All The Ugly Things (Love and Lies Duet Book 1)

by Stacey Lynn

  “I’m all right,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Just need my bathroom.”

  She didn’t ask to help me again, just moved behind me and pushed her hands to my armpits, lifting me to my feet.

  My knees buckled and I cried out in pain. My knees stung, my side was worse. I wrapped an arm around my waist and hugged myself as if that’d help but it did little.

  Once I was steadier, she slowly guided me toward the door to our building.

  “Thank you,” I finally said on a ragged exhale.

  “Us girls have to stick together. I’ll get you to your place and call the police.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No cops. I’ll be more careful.”

  “Man like that on the loose—”

  She didn’t know who it was. I should have told her. Chances are Manny might have seen her but if I did that, then she would definitely call the cops.

  They’d show up, take my statement, and then that statement would get conveniently lost in a pile of mess once they saw my name and who I was, what I’d done.

  And hell… if Ellen heard about this.

  “Please, Samaya. I just want to clean up.”

  “Okay, Lilly.” I knew Samaya more than just in passing. There were days this last summer when she was outside with her girls. We spent some time together and a couple times when her other sitter wasn’t available, I’d watched them for her. Cute, six-year-old twin girls who reminded me of everything I’d probably never have. They were energetic and crazy smart. I cooked them mac ‘n’ cheese and vegetables and they’d thanked me as if I served them a seven-course meal.

  She took some of my weight and helped me up the stairs, gathering my purse she spotted on the stairway. “I was headed to bed and heard a scream. Good thing I stayed up late with Yasmine who had a bad dream or I wouldn’t have heard.”

  “Yeah. Good thing.” I grunted with every step, the stabbing pain in my side increasing and throbbing.

  I should have let Hudson bring me home. He would have walked me to my door, made sure I got in safe. He seemed gentlemanly enough to do something like that.

  At my door, I took my purse from Samaya and found my key ring.

  “Thanks again, Samaya. I appreciate your help.”

  She eyed me with the look of a mom who cared about her kids. Foreign to me with my own but I’d seen it from moms inside. It was a look telling me I was stupid, but thankful I was okay.

  “‘Night, Lilly. Come get me if you need help. Figure I won’t be sleeping for a while now.”

  “Yeah.” I huffed a dry laugh that made me cough. Pain shot from my side to my head. “Me either.”

  As soon as I was behind the door, I shoved my chair in front, and then another one.

  You’re safe. You’re fine. Everything’s going to be fine, you just have to survive one night at a time.

  I went to the small bathroom area that was so small I could barely spin in a circle. My hands shook so bad it took three tries to get the water on, two to grab the towel from the hook. I went to work quickly, skipping over my cuts and scrapes while I grabbed tweezers to try to remove slivers of mulch from my cheeks and chin.

  It wasn’t until I washed my face, patched up the blood and curled into bed I realized I’d dropped the cupcakes.

  I rolled over, hugged my pillow, and cried.

  Nothing good lasted long enough, not for me, and I needed to remember that.

  A soft knock hit my door, making me jump. I gave it a few moments to see if whoever was there would go away, but the knocking continued… quiet and patient, and not at all terrifying loud like Manny had some mission to complete.

  I flung my pillow to the floor and curled up, careful of my side. The blood on my face had dried and my lip still pulsed.

  I reached the door, shuffling slowly on sock-covered feet and peeped out.

  It was Samaya, holding a small wicker basket in her arms.

  I cracked open the door.

  “You feeling better?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I made a kit for you. Things to help get you fixed up. I can help if you like.”

  My heart squeezed painfully tight in my chest and more tears surfaced. As a mom, she probably had cabinets filled with band-aids and first aid cream and ice packs, but the gesture meant everything.

  “Thank you, but I can manage,” I finally said and took the basket from her arms.

  “There are teas in there, too. Oils and tinctures that might help you sleep.”

  I nodded, peered down at the basket and back at her. She looked pensive, sucking a corner of her bottom lip into her mouth.

  “You should call the police.”

  “I don’t need attention from them.”

  “Men like him… he won’t stop. He’ll just get angrier.”

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered and stepped back to close the door. “Thanks for the stuff. I’ll return the basket soon.”

  “That’s not—”

  I shut the door on her and the muffled word necessary filtered through.

  Whatever.

  Samaya’s life probably hadn’t been easy. No one who lived in this neighborhood had an easy life, but I didn’t need her lecture about men and their behaviors or anger issues.

  I’d lived it.

  Eight Years Earlier

  “Get up.”

  From my perch at the kitchen island, hunched over and trying to be invisible, I flinched as my dad shoved my brother in the stomach with his Ferragamo shoe.

  “Damn it, Josh.”

  It wasn’t a kick, necessarily, but getting closer.

  Josh, for his part, was passed out on the kitchen floor, so he wasn’t exactly helping the situation. He got out of rehab two weeks ago. It wasn’t his first trip, but it’d been the longest he’d stayed clean.

  Two whole stinking weeks.

  Pretty sure he was going back in before nightfall. He’d have to dry out before he reported for football in a few weeks.

  I prayed this last time took and went back to my cereal.

  My brother was the smartest idiot I’d ever met, throwing away a career with talent he was born with and sacrificing it all for booze and girls and probably drugs I wanted no knowledge of.

  Gone were my fresh-faced days of being a naïve pre-teen and clueless about the cloud of addiction that hovered over him. Reality smacked me in the face two years ago when he crashed his truck into our garage.

  It was always better to remain unnoticed when Dad got like this but watching him try to shove his son across the tiled floor made me lose my appetite. Our dad was a dick, and Josh and I always promised we’d stick together. Even if he was an idiot, he was there for me.

  “I’ll get him up, Dad, if you need to get to work.”

  “Mind your own business, Lilliana. This is between Josh and me.”

  I snorted and milk spilled out of my bowl and onto the counter. I considered it more of a family problem given how much effort we all went through to keep Josh clean. Me mostly. When he was home, he was still the overprotective brother he always used to be, pretty damn charming on his good, clean days. But now I was the caretaker. The number of times I shooed Dad out for work so he didn’t see Josh in a similar position to this were innumerable.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “What?”

  Sometimes distractions worked and he’d forget about his son with more problems than the tools needed to deal with them, but only if they were the right ones.

  I took my chance anyway.

  “I got an acceptance letter in the mail yesterday. From Purdue.”

  Not only was it my dad’s alma mater, but I’d also received an academic scholarship. Not a full ride, but pretty damn important.

  He ignored me. Apparently, his daughter’s achievement wasn’t the right distraction. I wasn’t surprised, but it still stung like always.

  “Josh,” my dad said.

  I read that tone as quickly as I’d read my acceptance letter. He was getting pissed. And
Dad pissed usually meant Mom spent a few days in her room, or when he was really pissed, a couple days at a spa in Scottsdale, Arizona. My dad, the judge, tough on crime and all-around chauvinistic asshole. I hadn’t seen her yet this morning but that wasn’t usual. Mom usually slept until ten and started drinking by noon, although really, I couldn’t blame her. One misstep and it wasn’t Dad’s Ferragamo shoe in Josh’s stomach it was usually his fists to hers.

  I jumped from my spot at the island and filled a glass of water. Before my dad’s shoe could shove Josh any harder or faster, I ran to Josh and dumped it on his face.

  “Damn it, Lilliana. That has to be cleaned up now.”

  No mention of Purdue. All he cared about was the water on his floor and that Josh was now groaning, rolling over on the tiled floor and swiping iced water from his face. “What the hell’d you do that for?”

  I stomped back to the kitchen counter and dumped the rest of my cereal in the sink.

  I wasn’t surprised my accomplishments went dismissed. My dad only had room in whatever kind of heart he had for one child, and I was born second.

  11

  Lilly

  “I suppose I no longer need to ask why you scheduled an emergency appointment.”

  I had classes all day but I was skipping them. Nancy and I usually met once a month on Friday afternoons, but if I waited another twenty-four hours for our appointment, I was certain I was going to crawl out of my skin.

  I’d called first thing, hobbling around my studio. Too terrified to go out in case Manny was there. Too terrified to sleep or stay inside in case he came home.

  I was going on no sleep, a crashing adrenaline rush, and a whole hell of a lot of fear when my quaking hands finally managed to dial her number. Fortunately, possibly because I’d never called for an additional appointment, Nancy got me right in.

  “I’m not here about this.” I swiped at the mess of my face. Dried red blood still oozed from the scrapes at my temple. With makeup, a hell of a lot of it, most of my scrapes were covered. The bruises were dark, already turning. Even the most expensive makeup, which I couldn’t afford, couldn’t hide the fact I had gotten my ass kicked.

  “Really, because that gash on your face is a pretty damn good reason.”

  I liked my therapist. She didn’t sugarcoat anything.

  “No. I have bigger issues than some asshole, although I do need to call Ellen after.”

  Maybe she could help find me another place to live. Not that I had options to get away too soon.

  “You’re sure?” Nancy took her seat and crossed her legs. On Fridays she always wore jeans. I assumed it was some casual code before the weekend, but today she wore something similar. Jeans with some fraying at the ankles done in a designer way, not reused and recycled, like my own. She had on a simple tank top with a fluffy collar, covering her arms with a black cardigan she was always either wearing or had draped over her chair. Her bright red flats were cute, something I would have bought for myself if I had the money.

  Sighing, I collapsed into the chair across from her and tucked my feet beneath me, knees to the side.

  I ignored the sting in my knees as I bent them. “I was attacked last night outside my building and it freaked me out. I couldn’t sleep. So I’ll call Ellen and see if there’s anything we can do.”

  Nancy, typically with pen poised for notes, gaped at me. “Did you call the police?”

  I gave her a flat look. “Um. No.”

  “Lilly—”

  “What are they going to do? It’s a shit neighborhood where shitty things happen. They’ll take a statement, look into my record, either throw the statement out there or put in a piss poor attempt at finding the guy. He didn’t hurt me, not like that, so it’s not serious enough to throw enough manpower behind. And even if I did tell them who did it, it’s my word against his. Who’s to say he gets arrested anyway?”

  “Do you know who did it?”

  “A neighbor. He’s a dick. Was probably high or something. I’ll be more careful and buy pepper spray or something. And like I said, I’ll call Ellen.” I pushed my sweaty palms down my thighs and Nancy noticed.

  Her lips pinched together. Nancy was pretty damn cool. She was only ten or so years older than me. With a different life, we might have been friends. I liked her style, her humor. I liked she didn’t coddle me or fill me with medical jargon bullshit I wouldn’t understand.

  She was a straight-shooter with a kind smile, a husband and one son, not that she kept photos of them in her office. I tried to go to a church service once, but had felt out of place among the smiling, happy faces and perfectly dressed families. I had actually spied Nancy from a distance, grinning up at her husband, her son holding her hand. After seeing her, I scurried out. The church wasn’t big and at the time, I told myself I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position.

  Truthfully, I’d never been a big church person in general. We went faithfully. My father made us. When you went to church with your mom using makeup like paint to hide a bruise, and you were within spitting distance of the man who did it, sermons of God’s father-like love tended to go right over your head.

  There had been a church who came to the prison though. They came every month and did services for prisoners who had earned good behavior and wanted to get out of their cells. They weren’t horrible. Not judgmental like some others anyway. They hadn’t been bad, so when I got out, it’d made me curious.

  I hadn’t been back since.

  “Okay.” She tapped her pen to paper, relaxed into her chair. “So what’s the emergency?”

  “There’s this guy.”

  “Oh?” Scribble scribble.

  “Not like that.” I laughed and shook my head. “No. It’s this dad and son. They’ve come into the diner and keep bugging me.”

  Her blonde brows rose. “Bugging you how?”

  I scowled at her. “Geez, Nancy. Isn’t your job to listen?”

  She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand holding the pen in my direction. “My bad. Go on.”

  “This dad comes in. Older. Nice looking, you know? Not really the type of people I see much of in Judith’s and he’s nice. Quiet. Orders pie. Asks me about my classes.”

  Nancy taps her pen to paper. Sometimes I wonder what she writes. What is there to write about with what I’m saying? Insecure ex-con gets nervous around nice guys?

  “Anyway, so he comes in and talks. A couple weeks ago, offered me a job.”

  “Did he?” One brow rose in suspicion.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I told him no thanks and trashed his card without looking at it. His car, or SUV, or whatever wasn’t running right so I took a look at it and he gave me three hundred dollars, though.”

  “Quite the tip,” she muttered, and her pen went scratch, scratch, scratch.

  My fingers followed a similar movement on my jeans, dying to snatch that notebook out of her hands.

  “Then his son came in. He came by to talk, same as his dad. I don’t know how to explain it.” Or how to explain Hudson. He was too much a part of the reason why I couldn’t sleep last night. I was too wound up from everything that happened after him and too afraid to go see if any desserts survived their crash. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.

  When the sun came up, that I was still thinking of Hudson made me more scared than Manny.

  I made a face that pulled at the gash on my cheek and cringed. Fixing my ponytail I’d thrown up haphazardly, I shrugged. “Anyway, he just said his dad wanted to help or whatever and gave me their card again. And then he hunted me down on campus.”

  “He followed you?”

  “Maybe? I don’t know. Again, they seem nice almost. But I don’t know if I can trust that.” I picked at a patch of fraying denim on my thigh. When Nancy didn’t ask any more questions, and wasn’t writing anything, I met her gaze. “Do you know who David Valentine is?”

  “Valor Holdings, CEO? Sure, everyone in Des Moi
nes has heard of him…” Her voice trailed off and those brows rose again. “Is that who comes into your diner?”

  She sounded surprised as hell. She could join the club. I hadn’t even yet mentioned running into Hudson last night. Was I totally sure he hadn’t been waiting for me for another surprise visit? No. But he’d seemed irritated with himself over that wine he ordered when I refused it.

  “Yeah, it was him, and his son Hudson. They told me they’d help me get a job there, at the Holdings place, or whatever, an interview at least if I wanted it.”

  “Hmm.” Her pen went tap tap tap on the notepad and her foot swung in a matched rhythm, dangling the red shoe from her toes.

  “So?” My impatience had hit its peak.

  “So what?”

  “What do I do?”

  “I’m not your parents or your boss or your priest, Lilly. My job isn’t to tell you what to do, it’s to help you work through your problems so you can make a decision.”

  That impatience gave way to frustration. Didn’t she get it? “Well, my parents suck and I’m not Catholic, so who in the hell is supposed to help me?” I grunted. Obviously her job wasn’t to be my personal life coach. I already knew that.

  I wanted someone to tell me what to do. What steps to take. Having it all at my hands with no experience always felt like I was grasping at thin air.

  I essentially went from being a teenage minor with no responsibility to an inmate and then limited freedoms, living on my own when I’d never had to do so much before as balance a checkbook or clean a bathroom.

  I was thrust into adulthood with a ‘good luck,’ a pat on the back, a prison record, and Ellen. Now Nancy.

  And maybe the Valentines?

  “Do you want to work in an office? Isn’t that what you’ve been going to school for?”

  I’d once wanted to be a lawyer and follow in my dad’s footsteps. I now knew I’d been seeking his approval. Didn’t take a genius to figure that out. Didn’t take a genius to figure out I’d never get it, either, but that revelation came too little too late.