I see red, unable to stop the words from flying out of my mouth. "Don't you dare say I'm lazy when you're the one who's been lounging around in front of the TV all day!"
"I just got back from spending two weeks on the road," he growls under his breath. "I think I have the right to kick back and relax a little."
I cross my arms, my hands coming to rest atop my baby bump. "Give me a break. You didn't even pitch last night."
He sits up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Well, I'm not exactly well-rested after you made me sleep on the couch—again."
I shake my head as I walk away from him. "Tell it to the woman you had draped all over you in Jacksonville 'cause I don't wanna hear it."
He turns off the TV, flinging the remote across the room. "I was just having a drink in the hotel bar. She came on to me."
"Sure, she did," I spit back. "And I bet she just so happened to stumble back to your room with you too."
He slaps his hands against his thighs before getting up and coming toward me.
But I don't back away. I stand my ground. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't even bother to come up with a halfway decent excuse anymore." He towers over me, clenching his fists and breathing hard. I shouldn't provoke him, but I can't help myself. "If you're gonna lie to me, David, at least make it somewhat believable."
Wham! Before I know what's happening, the back of his hand collides with my face and I'm sent sprawling to the floor. For a moment, I just lie there, too stunned to move. He's hit me plenty of times before, but not like this, not since I told him I'm pregnant. I lick my lips, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Gingerly, I reach up and touch my cheek. It's already beginning to swell, and one of my front teeth feels like it's loose. It's sad, but the first thought I have is, How am I going to be able to hide that?
"Get up," he orders, looming large above me. I moan, unable to move, and that's when he really loses it. "I said, get up!" He grabs me roughly by my elbow and pulls me to my knees. Dizzy, I'm unable to stand as the room starts to spin. But he doesn't care, he continues to wage his assault. "Since you can't seem to get off your ass and find yourself a job, I'm the one left paying all the bills around here—me! So that gives me the right to do whatever I want. You got that?"
I clutch my stomach, staring up at him. "Please, David…the baby."
He runs his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. "That's what I mean—more pressure! That's all you ever do is give me more headaches, more things to worry about."
"Then why'd you marry me?" I confront him with the question that's been on my mind for so long now. "How come you couldn't just screw me and leave me like the rest of the women you keep picking up in bars?"
He leers down at me. "'Cause I thought you were a caregiver. You were supposed to take care of me. I'm your husband, yet you turn me out of our bed, flat-out refusing to perform your wifely duties, leaving me to seek comfort elsewhere. It's all your fault. You did this, Bobbie Jo. Not me!"
"And I'm just supposed to go along with your infidelity and keep my mouth shut? Is that what you're saying?" I glare at him. "I don't think so. You went too far this time, David. I don't have to put up with this anymore. I'm done!"
Scooting away from him, I lean back against the wall, panting. I swore to myself the moment I found out I was pregnant, I'd leave him if he ever laid a finger on me again. For months now, I've had to tiptoe around him, turning a blind eye to his endless philandering. But today, he's gone above and beyond the amount of heartache I'm able to endure. He may think he can walk all over me, but I'm not about to stand back and let him hurt our baby.
"And where are you gonna go, huh?" He quirks his mouth at me. "You have nothing—no job, no apartment, no car, no friends, nothing. So don't even think about it, Bobbie Jo."
I hold my fingers up to my bleeding lip. "I'm a caregiver, not a slave, David. You can't treat me however you feel like treating me. That's not what I signed up for. That's not what marriage is."
He nudges my leg with the toe of his shoe. "Oh, really? 'Cause if anyone's being taken advantage of, it's definitely me."
"What…?" I sputter, but I stop when he grazes his foot along the length of my calf.
Aware of the fear he's building inside me, he plays with me, taking his time. "Don't you remember the night we first met…and how I told you I was so close to making it to the majors?"
"Well, you still haven't made it…have you?" I throw back in his face, hating how weak and vulnerable he's making me feel, and how there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.
"Yeah, but I watched your eyes light up at the thought of the millions that are bound to come my way." He gives me a wicked grin when, without warning, he steps down hard on my ankle, making me cry out in agony. He continues to twist his foot, grinding it back and forth like he's putting out a cigarette, relishing the pain he's inflicting on me. "That's how all women look at me, like I'm their meal ticket. I don't know why I thought you'd be any different."
When he pulls me up from my knees by my hair, I realize what a terrible mistake I've made in provoking him. I just should've kept my mouth shut. "Please, David," I beg, tears beginning to fall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"Really? 'Cause I think you did."
I just about stagger to my feet when he grabs hold of my shoulders and hurls me into the wall. The back of my head collides with it, hard. I see stars when he wraps his large hands around my neck and begins choking the life out of me. I brace myself against the wall, trying to generate the force I need to break free of his grip. But I can't breathe. A strange gargle issues from my lips, and still, he doesn't stop. And by the savage look in his eyes, I have no doubt he's going to kill me. Yet right at the brink, right when I feel like I'm drowning with my head being held underwater, he releases me and I sink to the floor in a heap, gasping and coughing.
With a groan, I don't move, hoping it's over, but instead, he bends down and starts pulling me out of the living room by my legs. I kick and flail, doing anything I can to resist, but he's too strong. He clasps my ankles together and starts dragging me back with him toward the bedroom.
"David, no! Please! Not like this," I wail as the rug chafes against my stomach.
But he doesn't listen. He's in the zone now. There's no stopping him when he gets like this, his thirst for violence driving him, fueling his rage. As he hauls me around the corner, I grab on to the doorframe for dear life. He's done a lot to me in the past, but I can't let him do this…I can't.
Incensed, he flips me onto my side. "Come on!" he seethes, trying to yank me free of the door. "Let go!"
But I can't talk, my throat is too sore, so I dig my nails into the wood even harder. His eyes darken and there's a lethalness to his gaze, the same kind of detachment he shows whenever he drills a hitter on purpose. I shudder because he's looking at me like that, his pregnant wife, like it makes no difference to him, like I'm no different to him.
But still I don't expect it when, frustrated at not getting his way, he rears back and kicks me in the stomach.
Instinctively, I crumple in on myself, but it's too late. By the second kick, I feel something warm start to trickle down my legs. And by the third, I black out completely. It's the only way my brain knows how to protect itself. It shuts off, taking me under so I don't have to experience this moment, so that I don't retain any memories of it.
I escape into a state of oblivion, a safe place where I'm no longer able to grasp what's going on outside my body, where I don't have to be conscious of the fact that the father of my unborn child is beating me to a pulp. I'll mourn the loss of my poor, innocent baby when I wake up. Right now, all I want to do is dream about the life I might've known.
Chapter Thirteen
Luke
This is just to thank Roberta for the good job she's been doing… I repeat for about the twentieth time inside my head. I pace in front of the door while Mrs. Jenkins eyes me curiously from the couch. If not for the fact that Mom is dozing beside he
r, I'm sure she'd be telling me to sit down already.
But, seriously, what am I doing, going out with a woman who has no idea that I have a major crush on her? I must be a glutton for punishment. Yeah, we now share this common bond of taking care of Mom together, but I want this to be a fun night out for her. And honestly, I'm nervous because I don't know what else to talk to her about. Maybe I can open with inviting her to join my David Nichols fan club or something. Anything to make her laugh.
The steps creak and I look up as she makes her way down them, playing with the fringed ends of her scarf. Wow, she looks amazing. Tight jeans, quilted vest, shearling boots—yep, all in black, her signature color. And I feel like a total schlub in a windbreaker and sweat pants. I purposely didn't get dressed up for this because I didn't want to give her the wrong idea because this isn't a date…right?
"Just so you know," Roberta greets me, crossing her arms in front of her. "Under any other circumstances, I'd be soaking in a nice, hot bubble bath right about now before crawling under the covers."
I gulp, getting a good visual of what she's describing inside my head and blink, needing to get my mind out of the gutter. It's a chilly spring night, the type where even the most diehard socializer doesn't want to go out. But I'm not about to pass up spending some time with her so she can get to know the real me, away from the boatload of responsibilities I'm always carrying around on my shoulders.
I hold up my hands in surrender. "All right. We'll eat and come right back. But… I did promise to show you around Stockton, didn't I?"
She gives me the vaguest hint of a smile. "So where are we off to?"
Mrs. Jenkins coughs, pointing at her watch. "Don't forget, Luke. You're on the clock. You have exactly fifty-seven minutes before I have to leave for bingo night over at the church."
"Gee, thanks for reminding me," I chuckle, a tad bit irritated by the way she's rushing things along. I give Roberta a sheepish grin. "I thought we could grab something quick from the food truck on the square."
She purses her lips at me. "And here I was hoping for a meal at a nice restaurant with tables and chairs and everything."
I open the door for her. "It's a Stockton tradition. You're gonna love it."
"A greasy spoon on wheels? Great," she mutters halfheartedly, tucking her scarf more securely around her. "Probably offering junk food a single guy like you most likely subsists on—burgers, fries, shakes, the whole lot—not the kind of fare I care to indulge in."
"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, honey," Mrs. Jenkins whispers loudly from the couch.
Roberta rolls her eyes at me as she steps out. "How far of a walk is it?"
"Only a few blocks." I give her a sidelong glance as the wind whips around us. "Why? Are you cold?"
"A little," she admits. "Are you sure you really want to eat outside? Isn't there somewhere else we can go?"
"I know it's a miserable night, but trust me, the food's worth it."
"If you say so."
We turn the corner, and I'm at a loss for words. She's not feeling it, and she's not one to fake being in a good mood for my sake. I don't know much about girls. Do they all act like this? Maybe it's her time of the month or something, or maybe she's tired. I just hope this wasn't a big mistake. What if it turns out we have nothing in common? I'm a low-maintenance guy. I'm cool with eating food that's cooked inside a truck, but if she's not…
We're walking down a street lined with family-owned stores that have been in Stockton for generations, and she stops to look at a display case in a jewelry shop window. I come up beside her and jut my chin at all the diamond engagement rings. "Which one do you like?"
"None of them," she groans, walking on ahead of me.
I laugh. "Then why'd you stop to look at them? Something must've caught your eye."
She shoves her hands in the pockets of her vest. "Sorry to disappoint you, but marriage really isn't my thing."
"Like Mrs. Jenkins said, 'Don't knock it 'til you've tried it,'" I tease, hoping to melt through her reserve.
But she just exhales loudly. "I have tried it, and I didn't like it."
I come to an abrupt stop. "Hold up. You were married before?"
"Yeah, a long time ago."
I'm completely floored. I wasn't expecting her to say that. Clubhouse gossip had her linked at one time or another to Jake Woodbury and Scott Harper on the Kings, but I never heard that she was married before. True, she warned me not to believe every rumor I've ever heard about her. But this isn't some rumor. What she's telling me is coming straight from her own lips. And I have to admit, it's kind of throwing me for a loop. She can't be more than twenty-five, and she's been married and divorced already?
I go for a dose of humor to mask my anxiety. "So tell me… Who's the lucky guy?"
"A sweet guy who picked me up in a bar, and who turned out not to be so sweet after all." She gives me a pointed look. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
"Good."
I don't want to pry into her personal life, but she's the one who brought it up. It's like she's already lived this full life and experienced so much—while I haven't even gotten out of Stockton. No wonder she's bored with me as we walk in silence the rest of the way. It's like she's telling me not to get any big ideas. As far as she's concerned, this most certainly is not a date. She needed to eat. I needed to eat. End of story.
But I can't resist nudging her shoulder when I catch sight of the food truck. "There it is."
And I'm surprised when her eyes light up and a satisfied smile crosses her lips. "Oh my God, they have Mexican! You don't know how much I've been dying for Mexican food!"
She runs ahead of me to read the menu as a group of young guys, who just got their food, spot me.
"Hey, Single, my man! Blast one outta the ol' Beaver hole for me tomorrow night, would ya?"
"Single, you're my dawg, yo. Keep on keepin' on, brotha."
One of them casts a suggestive look back at Roberta. "It ain't the size of da playa, it be the size of his stick. Oww, owww!"
And they all start laughing as they walk away.
Roberta turns around and glowers at them.
And I can't resist. "Okay…when it comes to me? Believe everything you hear."
She snorts, and I start chuckling, and suddenly it feels like the tension's gone and we're finally having fun together.
I place my hand on her back, urging her to get in line, and that thrill of excitement shoots through me again when I suddenly feel warm all over. It's nice, coming up with yet another excuse to touch her. I'm not going to lie.
"They have spicy Korean BBQ, tofu tacos… I think I'm in heaven," she sighs.
I drop my hand onto her arm when she goes to pull out her wallet. "Please, let me."
I think she's going to put up one heck of a fight, but when she sees the determined look on my face, she steps aside and allows me to pay for her. And I don't know why, but it feels like I just scored a major victory. So I follow it up by carrying our food over to a brick alcove along the square. We're out of the wind, and it's actually kind of toasty in here thanks to the dryer vents from the adjacent laundromat.
"You had all this planned out ahead of time, didn't you?" she ribs me while loosening her scarf.
"Just as long as you're comfortable."
"Very." She nods, leaning against the side of the building.
I join her, opening the bag and handing over her short rib burrito. She takes a bite and closes her eyes, moaning in appreciation.
"Have a taste for the hot stuff, I see."
"Living in Texas for the past few months has spoiled me," she admits, licking a bit of sauce from her fingers. "But this is pretty darn good too."
I watch her and experience that same nervous, jittery feeling in my stomach again.
"So how are you liking your stroll through Stockton?" I ask, digging into my chicken taco.
She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "There's plenty o
f local color, that's for sure."
"You haven't seen anything yet." I point to a nearby corner of the square. "See that statue over there…the bronze one? It's of my dad."
She pauses mid-bite. "You're kidding?"
"Nope, he was Mr. Beaver."
And she nearly chokes on her food.
I pat her on the back while she hastily reaches for her bottle of water. "It's okay. I know it sounds ridiculous. How would you like to go to school with all the kids knowing you're the son of Mr. Beaver? I guess it could've been worse. He could've named me after the mascot." I pause, holding back my smile. "Bucky Beaver."
The water spews out of her mouth, and I laugh uproariously. "Gotcha!"
She wants to be mad at me, but she can't. It's just too damn funny.
When she's finally able to speak, I bust her some more, "Just wait until I have kids. There'll be a whole bunch of little Buckys running around."
But my remark seems to kill the merriment in her eyes. She takes the empty wrapper out of my hand and begins cleaning up. "We should probably be heading back now."
Man, things were going so well, and I had to go and ruin it.
I reach for her arm. "Roberta, what is it? What did I say?"
"Nothing." She shrugs my hand away.
But I'm not about to let her blow me off so easily, not when we were finally starting to enjoy ourselves. This time, I pull on the corner of her scarf and end up drawing it down over her shoulder, spinning her around. I have her off-balance, trying to find her footing, when she falls into my arms.
Her eyes never stray from mine when her hand comes to rest on my neck at the exact spot where I got hit. I swallow hard, never believing anything in the world could feel as good as this. If given the choice, I'd go through all the pain and rehab all over again just to have her do what she's doing to me now. She glides her fingers along my jaw and across my goatee before lightly skimming them over my lips, making me shudder with pleasure. I lean in, and she lowers her hand, her eyes burning into me. Intent on capturing her lips with mine, I'm close enough to feel her warm breath on my face when suddenly she pushes me away from her, taking a step back.
Single (Stockton Beavers #1) Page 8