Path of Destruction

by Cara Dee

  I need Lincoln.

  Unable to stick around another minute, I got up and made my way outside where the air was less stifling. When did I become so freaking skittish? I looked around me. What was that noise? Traffic, you idiot.

  "Phew! Sorry it took so long." Miriam finally joined me. "When I was your age, paying the bill took a second. If I paid…" She snorted.

  I side-eyed her as we crossed the street toward the arena. She was a stunning woman, an Amazon blonde who looked like the missing piece next to Leo. It wasn’t her age that slowed down the process of anything. It was her unwillingness to flash some cleavage.

  It was a man's world, and we were only good for one thing. Sooner she got that, the faster I'd get back to my own man.

  "Are you feeling better, doll?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  She was very maternal, unlike my mother. When Leo announced his wife was flying out for the weekend, he'd said he couldn’t wait for me to meet the mother of his boys. The love of his life. To me, it was weird. They had a loving, functioning relationship, and they gushed about their children.

  When we got to the exit in the back, crew was already packing up, and we flashed our backstage passes to get in.

  My gaze flicked from person to person, and it was hard to describe the war brewing inside me. A growing worry, difficulty to swallow, a pressing weight on my chest, but not like before when I thought I'd seen him. Whatever it was, it would go away as soon as I was back in Lincoln's arms.

  Despite his dick-move to make me tell him about my childhood, he was safe. He proved it every day, and I'd come to depend on his shelter.

  Where is he?

  Like magic, he appeared from a room with Morgan, and my heart skipped a happy beat.

  "Lincoln!" I ran down the hall and grinned when he did, and then I was in his arms again. Fireworks. I could breathe again. The tension faded. I was safe.

  *

  There was no after party to reject tonight. We were going straight back on the road to the next destination, and Lincoln and I called dibs on the shower as we got on the bus. He wasn’t in a great mood after he dragged another truth out of me: why I left the show, though I could fix that.

  "Let me wash you." I reached for the shampoo and let out a squeak as the bus started backing out of the parking lot. It wasn’t too cramped, but in comparison to the luxurious showers I'd gotten used to in hotels, it was tiny. "I'll turn that frown upside down in a flash."

  "You can try." He lowered his head so I could reach his hair. The thick mop felt like wet silk under my fingertips, and soon it was covered in suds. "Something's not adding up, baby."

  "So you keep saying." Not this again. I didn’t want to talk about it. "Don't make me mad," I sang. Trying to keep it light. "He's dead. I'm being ridiculous."

  "You've said that…" Straightening, he stepped under the spray and closed his eyes. "It doesn’t make sense to me, though." The water washed away the shampoo, and I gawked at his body.

  His inked biceps bulged as he ran his hands through his hair. The suds poured down his cut abs and the trail of dark hair that led to his cock. Even soft, it was impressive and made my lips tingle.

  "You haven't cared about whether or not your face ends up in the media," he pointed out. "You don’t act like you're on the run."

  I squinted up at him, confused. "I'm not. I mean, I don’t like LA anymore, but no one's chasing me."

  I was going for the body wash so I could tend to the rest of him, but he stopped me. He grasped my hands in his and kissed them.

  "My turn," he said quietly. I didn’t like the worry in his eyes. Turning my back on him, I stood still while he massaged the shampoo into my hair. "Adeline, when there's a murder, the police investigate."

  I knew that. Obviously. "There's nothing to investigate, and it wasn’t murder." According to Mom, anyway.

  I swallowed hard, hating, hating, hating the memory flashes. For a whole month, I'd managed to avoid the house when my stepdad was there. Mom was slowly drinking herself into a coma or spending her days with her girlfriends. I had school, and I clung to the few casual friends I'd had. When finals were over, my sole focus was finding the next party, the next high. The night of my graduation, he fucked me for the last time, and then I couldn’t take it anymore. Back to avoiding the house, back to dreaming I came from another family. The dreams became plans. Either I killed myself, or I ran away.

  "Can I stay another night, Nicole?" It was getting late, and I loved her pool house. Even if we only watched movies and painted each other's nails all the damn time, it was a piece of heaven.

  "Yeah, totally." She tossed me the cordless, because she had a good family. It was an automatic reaction. If you were spending the night somewhere other than home, you called your parents and asked.

  I bit my lip, punching in the number. Nicole went back to braiding my hair. A rock settled in my gut. When was the last time I spoke to Mom…? A week ago, maybe. I'd really become good at faking calls, except now Nicole was right here.

  Ugh.

  Maybe it was time to run away for good. Staying in this…limbo…only prolonged the inevitable. Where would I go? I had no skills. I doubted one summer at Dairy Queen would make employers line up to hire me.

  Mom didn’t answer the phone.

  I coughed as a sudden bout of nausea crept up my throat, and I whimpered. Please make it stop. More memories flooded my head; the humid air made it impossible to breathe, and a beat later, I heard panic in Lincoln's voice but failed to decipher the words. I never should've gone back to the house. A dozen unanswered calls should've been enough for me to take a hint. I should've run away right then! Oh God, the blood, the slap in the face, seeing Mom drive off…

  My knees caved.

  "Ade—look at me. Fuck. I'm sorry, baby. Can you hear me?"

  I found myself wrapped in a large towel and carried away from the hot, stifling air of the bathroom.

  "I'll be back in, like, twenty minutes." I left Nicole's and drove home. It was only five blocks away, though I wondered how long that would last. Mom was going through her inheritance like it would always be there.

  I tensed up as I reached my street. Slowing down, I peered over the wheel and hoped with everything I was that the sick son of a bitch my mother loved wasn’t home. His car wasn’t in the driveway, but the garage was closed, so I couldn’t know for sure if he was here or not.

  At least Mom was home. Her white Range Rover-sized shopping cart was parked in the middle of the flat-stone path in front of the villa.

  "Is she okay?" someone asked. I didn’t know who. I trudged through memories, trapped by them. I knew what was coming, yet the horror and shock were always the same.

  I entered the house, a sickening sensation setting off warning bells. I didn’t know why. Or why it was so dark. A thump coming from upstairs confirmed I wasn’t alone, and I announced I was home.

  "Mom?"

  I heard her curse, and a moment later, she was rushing down the stairs. Something caught my eye, and I glanced into the living room. Wait, what—I did a double take and stalked closer. Then I was overcome by terror, disbelief, and shock. It couldn’t be, could it? Oh my God, what was happening?

  Hysteria bubbled up, and I let out a laugh. This was crazy! He just lay there on the floor. Was that blood? Had I stepped into a crime novel? The most bizarre thoughts ran through me. Seriously, nothing exciting ever happened in this neighborhood. Well, there was this one time someone ran over Mrs. Arthur's dog…

  "Ade—"

  I was jostled. Where did the blood go…? I blinked blearily and looked at my hands. My heart was racing, thumping so hard I heard it. Like a horse galloping. Someone touched my lips, which made me go rigid.

  "It's a sedative, baby. For your panic."

  Why would I need—ah, fuck, better not to ask. I felt like my brain had short-circuited.

  "Don’t touch him!" Mom's voice hissed, and I jumped back.

  I wasn’t going to touch him.
Eyes wide, I stared at her. "Is he…?"

  "It was an accident—self-defense!" She was frantic, and she didn’t linger one second. I saw she was carrying several smaller bags, and I followed her out to her car where she threw it all inside. "He tried to force himself on me. We fought."

  Something snapped in my head. This was the woman who'd turned her back on me for years. She knew what he'd done to me.

  "That must've been awful for you," I said, my voice flat and void of any emotion.

  Mom raised her hand and slapped me. The sting bolted through my head and spread fire on my cheek, and when I managed to open my eyes again, hers were blank with denial. She'd never admit she knew, would she?

  For some weird reason, only one of my eyes welled up. On the side of my face she'd slapped. She wagged a finger in my face and lowered her voice to a furious whisper.

  "I may not have been the best mother, but I've tried, Adeline." Reaching into the car, she grabbed her purse and pulled out her wallet. "I was never supposed to raise you alone. When your father left me, I was devastated. Can you think of someone other than yourself for a change and see what I've given you? A nice home, private school, your car—"

  "Nightly rapes from your husband," I cut in.

  Her eyes flashed with rage, though she didn’t reply. Instead, she emptied her wallet on the ground in front of me. "Take it all," she whispered shakily. "I don’t want to see you again. It was an accident. He wasn’t supposed to die."

  In her purse, I spotted her passport.

  *

  I woke up slowly to the sound of hushed apologies and kisses on my forehead. The warmth and the familiar scent of Lincoln made me shiver. Drowsiness had a firm grip on me, or maybe it was something else that kept me from getting upset.

  I managed to open my eyes a little bit, and my vision blurred with tears, yet there was no anxiety, no pressure on my chest, no difficulty to breathe. Just silent tears and a dull ache of sorrow.

  We were in his bunk, the curtain drawn, and it was dark aside from the small night light attached to the wall above us.

  "I wanna forget," I croaked.

  "I know." He swallowed, gaze flashing with regret. "It's just… I gotta be sure, Ade. Otherwise, I can't help you."

  "Be sure of what?" I asked warily.

  He brushed away my tears. "Exactly what happened back then."

  "I already told you."

  He sighed heavily and drew me closer. "And like I said, the authorities would look into things. When they find a dead person, they go after everyone who knew the deceased."

  I didn’t know what to say about that. "He was an abusive asshole. Why bother?"

  "The cops don’t know that," he pointed out quietly. "I'm not saying you'd be on their list of suspects, but they'd definitely wanna talk to you."

  I inched away so I could look at him, and I frowned in confusion. People died all the time. And in a town like LA…? I'd gotten lost in the masses. I became a needle in a haystack, a needle of no importance.

  "Christ." Lincoln blew out a breath and stared up at the ceiling. "Sometimes I forget how fucking young you are."

  Ouch.

  I lowered my gaze, knowing I'd somehow messed up again. Not knowing how. I already knew I was stupid, but him saying that packed a punch. I was clearly missing something obvious.

  "What're you saying, Lincoln?" My bottom lip trembled, so I bit down on it.

  "I'm saying you're lucky the tabloids haven't identified you," he murmured. "When we get to LA for that TV appearance, we gotta go to the police so you can give your statement—"

  "What?" I pushed myself up, fast enough that my head spun.

  "I'm not budging on this," he whispered, his look unwavering. "There's an unsolved case and a dead body, and the police are undoubtedly looking for you and your mother." He paused. "I'll go with you. We'll fix this together, and then maybe you can move on."

  I waited for my body to scream in protest.

  "I'm too much of a pussy to force you to go to rehab." A hint of bitterness seeped into his tone. "The least you can do is meet me halfway on this."

  That was another slap in the face. More evidence that I was ruining Lincoln's life. Oh God, what kind of horrible person was I? He'd done so much for me, and I…I'd done nothing. I took and took.

  * * *

  2008

  Was he a Large? No, Jesse and Madigan wore Large, and Lincoln had bulk and height on both of them. I jotted down Extra Large and made a note to ask the boys for measurements for jeans. Lincoln was going to need a whole new wardrobe, and I didn’t want him or his dad to worry about that.

  The phone rang, so I closed my notebook for now. "Anderson-Houston Treatment and Special Care, this is Adeline speaking, how may I help?"

  It was another parent making an appointment for her child's therapy, and I checked the calendar.

  "Dr. Houston has one opening on Wednesday at four thirty. Does that work?" I recognized the mother who was calling and knew she worked a lot. I tried to book the single moms as late in the afternoon as I could.

  "Actually…" She cleared her throat, hesitating. "Is it possible to change to Dr. Anderson?"

  Oh, no. My back stiffened, and I held back the obvious question where I wondered if something was wrong with Dr. Houston. Goddammit, this couldn’t go on, and my keeping silent made me a coward. How could I stand up to a freaking doctor, though? And not lose my job?

  Thanks to this job and Madigan's help, I could now afford insurance, which lowered the costs of Abel's medication significantly. Madigan still pitched in a lot; he paid for Abel's hockey and most of the rent, but it was getting better. Once I'd paid off the last of my debt, I wouldn’t have to rely on him very much. For money, anyway. His friendship and support were another matter.

  "I'm afraid you'd have to go through Dr. Houston to do that," I answered. "Unless…" Fuck, I couldn’t chicken out here. "This is going to sound weird, but do you have time come in alone sometime? I'd like to talk to you."

  I'd exchanged enough looks with mothers to know Dr. Houston was a creep to several others, and the bastard had a type. Poor, low self-worth, single.

  "Sure…?" she replied cautiously. "I can stop by tomorrow before I pick up Daisy from school."

  Perfect. A combination of dread, trepidation, and determination filled me. I needed to plan something. I couldn’t lose my job. My kids came first, but I'd sat by and done nothing for too long.

  *

  "Is Jesse home yet? I'm hungry. We haven't had pizza in forever." Abel jumped out of the truck as soon as I parked, and I chuckled at his rambling. The boy was hyper. Thank goodness he had practice tonight. "Can I call Mad and ask if he can bring home pizza?"

  "It'll sit like a chunk of lead in your belly at practice," I told him, gathering my stuff and his backpack. "You could do pizza tomorrow when I work."

  "I don’t like it when you work at the hotel." He scrunched his nose and walked inside, which meant Jesse was home. And had forgotten to lock the door. I shook my head and followed, pausing when I saw Martha coming out of her house next door.

  "Hi, Martha," I greeted with a smile.

  She huffed a breath as she walked down the porch steps, supporting herself with the cane her grandkids had decorated with hundreds of stickers. "Hello, honey." Pushing up her glasses, she walked closer to the fence that separated our front yards. "The apartment's almost ready for your friend."

  "Oh, I could've helped." I knew she had a bad hip.

  She waved that off. "I had to hide my weed, anyway."

  I snorted a laugh. She was a feisty lady, to say the least, and she'd done this before, yet I couldn’t help but worry. Her idea of curing a cold was chicken soup and strong whiskey. She smoked like a chimney, cursed like a sailor, and shoplifted because she "got bored in her old age."

  She must've seen my concern, 'cause she smirked knowingly and eyed me over the rim of her pearly frames. "I know what I'm doing, hon. When they look into my background, they'll see a model
citizen." She was probably right. "I'll stand here like a damn Aunt Jemima with a plate of cookies when they visit."

  She was as politically incorrect as Lincoln. Perfect fit.

  I shook my head, amused. "I have a feeling Lincoln's gonna like you."

  "What's not to like?" She lit up a cigarette and coughed as she waved away some smoke. "When's his hearing?"

  "In three weeks." I was nervous about it. "Do you happen to know when they'll give him the verdict? Like, if he's granted parole or not?"

  "I think it's case by case," she answered. "When my youngest was up for parole, they let him know right after the hearing. Then Shawn… His record is longer. The Board reviewed his case for three weeks after his hearing before he got word."

  In other words, I had to practice patience. Dammit.

  Chapter 19

  Lincoln Hayes

  2008

  "You're quiet a lot lately," Kid mentioned.

  "Yeah." I counted the cracks in the ceiling above my bed, both hands behind my head, and it was all I could do unless I wanted to obsess over the night everything went to shit.

  It was funny how quickly life could change. How drastically.

  In less than a week, I'd sit down in front of three members of the Parole Board, and they would ask me if I regretted my crime. I still didn’t know the answer.

  For a moment that summer, I'd believed I could take a shortcut and end up the hero that saved Ade. There was a plan, for chrissakes. I didn’t wanna be a pussy. I wanted to help her, and I thought…if I could just get her to go to the police and tell them everything, it would give her the closure she needed to put everything behind her. In my pathetic, lovesick mind, Ade would choose recovery and me over drugs then.

  We'd be in LA, anyway. We had that interview.

  Until it got rescheduled and a new venue was picked. Our manager flew out when we were in…Cleveland or Columbus, I couldn’t remember. Either way, we'd do the interview from a hotel suite in Detroit instead.

  And then there was that niggling suspicion scrambling at the back of my head, as a part of what I couldn’t process. Fact: Ade's stepdad was accidentally killed in a fight with Ade's cunt of a mom. Fact: Ade's face was plastered on the tabloids next to my own mug several times that summer. Fact: just by entering that house, the authorities would see photos and what Ade looked like. Being able to identify her in the tabloids or not, the police would know. Someone would've made the connection.