My Life as an Album (Books 1-4): A small town, southern fiction series

by LJ Evans

  “He deserves more than a broken nose,” Seth said as he took out his aggression on the vegetables.

  PJ surrounded him with her arms, leaning her cheek against his back.

  “We don’t know that it’s Michael.” She felt his rumble of protest underneath her cheek. And in her heart, she knew it was Michael too, but she didn’t want Seth rushing out to find him. “And even if it is, I don’t want you doing something that will end up with you behind bars and him…”

  She trailed off. She didn’t want to say dead, but she was worried that it could go that far.

  He put the knife down, wiped his hands, and then turned in her arms. He tugged at her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes.

  “I can’t promise to not want to kill him if he ever fucking touches you again.” He silenced her protest with a finger to her lips. “But I promise that I want this, our life together, too much to end him without thinking about it first. I don’t want to end up in jail any more than you want me there.”

  Then he kissed her as if he was losing her. As if he’d already lost her.

  The doorbell rang, pulling them from each other’s lips. They stared at each other, speaking without words again. Her fear for him. His fear for her. Their fear for their life together.

  She left him with their unspoken words leaving yet another stain on their relationship. One that wouldn’t be easily removed.

  There were two officers at the door. An older male with graying hair and an attractive middle-aged woman. PJ shook their hands and led them into the kitchen. Seth also shook their hands as they reintroduced themselves as Officers Williams and Taft. Seth went back to cooking. PJ thought that maybe it was to keep himself from drinking, but she wasn’t certain.

  She sat down at the table with them after offering them a coffee or water which they politely refused. They asked her to start at the beginning. So she did, with the first text that had come way back in March. The police officers wrote down everything and then had her forward all the text messages to them for their report. Finally, she told them about Michael showing up last night and not taking no for an answer.

  “That how you got those marks on your knuckles?” the male officer asked.

  PJ looked at Seth’s knuckles in surprise. Redness creeped into her cheeks as she realized she hadn’t even noticed his injured hand this morning. She’d been so absorbed in her own thoughts. Guilt rushed through her. Obviously, punching someone doesn’t come without consequences.

  Seth didn’t respond to the officer’s question.

  PJ held her breath.

  “Don’t blame you,” Officer Williams, the gentleman, said. “If someone was hitting on my girl and not taking no, I’d have done the same. We aren’t going to do any more paperwork on it unless he presses charges.”

  Relief filled her and PJ let out her held breath. They finished the report, and the officers left, promising to talk with Michael and get back to them. But also saying that unless they could prove without a doubt who it was, there wasn’t much they could do. Even then, a restraining order was probably all that could be done.

  They gave her a list of contacts and resources for people who were being stalked. They suggested that PJ change her phone number and make a safety plan.

  After they’d gone, PJ went back into the kitchen, took Seth’s hand, and kissed every one of the bruised knuckles. He closed his eyes, pulled her into him, and held onto her tightly.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  She’d always planned to take the Monday after graduation off, and it had been a good thing. Dealing with Claire, and the police, and Seth’s anger had been enough for one day. But on Tuesday, she had to go back to the gym. She had to go back to work not just because it was her paycheck, but because she needed something to keep her busy. To keep her mind from Michael and ugly words and ugly texts.

  When she came out of the room in her Freestorm outfit, astonishment shot across Seth’s normally emotionless face.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I think it’s kind of obvious,” she told him with a smile that tried to soften the words.

  Seth moved from the door of the studio over to her. “Not if that shithead will be there, you’re not.”

  She was nervous. Nervous that Michael would be there with a beat-up face and police officers tagging after him. But she was also stubborn enough to not let more men force her into situations that she didn’t want.

  “It’s Justice’s gym. I’m not going to walk away from it because Michael may or may not be there.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “I know that!” she stormed back, stomping her foot. “It’s my life. I’m not going to hide, trembling in fear because one stupid kid decides to get his undies in a bunch over me.”

  “Goddamn it!” He brushed past her, grabbed his keys off the table by the door, and then held the garage door open for her.

  “This isn’t the answer, either. I’m not going to have you following me around everywhere I go,” PJ thundered at him.

  “Humor me for at least one fucking day. I just found out the woman I love has been stalked for months. I have a right to be a little protective.”

  And that took the steam out of her again. Because she’d been wrong to keep it from him. She’d been wrong to keep it from any of them, and he wasn’t the only one who was going to be angry. Justice and Locke were going to lose their cool too. So she caved and let him drive her to work.

  When they got to the gym, Michael’s Jeep was nowhere to be seen, even though he had a shift that started at the same time as hers that day.

  Seth opened the gym door for her, and when she went in, Liv and Justice were in deep discussion at the counter. They let out a sigh when they saw her. Justice came around and hugged her tight.

  “What the heck’s going on, S&M?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Michael shows up with a smashed-up face, quits, and then tells us to ask you why.”

  “He’s been stalking her. Sending her fucking threatening texts,” Seth said. His voice was actually shaking as he looked at her with tight lips. “I take it they didn’t know, either?”

  Liv and Justice stared at her and Seth as if they’d just spoken in a language that no one knew.

  “Michael?” Liv said with astonishment.

  “We don’t know it's him for sure,” PJ sighed. She kept saying the words because it was the truth. They didn’t know for sure. Except that she did.

  “He showed up at the bar Sunday night unasked and wouldn’t take fucking no for an answer. I can guarantee you it’s the little shithead.” Seth stood, arms across his chest, legs spread. It was his normal stance, but today it made him look like a warrior instead of a panther. A killer. An assassin.

  “Are you okay?” Liv asked, hugging PJ.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “We should call the police,” Liv said.

  “We already did,” PJ told her.

  “What did they say?”

  “That there isn’t much they can do if there’s no proof. They’ll talk to him and let us know, but it’s pretty much not going to go anywhere.”

  “He’s glad he quit before I knew what happened. Why the hell didn’t you tell us?” Justice snapped at her.

  PJ shrugged. She knew now it was because she was embarrassed. Claire was right. But she also knew she should have said something earlier. To all of them. They had a right to know.

  “Do you want to take a couple days off?” Liv asked.

  “No, I want to work,” PJ responded.

  “Well, that’s probably good because we’re already down one coach with him gone.” Justice tried to tease, but PJ could tell he was fighting back emotions as much as Seth still was.

  She felt guilty. She felt angry. This wasn’t anything she wanted to deal with.

  “I can cover most of his shifts anyway,” PJ said.

  “Bella,” Seth warned again
.

  “What? I don’t have classes anymore. It’s not like I have some important job waiting for me. I might as well help out, seeing as it’s my fault he’s gone.”

  “It’s not—” Liv started.

  “I know, my fault. Whatever! He’s not here, I am, and I can pick up some extra shifts.”

  They all stared at her.

  “I’m going to go get set up.”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven.” Seth insisted.

  She just nodded and waved a hand before taking off into the back. She didn’t want to know what they said about her when she left. She didn’t want to hear the discussion about her failures. She already knew them.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  PJ’s hands shake even now thinking about it all. Thinking about Michael and how that was just the beginning when it should have been the end. It makes her glad that she’s in New York. It makes her glad that she’s thousands of miles away.

  But her heart screams at her. Because she isn’t completely glad. She misses Seth. She misses his hands, and his grumpy attitude, and his protectiveness. Even though it had all ended up making her feel like a caged wild animal, and upon seeing the cage door open, she’d bolted, because that’s what wild animals are good at.

  But sometimes, wild animals find their way back to the people who tried to tame them. So, maybe…maybe she’ll find her way back to Seth and her family. But not yet. She isn’t ready. She’s still trying to forgive herself for everything that happened. She’s still trying to find a way to be wild and tame at the same time.

  Letter Eight

  MISUNDERSTOOD

  “Intentions Good…

  I should have shut my mouth…

  As the words slipped off my tongue…

  Damn, misunderstood.”

  -Bon Jovi

  Dear Bella,

  It’s taken me a while to write this letter. I think you know why. I still get filled with anger and pain when I think about it all. How I found out about that shithead stalking you. Threatening you. Even now, even though I know how it all ends, I still want to fucking hit something. I want to punch his face until there’s nothing left but blood and crushed bones. But I know that won’t help you. And I know that won’t help me. I think that’s progress. Maybe you won’t see it the same way.

  It eased my twisted gut slightly when I found out that you hadn’t told Liv or Justice either. That they’d been in the dark as much as I had. I didn’t get it then why it would embarrass you. How was it your fault that some loser mistook stalking for worshipping? Hell, I was a loser worshipping you. Hell, I think I’d even threatened to stalk you. None of that was your fault. I want to believe that I’m not that kind of guy, but I have my own doubts because from the moment you’d hit me with your pixie dust, I hadn’t been able to get you out of my head. You lived there. You lived in my art. You lived in my bones.

  You thought I’d been giving you the silent treatment after Claire told me what was going on. After we’d taken her to her car, but I wasn’t trying to be childish. I was trying to stay calm. I was trying not to drive around the city until I found him and pounded him into the ground. I was trying not to end up at the bar on the corner of the street with a bottle of Jack in my hands. I was trying to focus on you. To make sure that you were okay.

  It took every ounce of me to do that. So words…words were just something I couldn’t fucking do at that moment. I’m sorry if I was a jackass about it, but that’s where I was at. I should have told you all of that. But talking has never been easy for me. You knew that, and you still said you loved me. I’m not sure why or how, and I hope that you still do even though you’ve already been gone almost three godawful months.

  When you walked away from Liv, Justice, and me that first day you went back to work, we all stared at each other. Unsure of anything but one thing: we were all determined to keep you safe. You hated that because you hated needing anyone for anything. You hated relying on others. You hated feeling like you were in someone’s debt.

  “Thanks for bringing her in,” Justice said begrudgingly. He didn’t want to thank me.

  “Make sure the shithead doesn’t get anywhere near her,” I told him. I meant it as a plea. But you know me and pleas. They always come out as demands.

  “How’s the hand?” Justice asked because he’d seen the bruises.

  I shrugged. Again, they were nothing compared to other bruises I’d had in my life. They were nothing to the knife I felt tearing at my heart at the thought of leaving you at the gym even though I knew you were with others who would look after you.

  “Thank you,” Liv said with a weak smile.

  Her thanks felt genuine. I looked away and then back.

  “For taking care of PJ. She…she doesn’t let many people take care of her.”

  And you didn’t. Don’t. It’s part of the reason you’re on the other side of the country. You don’t want to be taken care of, but I can’t stop wanting to take care of you. When will you understand that that doesn’t mean you have a price tag?

  I just turned and left.

  I went back to the studio and pounded out some more art. I stopped long enough to put dinner in the oven and then drove back to get you. I was prepared to do that for the rest of my life if you would let me.

  I didn’t think about how that would make you feel. Caged. Jailed. Like a little kid, instead of a grown-up. I just thought of it as love. But it was a selfish love, because if you really love someone, you have to set them free just like that fucking saying goes. Do you see that I’ve done that? You’re in New York. That old saying also says that, if they love you, they’ll come back. I’m still waiting to see if that part of the saying is true.

  ♫ ♫ ♫

  I’m sorry. I told you I’d have to apologize a lot once you’d entered my life. I’m trying to make it so that I don’t even do the stupid shit that makes me have to apologize, but it seems to be an uphill battle.

  The next day, the cops returned while you were getting ready for work. When I answered the door, they asked if you were there. I nodded and left them in the kitchen while I went to get you.

  “The cops are here.”

  You looked surprised. And shaken. I wanted to wrap you in my arms and not let you out ever again. I know. Selfish bastard.

  We all sat down at the table, and I pulled you onto my lap just in case. Just in case you needed me, but also because I needed to keep you close.

  “We met with Michael Cavanaugh.”

  “Yes?”

  “He denies having written any of the texts. Was upset that you thought he’d do that sort of thing.”

  You grimaced as if you felt bad for the schmuck. As if you believed what he’d told them. I snorted. “Of course, he’d deny it.”

  Officer Williams nodded his graying head. “Yes, we didn’t expect him to own up to it even if it was him.”

  “He was pretty upset, though. Said if you continued to harass him like this he’d file assault charges. Said he had pictures and witnesses from that night at the bar. He says people would be willing to testify for him.”

  “Oh my God,” you breathed out, and I rubbed your arms, trying to soothe you.

  “That’s why we think he’s actually the one,” Officer Tate said.

  “Wh-what?” you stammered, and my arms tightened around your waist.

  “Well, it’s typical retaliation. If you get me in trouble for what I did, I’ll get you in trouble for what you did. Also, it’s his way of feeling like he still has power over you,” Tate responded.

  The thought of him having any power over you, over us, made me want to bust something again. Made me crave a glass of something cold that wasn’t iced tea. Made me want to strangle him until there was nothing left.

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing else we can really do without more proof. I’d just say: be smart, be aware, and let us know if anything else occurs.”

  “Okay,” you said quietly.<
br />
  “Mr. Carmen,” Officer Williams said, and I wanted to punch him as well as the stupid shithead because I hated being called by my father’s name. “You’re not concerned that this has anything to do with you?”

  “Excuse me?” you asked, surprised.

  Honestly, I was surprised too. I didn’t get where he was going. I just stared at him because I didn’t know what he expected me to say.

  “You do know that your father was recently released from prison, right?”

  That hit me to my core. The thought that my father was out of prison. That his fucking fifteen-year sentence for manslaughter, assault, and drug trafficking had been reduced to six years served. It was like the whole world was conspiring to head me toward the liquor store. How was six years enough time for letting your wife die of a drug overdose because you didn’t want the EMTs in your apartment with your drugs? The same drugs that had ended her life.

  I’ve always said that life isn’t fair. It isn’t. It’s shit. That’s why I had to hold on to the few good things it threw at me. Like you.

  I don’t know how long everyone waited for my response. I felt like I’d gone to New York and back by the time I was able to school my emotions into a reply.

  “No, I didn’t know that,” I finally answered, and you must have sensed that I was not myself because you dove in to change the subject while my head still reeled with images of my crazy father with wild eyes as he chased me down a junk-filled corridor.

  “But these texts started before I’d even met Seth,” you told them.

  “You two have only been together a couple months?” Taft asked with surprise.

  You showed your embarrassment in your face like you always do. I wasn’t sure if Taft had meant it as a good thing or a bad thing. Did we seem so in love that no one would doubt that we were a couple or was she just surprised that we’d rushed into living together? I didn’t give a rat’s ass what she thought, but I knew you did. I couldn’t get you to stop caring about what others thought. Why? It’s your life. Rather, it’s our life.

  “Well then, we can just leave it there for now.”

  Both the officers rose, and you walked them to the door. I heard you thanking them for their time. I was still stuck in a chair in the kitchen trying to get a grip on the whole screwed up world. When you came back, I was still trying to process all the information. I was still trying to shake off the urge to drink.