He won’t risk his temper getting the better of him with his own child. Not after what life was like for him growing up with his father.

  “Abby?” His voice booms through the house the second he walks through the door. He’s in a good mood. And it’s only going to get better when I tell him the big news.

  “Hey, handsome.” I greet him with a long, deep kiss. He’s the only boy I’ve ever kissed this way, but I can’t imagine anyone else’s lips feeling this good on mine.

  He slaps my butt, his way of letting me know the kiss is about to come to an end. “Grab the cooler and fill it up. Mac and I are going fishing.”

  I watch as he takes off down the hall to change clothes. He’s been working horses all morning and his jeans are caked in dust and dirt. “I was kind of hoping we could spend the evening together. I was going to make chicken alfredo pasta.” It’s the only thing I know how to cook, but it’s his favorit
e so it’s the only dish that matters.

  He comes out of the bedroom already wearing his shorts and t-shirt. “Go ahead and make it anyway. I’ll eat when I get back.”

  Since he’s not really taking the bait I try another approach and start slinking my arm up around his neck, running my fingers through the hair on the back of his head, while my other hand starts to undo his pants. “Are you sure you don’t think you’d have a better time with me than Mac?” I murmur into his ear before I flick his lobe with my tongue.

  “Abby. Come on, stop playing around. I really need that cooler packed. Mac’s waiting at the dock already.” He shoves me off of him and I step back, tucking the fallen strands of hair behind my ear and trying not to show that I’m embarrassed.

  “Sorry. It’s just...” I bite my lip. This isn’t how I wanted to tell him.

  “What?” His brow is cocked and he stops halfway to the kitchen. Only it’s not curiosity that’s etched on his face. It’s annoyance.

  I muster a smile. “I’m pregnant.”

  Suddenly it’s like all the light is snuffed right out of him. His eyes narrow and all the white in them seems to disappear until there’s nothing but blackness. He doesn’t say anything. Just storms past me, grabbing Harley by his collar as he goes by me and dragging him into the bedroom where he slams the door shut on him. And I know why. There’s only one reason he ever locks up Harley.

  I should run. I should scream for help. But I’ve never done either, so I’m not sure I know how. Except this time it’s different. He’s not going to hurt just me.

  “You stupid fucking cunt,” he snarls just as his fist makes impact with my abdomen and I curl over from the pain.

  “Jackson,” I breathe through the pain, “Please. Not my stomach. You’ll hurt the baby. YOUR baby.”

  He laughs. An evil laugh, the one I hate. It doesn’t matter how often I tell myself it’s not the real Jackson. It’s just the damaged, frightened boy still fighting back against the man he could never escape growing up. In the end, neither knows how to exist without the other, and I’m starting to think I won’t be able to exist as long as they both do.

  “Oh, Abby. My dumb little, Abs. You really think I want you to have my baby? Why? So the stupid brat can suck up all your time? Never mind what it would do to your body! Fuck that. We’re putting a stop to this mess right now.” He throws another punch at my gut, and this time the force of it sends me down to the floor.

  “Jackson. Don’t, please,” I beg. “I swear, nothing will change. You’ll still be the most important person in my life, you know that. And I’ll exercise. I’ll watch what I eat. I promise, you won’t find an ounce of fat on me. Just a tiny baby belly. And that’ll be gone right away.” But I know nothing I say will make a difference. It never does. And I won’t cry. Crying only makes it worse.

  “It will be gone right away,” he promises with a smile. Then his foot lifts and swings in my direction, heel first.

  I can’t even scream. I used to. Years ago when it first started happening. But I learned quickly that more noise meant more creative ways to shut me up. Gags. Disgusting things poured down my mouth until I nearly drowned on them. I’ve had to force my body into learning new ways to react. My mouth still opens from the pain. But now, nothing comes out.

  Still gasping for air, I’m not prepared for the second blow. Or the third. After that, I lose count. I can hear Harley growling and clawing at the bedroom door. In a sick sort of way, I like hearing it because it gives me something to focus on. A sound outside of Jackson’s panting, or the material of his pants being rubbed together as his legs continue to move against one another with each kick. A sound far away from the blood rushing in my own ears or the cries I’ve learned to internalize. A distant sound. Almost like a place I can go so I don’t have to be here.

  Then, heat rushes over my thigh. The liquid makes my skirt cling to my legs and I make the mistake and whimper. Not from the pain. Just the loss.

  His hand races through my hair, catching the thick curls in his fingers and yanking me up to my feet. He leans in, hovering over my face and I can feel the spray of his spit when he speaks. “What was that? Were you saying thank you for fixing your little problem?”

  My instinct is to nod, but his grip on my hair is so strong it’s impossible to move.

  So I whisper, “Thank you.” Another gush of blood runs down my leg. “Asshole.”

  For a moment, he’s so shocked he just glares at me. But I know it’s only temporary. I’m counting on it. I’m hoping for it. Desperate for another blow. A bigger one. This time aimed at me. One that will take me out so I don’t have to feel what I’m feeling right now. Because knowing that I just let the man I love kill the baby I dreamed of is a new kind of hell even I can’t bear.

  Then it happens. Still holding me by the hair, he charges forward, slamming me into the wall head first. And because he’s an extra special kind of pissed now, his own hands aren’t going to do it.

  Blood is running down the side of my face and over my eye, but I can see just enough to make out the table side lamp he just ripped from the desk right before it crashes into my skull and I collapse again.

  Dazed from the pounding in my head, I don’t even try to move. I just lie there in a pool of my own blood, waiting for the Grim Reaper to come and take what’s left of me while Jackson proceeds to whip my battered body with the lamp’s cord.

  He works himself into such a frenzy he doesn’t even notice when Harley manages to escape the bedroom and comes barreling into the room ready to attack.

  Through blurred vision, I watch as the most loyal friend I have in this world sinks his teeth into Jackson’s arm, temporarily forcing him to stop slashing away at my raw and mangled skin.

  Panic strikes me at my core. I know Jackson. He’ll kill Harley for this.

  In a swirl of growls and shouting, chaos ensues as they both take their stance. Harley shielding me with his own body, Jackson preparing to lunge straight for him because I no longer matter in this equation.

  “Harley, no!” I shout from somewhere inside of me I thought was already destroyed. But for the first time in his life, he completely disobeys me.

  Jackson advances and gets a hold of Harley just long enough to throw him across the room where he crashes into the opposite wall with a loud thud and heartbreaking wail.

  He continues to whimper, but I can’t hear anything else. No movement. Not from Harley anyway.

  Jackson has a sickening grin on his face as he turns away from me and starts toward my dog.

  Only he never gets to where he’s going. Because I’m on my feet. I’m picking up the lamp. And I’m swinging it. Hard. And straight at his head.

  I watch as he tumbles to the ground, total shock in his eyes. I swing again, smashing his face and waiting for the baffled look over my betrayal to shatter. I keep going. I can’t stop now. I just keep swinging the lamp and letting it crash into some other despicable part of the monster. Long after it stops moaning. After it stops moving. Twitching. Breathing. I still swing. And I scream. And for the first time in years, I hear my own voice when I do.

  “Quinn. Wake up, baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s here, baby.” My mother’s voice slowly gets louder over the sound of my own screaming and I follow it until I can hear it clearly, calling me to safety.

  It’s not until I open my eyes that the screaming stops. I swallow. My throat feels hoarse and I know that part wasn’t just in my dream.

  “I’m...okay. It’s okay.” I nod repeatedly. Mostly for my own sake. I’m drenched in sweat as usual and I find myself checking my own hands over and over for any traces of blood. My mind is still convinced it’s there, even if my eyes can’t find it.

  “No, you’re not. You’re not okay, Quinn. This is not okay.” My mother is shaking her head, anguish in her strained voice. “What can I do? How can I help? Please, I just want to make this better for you. Tell me what you need.”

  I rest my head on her shoulder and let her rock
me gently back and forth. “Riker. I need Riker.” But he’s not here to save me anymore.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Riker

  “She doesn’t know I’m here?”

  Kirsten shakes her head, but keeps walking up the stairs to the courthouse.

  I hurry to catch up to her again. “No one thought it might be good to warn her?”

  “No. You know Quinn. She’s not particularly good at accepting help from others. That’s not an annoying little something she reserves exclusively for you, you know?!”

  We walk in through the massive glass doors and Kirsten doesn’t even hesitate. The gigantic hall is nothing if not intimating, but she clearly knows exactly where she’s going.

  “How long ago did they start?” I glance at my watch for what’s probably the five hundredth time this morning. I have plenty of time. I’m not due to take the stand for another thirty minutes.

  “About three hours ago. Quinn had to give her testimony first thing this morning. Last I heard from Devyn’s assistant she was still being questioned by the Murphy’s lawyer.” Her tiny little nose twitches, showing her disgust. I’ve noticed it does that every time she says his name. Jackson. Murphy. It makes me wonder what physical reactions I’ve developed as a result of knowing it now too. My fists clench every time I hear it, but that’s a no brainer.

  She stops in front of a large set of double doors. “We’re here.” She eyes me up and down. “You may want to take a moment. Take a breath or something.”

  I frown. “Why?”

  Her hand reaches up to smooth the collar on my dress shirt. “Because. It’s murder in there.”

  Then she pats my chest and nods at the security guy to open the door.

  The room is quiet when we go in, not counting the booming voice of the attorney standing in the center at the front, who based on his tone alone is in the midst of verbally assaulting the person sitting in the witness stand. Quinn.

  Kirsten shoots me a look of warning and I unclench my hands, sliding into the seat beside her. Sitting right in front of us is an older couple. The woman’s profile is almost identical to Quinn’s. They’ve got to be her parents. And I ache, realizing these are the circumstances in which I’ll be meeting them.