by Lilly Wilde
“But that’s not what you promised and you know it.” Realizing this conversation is useless, I shake my head. “You know what? Forget it…I’m not going back and forth with you about this. Just know your day is coming. I may be down on my luck—happens to the best of us—but make no mistake, I’ll bounce back and I’ll be coming for you, you son of a bitch.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
The door chime sounds and my eyes track across the diner and fall on Branch McGuire. For long seconds, my eyes rest in his, anger and embarrassment filling every part of me as I recall my last encounter with him.
Ethan follows my gaze, then spins around on the bar stool and lets out a mocking chuckle. “If you think you stand a chance of someone like him doing anything more than looking at you like you’re the dirt under his shoe, you’ve lost your mind. Baby, I’m the best you’re ever gonna get.”
As Carrie greets Branch and directs him to a table, I reply to Ethan. “That’s not saying very much. Besides, who says I don’t already have better?”
Confusion washes over his features before his face falls into a scowl. “What the fuck did you say?”
“You heard me.”
His brows shoot up. “Are you actually fucking someone?”
“What’s between my legs belongs to me. If I want to let someone have it, that’s my choice.”
Ethan’s palm lands across my cheek, then he grips my upper arm, pulling me around the counter and closer to him. “Bitch, if I ever see you with another man, you’re dead. Do you hear me?”
His voice is hard and menacing, his eyes heated. His threat pushes me back to the brutalizing days with Cassidy—the paralyzing fear, stuttering heartbeats and the feeling of being trapped in something I can’t get out of. But this is not Cassidy and I’m not trapped. I refuse to kowtow to Ethan, not like I did in the past.
My hand balls into a tight fist and connects with Ethan’s jaw, and he nearly falls from the stool.
Shock and anger register in his expression. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” His fingers curl tighter around my arm.
“Get your damn hands off of me,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
“You used to love my hands on you,” he sneers, pulling me to his chest. “And you know what? I think you still do.” He tugs me behind him, damn near dragging me out of the diner.
“Dammit, Ethan, let me go.”
“You’ve proved your point. You walked away from me, from the life I was trying to give to you. But I know you still love me and this bullshit stops today. You’re coming home with me.”
I yank my arm, attempting to escape his grasp, but his grip shows no mercy, hurting me and forcing my steps behind him. When we reach Ethan’s Jeep, he opens the door and with his hand at my waist he shoves me toward the passenger seat. My fingers curve around the door frame in resistance to his brute strength.
“Get in the damn car,” he yells.
“You can’t force me to want you. Let me go, Ethan!”
He jerks my wrist and my hand abandons the frame of the car and goes for his face, my nails swiping the flesh of his cheek.
“You fucking cunt!” he lets out, with a jab to my abdomen. The air leaves my lungs in a rush and when I keel over, he shoves me into the car. “This is gonna happen, so stop fighting me,” he snarls.
I’m on my back with the weight of his body pressing onto mine and forcing my hip against the console. My legs roust with his until I gain the leeway to land a knee to his balls. He lets out a yelp, then rears back. I feel the next blow even before it happens. I brace myself, my lids squeezed tight and my forearms crossed over my face.
But the strike doesn’t come.
I open my eyes and find him pinned against his car. And Branch is holding his forearm against Ethan’s throat.
“Get the fuck off me, man,” Ethan demands.
“I should choke the living shit out of you,” Branch says. “I guess exerting your power over a defenseless woman makes you feel like a big man.”
“If you knew what the fuck you were talking about, you’d know Ragan is not defenseless. She’s a fucking whore, man.”
Branch responds with an uppercut to Ethan’s solar plexus, landing his head against the side of the car. “Is that right? Is that why you’re forcing her to do something she doesn’t want to do? I thought whores were eager for their johns.”
Branch closes the space between the two of them, his forearm resting underneath Ethan’s chin, and pinning him tighter against the car.
“This ain’t your business,” Ethan chokes out. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“Yeah, but I’m about to.”
Ethan struggles to no avail to escape Branch’s grip. “You don’t fucking scare me.”
“You don’t need to be scared, do you?”
“I said, get the fuck off of me,” Ethan barks, scrambling to shake Branch’s hold.
I clamber out of the car and although I should move as far away from Ethan as fast as I can, I don’t. His loss of control has me frozen in place. I’ve never seen him like this. And I’m afraid of what’s coming next. It’s like something inside of him has snapped. I take a few paces back.
“Hey, you bitch, come back here,” Ethan barks after me.
Ignoring his order, I take a few more steps.
“Fine. You run, but I promise I’ll see you later. You can count on that.”
Branch yanks Ethan’s collar, bringing them face to face. “If you so much as walk on the same side of the street as she does, you piece of shit, I’ll find you and make it very hard for you to breathe.”
“Man, fuck you.”
Branch throws a right cross, landing Ethan on the ground beside his Jeep. Before I can make heads or tails of what’s happening, Branch is on top of him and they roll back and forth, one trying to gain footing over the other. Branch fists Ethan’s shirt, holding him in place and then his knuckles pummel Ethan’s jaw.
Out of nowhere comes the crew of guys Branch usually comes into the diner with, and they’re ripping the two men apart. Ethan scrambles to his feet, spitting blood. He looks at the others and then he looks at me.
“If you think this is over—”
“Oh, it’s over,” Branch warns. “Get the hell out of here.”
Ethan spits again, then a malicious grin spreads over his lips. After one final glance at me, he gets in his car and spins out of the parking lot.
The guys toss out questions at Branch, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are still on me. And the pity in his expression pulls more tears than Ethan’s blow to my abdomen. What the hell is Branch doing here anyway? Was he not listening to the part where he agreed to keep his distance from me? Turning away with my arm cradling my midsection, I shove past the onlookers and rush inside the diner.
JUST AS I STEP BEHIND the counter, Jim Bob appears and pulls me into his office. After he confirms I’m okay, he announces he’s calling the police. I literally pry the phone from his hand, then plead with him to let this go. It takes some convincing but he reluctantly agrees to let me handle Ethan my way. After an apology for not being around when Ethan showed up, Jim Bob swears my ex won’t be allowed in the diner again.
As thankful as I am to hear those words and to see the outrage that twists my boss’s expression, it does little to assure me that I’ll be safe from that monster. His control and abuse were always subtle and private. His public display is a clear indication that he’s lost his fucking mind.
Jim Bob’s gaze trails over the mark on my cheek, my forearm enclosing my abdomen, then the tattered cloth of my uniform. With that same pitiable look in his eyes as Branch, he tells me to go home, get some rest, and come in tomorrow afternoon if I feel up to it. I don’t bother contradicting him. Between the embarrassment of my appearance and the incident itself, I want to bury my head in the sand.
I step into the house, my fingers trembling as I turn the deadbolt on the door…still terrified Ethan will make good on his
threat. I’m actually shocked I made it to Dad’s unscathed. For nearly the entire fifteen-mile drive, my eyes were on the rearview mirror when they should have been on the road. And now that I’m home I need, more than anything else, to see my daughter, to focus on the joy of her innocence and to forget the mistakes and naïveté of a past that continues to wreak havoc in my life.
Dad is sitting in his recliner, his eyes glued to whatever is playing out on ESPN. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, Ragan. How was work?” he asks, his gaze steadfast on the TV.
“It’s a diner, so that tells you all you need to know,” I reply. “Where’s CeeCee?”
“What do you mean?” He finally looks up, his brows scrunched as he takes in my appearance.
“CeeCee usually runs to me for a hug as soon as I step in the house. Don’t tell me you guys let her nap early again.”
“Did you forget that you told Ethan he could have her for the night? He left with her a little while ago.”
A nervous tickling traces my gut. “He did what?”
“He said he’d stopped by the diner and made sure everything was still a go.”
I go for my cell, then hit Ethan’s number. The phone rings and rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. I call again. And again. “Son of a bitch.”
Aunt Sophie appears from the hall carrying a basket of laundry, her steps faltering as her gaze trails over me. “What’s going on, Ragan?”
“Were you here when Ethan came to get Cecelia?” I ask.
“Yes, I packed a bag for her.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Ethan said you were running late for work today and didn’t have time to pack it.”
“You didn’t,” I accuse.
“Well, you are always running late, Ragan, so I didn’t see anything odd with his explanation,” she said. “What’s wrong and what happened to your face?” Her eyes roll over me a second time. “And your uniform?”
“Ethan is what’s wrong and Ethan is what happened to my face and my clothes. I can’t believe you let him take my daughter.”
Tears are spilling from my eyes and I’m damn near sobbing by the time I dial 911 and give the operator details of Ethan’s disappearance with CeeCee. Uncle Stan walks into the room with a single can of beer in one hand and the entire case tucked under his arm. Aunt Sophie fills him in as I step into the kitchen to answer the operator’s questions.
Minutes later, I’m outside. In between pacing the driveway and waiting for the police, I’m dialing Ethan’s phone over and over but only getting voicemail. I start calling anyone on my contact list who could have any type of connection to Ethan, starting with his mom—the woman who once claimed me as a daughter.
“Have you seen Ethan?” I ask as soon as she answers.
“I sure have…and my granddaughter, too. No thanks to you.”
The abrasive edge in her tone is another gash to a fresh wound. “Marjorie, I’m not sure what that means and right now I don’t care. I’ve been calling Ethan for over an hour but he’s not picking up. Can you put him on the phone?”
“I said, I saw him. Past tense. He’s not here and neither is Cecelia.”
My short-lived relief shifts back to all-out panic. “Where are they?”
“Why would I tell you? So you can go and snatch his daughter out of his arms? Not gonna happen, sweet cheeks.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this, Marjorie. I need to find my daughter. Ethan took her without my permission.”
She scoffs. “He’s Cecelia’s father. How do you figure he needs permission to see his own child?”
“He can’t just take her whenever he feels like it, especially if it’s just to get back at me.”
“Get back at you for what? For making a fool of him?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised considering how you were raised,” she says, the judgment in her tone taking me by surprise. “He told me everything. Now I know why you were so gung ho about leaving him.”
“You know why Ethan and I are not together anymore. You yourself told me you saw signs in him that reminded you of his dad, and that I should leave him, so don’t even try this shit with me.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady. And maybe I was wrong. Especially after hearing how you’d been cheating on my son.”
“Cheating on Ethan? Is that what he told you? He cheated on me!” I yell into the phone. “Multiple times.”
“We took you in and treated you like family. And this is how you repay us? By telling lies on my boy and keeping Cecelia away from us? And Lord knows what else you’re up to these days. You’ll probably end up a drugged-out prostitute like your mother. My son is better off without a whore like you and so is my granddaughter,” she says, then the line goes quiet.
I dial her back, but the phone doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voicemail. I start to redial just as the police pull to a stop at the foot of the driveway.
“Finally,” I say and run to the patrol car.
As one of the officers pulls out a pad, I tell him about Ethan taking my daughter, and although I’d decided against it earlier, I also tell them about his assaulting me at the diner. Their reply is not at all what I expected. They say unless I have papers that state otherwise, Ethan is full within his rights. They also say I need to come downtown tomorrow to file a report about what occurred at the diner.
Dad, Uncle Stan, and Aunt Sophie are beside me asking their own questions but the answers are the same—there’s nothing I can do but wait until Ethan brings CeeCee home. The officer who’d been quiet up to this point, pulls out a card and passes it to me, suggesting I contact the abuse counselor if I need to talk to someone. And that’s it. I watch as they get in the car and pull away. Disheartened by the mechanical response from the police, I turn toward the house, shocked to see the sympathy in Aunt Sophie’s eyes as she pulls me into a hug, then walks me back inside.
For hours we sit around the kitchen table, repeatedly calling anyone Ethan may know, only to get one dead end after another. I leave message after message on his phone and when exhaustion finally pulls me under, I rest my head on the table. Less than a minute later, my lids fall like dead weight to a reluctant slumber.
The following morning I awake to muscle aches and stiffness. The scuffle with Ethan coupled with an uncomfortable night’s sleep pretty much guarantee a hellish day but denying physical pain is nothing new to me, and even if it wasn’t, it would still take a back seat to locating my daughter.
My gaze crawls over the still of the kitchen as the pang of emptiness settles in. My daughter’s gone. I’m left with no mother, a piece of a father, and a temperamental aunt. As my eyes start to water, it hits me—there’s no one who’ll fight for me. And with CeeCee gone, I have no one to fight for.
The family I thought I’d found in Ethan’s has crumbled to nothing—I can only imagine the horrible lies he told Marjorie about me. Why else would she turn on me with such vicious judgment?
I don’t understand why this is happening. Why is it that every time I feel even the tiniest bit of hope, it’s snatched away from me? Why?
Three days pass.
No word from Ethan.
I take a chance and go to Marjorie’s, hoping some sort of maternal disposition will persuade her to place our differences aside for the betterment of my daughter, but when she looks out and sees me at the door, she closes the blinds. A tornado of emotions swirl in my gut at her betrayal and disregard of me, as not only a mother, but of her assertion that I was the daughter she never had. Is this how she’d treat a fucking daughter?
Streaks of fire burn my cheeks as my fists pound the door. Not until I began yelling her name and demanding she tell me where Ethan has taken my daughter, does she open up, and that’s only to tell me I have five minutes to get off her property before she calls the police.
I storm away as a bolt of lightning shoots across the sky, the sudden crackle startling me and pushing out
even more of the tears I was trying to hold in. Before I make it to my car, the rain starts to fall, the drops mingling with the water in my eyes as I realize I don’t know what else to do or where to turn.
Desperate for anything that can determine my child’s whereabouts, I drive by Ethan’s new place, his job, and his friends’, and either there is no sign of him or I get zero cooperation.
Back at home, the tears continue to fall. Each new surge, a hot trail of agony that burns just under my skin. A deep emptiness fills my heart as the emotions shatter and rip the seams I can no longer hold together.
And I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
My phone doesn’t ring and the doorbell doesn’t sound. Ethan’s taken my daughter and there’s not a damn thing I can do except pray he comes to his senses. Being that prayer didn’t work too well for me in the past, I’m not holding out hope that it will this time either.
I haven’t been to work since the day Ethan showed up with his demands and threats. Aunt Sophie called and explained everything to Jim Bob. Not that I care in the slightest about that crummy-ass job at this point.
I’ve barely eaten anything and what I have managed to swallow comes right back up. Sleep only comes when my body is too exhausted to do much more than perform involuntary functions. I go to the room I share with my daughter and straighten her things. Her toys, her coloring books, her clothes. Anything to make me feel closer to her.
And then there are the tears. I’ve cried so much, my ducts seem to have dried up. I lift the frame from the dresser and stare at the picture of the happy little girl swinging in the park. An ache moves through my chest as I study the smile on her face, and even though I don’t know where she is, I’m hoping she’s smiling. That Ethan is taking good care of her. I trace my fingers across the picture and think about the hopes and dreams I have for my child.
“I promised your life wouldn’t be like mine, but it’s already become the crazy epilogue of the story I thought I’d ended.”
When I get my daughter back—and I will get her back, I won’t accept the alternative—there will be changes. First of which is working harder to become the person I know I need to be for her.