Authors: Dara Girard
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I left.”
Byron paused to let the reply linger in the air for the jury to remember. “Even though kids were laughing at you? You didn’t turn around and fight him?”
“No, I thought he was stupid and I wanted to get home.”
“So you left?”
“Yes.”
“Just like you left Seaborn’s house?”
“Yes.”
“How was Seaborn when you left him?”
Stephen thought for a moment. “Sad, remorseful. He wanted to know if I’d come back.”
“What did you say?”
“I said he was a thief.”
“Did you plan to come back?”
“I don’t know.”
Byron turned away. “No further questions.”
“Re-cross?” the judge asked.
The DA rested back in his seat. “Is it true that at sixteen you discovered that same relative who molested you had once touched your sister and another cousin of yours?”
“Objection.”
“Overruled,” the judge replied he nodded at Stephen. “Answer the question.”
Stephen paused then said, “Yes.”
“And isn’t it true that made you angry?” the DA pressed.
“Yes.”
“What did you do?”
Stephen sighed resigned. “I hit him.”
“Isn’t it true that you hit him so hard that you nearly killed him?”
He blinked. “No.”
The DA raised his brows. “Didn’t he suffer near fatal head injuries and need over fifty stitches in his jaw and left eye?”
Stephen swallowed feeling the threat of prison looming closer. “Yes,” he said.
The DA nodded pleased. “No further questions.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You shouldn’t have put him on the stand,” Brenna said to Byron in his office.
He ran a tired hand over his face. “I had to. This isn’t a slam-dunk case on either side. It’s best to introduce as much information as possible.”
“I’m not talking about a case. I’m talking about you letting some DA emotionally rip my brother to shreds.”
“Brenna—”
“No, you should have stopped him. Didn’t you know he was going to use that argument?” She read his face and her anger grew. “You
knew
and you set him up. You didn’t even prepare him.”
“I wanted a natural response. I wanted the jury to see how he acted under pressure and I succeeded.”
“No, you made him look ridiculous.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Brenna—”
She stepped away. “Don’t touch me. It was wrong.”
“It’s a close case. I want to establish reasonable doubt. That’s all.”
“But he’s innocent.”
“I can’t prove innocence. All I want is not guilty.”
“At all costs?”
“There’s no other choice. Please trust me.” He seized her arms, his face close to hers, his voice low with simmering emotion. “Brenna, I’m going to do whatever I have to in order to make sure that he walks out of that courtroom a free man. This isn’t about truth or lies it’s a game of persuasion.”
“I don’t like the game you’re playing.”
“I feel the same way about the one you’re playing. Do you think it’s easy for me to have to let you go home to that cold bastard you call your husband?”
She yanked herself free. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love him.”
Byron released her as though she’d grown thorns. “You don’t mean that,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You just want to hurt me.”
“No, this has nothing to do with you. I didn’t mean to love him, but I do.”
Byron shook his head unable to believe her. “You’re just grateful that he married you.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“How can you respond to my touch and say you love him?”
“I respond out of memory not out of love.”
“I don’t believe you. You want to be with me.” He gathered her close again, pleased to feel her tremble. “You still love me, but you’re afraid to admit it.” He caressed her cheek then stopped and frowned. “You’re burning up.”
“It comes and it goes.”
“How long have you had this fever?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve seen you rubbing your leg a lot. You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“With you it’s never ‘nothing’. Have you seen a doctor?”
Brenna hesitated.
“You can’t afford it?”
“I can afford it, it’s just that some of the out of pocket expenses are—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No.”
“You can’t fight me on this Brenna.” Byron grabbed his coat. “We’re going to the emergency room.”
***
Stephen blindly stared at the black TV screen trying not to remember how bare and exposed he’d felt on the stand. Trying to think of how he could have responded differently. Fiona came into the living room and sat on the couch. She pointed to the TV. “You know that’s not on.”
“I know.”
She bit into a chocolate bar. “So who was it?”
“Who was what?”
“The male relative who molested you?”
He swung his head around and stared at her, amazed. “Why? So you can picture it in your mind? So you can point him out at family bar-b-cues?”
“It was just a question.”
He would never have thought a simple question could bring back such emotions. Guilt, sadness, anger, disgust. The emotions were bad, but the memories were worse. He remembered how it started and how it stopped. He remembered how he and his Uncle use to wrestle all the time and he used to tickle him. Then he remembered the time he’d put his hand down his pants. How he’d been forced to forgive his Uncle because he was a good guy. How his family had been so ashamed and made him feel bad for saying anything. Brenna was the only one who truly believed him. How could it be so long ago and yet so clear?
“Where are you going?” Fiona demanded when he grabbed his coat.
“I’ll be home later.”
“Stephen, talk to me.”
“I don’t feel like talking.”
“Maybe the DA was right. You have to learn to talk more.”
“Or maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.” He closed the door.
Stephen didn’t remember driving to Brenna’s place. But a half hour later he was standing at her door ringing the doorbell. Hunter answered the door. “Is Brenna home?” he asked eager to speak to her.
“No, she went to run errands.”
His face fell. “Oh.”
“Come in,” Hunter said. “I could use the company.”
Stephen halted, surprised at the invitation. “Okay.” He went into the living room and saw cut up pantyhose on the table.
“I’m just experimenting with a few ideas,” Hunter explained scooping up the evidence. “Like anything to drink?”
“No.”
“Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
Stephen sat on the couch then slid to the floor and glanced at Hunter. He’d never been alone with him before. He’d always assumed the experience would be awkward and it was. Hunter didn’t seem to feel the need to say anything. He didn’t ask him how he was or how the trial was going. Stephen drummed his fingers on his knee trying to think of something to say—then realized he didn’t have to say anything. That was a relief. He soon felt himself relax. He got up and went to the kitchen. Hunter didn’t say anything. He poured himself some orange juice and grabbed a bag of chips. Hunter changed the channel.
Stephen sat feeling relaxed. This was just what he wanted. It amazed him that Hunter understood him. Too bad he couldn’t say the same. He still wondered why Hunter had married Brenna. He didn’t believe what Byron had said, but had nothing to counter that opinion. “Do you ever have memories you don’t want to remember?” Stephen finally asked him.
“Yes, some I’ve blocked out.”
“How did you do it?”
“I don’t know. Denied their existence I guess. I get flashes sometimes, but try not to pay too much attention.” He closed the window blind then sat. “Brenna told me what happened today.”
Stephen set the bag of chips aside. “Oh.”
Hunter spread out his arms the length of the couch.
Stephen waited for questions, but nothing came and soon he wanted to share. “We told Dad and the first thing he said was, ‘What did you do?’” Stephen smiled without humor. “They always used to say how pretty and sweet I was. They talked about me like I was a damn girl or something and I...” His words trailed off when Hunter shook his head.
“You don’t need to explain,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. I know how it feels to be betrayed by the people you trust.” A look of pain crossed his face. “By the men you trust. The men you look up to. I used to wonder why my father didn’t like me. Was it something I did? Was it because of my mother? I don’t know why. Perhaps I never will, but his feelings are beyond me and I accept that.” Hunter rested a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You were a little boy and it shouldn’t have happened. And since your father hasn’t the sense to tell you this I will. You’re a good man and I’m proud of you.”
Stephen shrugged Hunter’s hand from his shoulder. “Yea, thanks, but you want to know the truth? I’m not a good man. Growing up I was ashamed of Brenna and did resent her. At times I wanted her to disappear. When Percy stole from me, I was angry and I could have hurt him and at times even Fiona makes me mad and I want my marriage to just end.”
Hunter stared at him. “You’re a good man and I’m proud of you.”
Stephen drew up a leg and rested his elbow on top. “And I hate my father for leaving and my mother for letting him. I hate him for making us struggle and inviting my Uncle over night after night and I hate what he did to me and the others and I hate the family for not caring.”
“You’re still a good man and I’m proud of you.”
Stephen leaped to his feet and stared at Hunter with rage. “Stop saying that. You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re a good man.”
He clenched his fists, not wanting to hear the words. Not wanting them to matter. “I’m out of here.”
Hunter shoved him against the wall and wrapped a hand around his throat like a noose. Stephen struggled; Hunter tightened his hold. His eyes clashed into Stephen’s, his tone held a steel edge. “I’m bigger than you, stronger than you and older than you. So go ahead and get angry but listen to what I have to say. A good man can get angry. So you go ahead and hate everyone you want to hate. You let the anger burn, you let it fester, you let it simmer then you let it boil until you want to shatter the plastic smiles of everyone that crosses your path. You let it settle and you let it rot and then you let it go. I don’t care who you hate. It could be me. It could be anyone, you just need to let yourself feel the pain and anger for a while. First you have to say his name.”
“I can’t,” his voice cracked.
“It’s his shame not yours. Say his name. I don’t care how it makes you feel, you have to say it.”
Stephen shut his eyes feeling the energy of mounting rage.
Hunter shook him. “Say it!”
Hunter’s words fueled him. Stephen swallowed then said, “Uncle Jerome.”
“Good,” Hunter patted him on the back. “And it’s okay to be angry because your Uncle shouldn’t have touched you and Percy shouldn’t have stolen from you and your father should have been there for you, and your mother should have too. You have a right to be angry because sometimes your wife doesn’t understand you or your sister or anyone else you care about. Go ahead and be angry because you had a right to beat up the man who touched you, because you’re fighting for your freedom.” Hunter released him.
Stephen felt something pushed into his hands. He opened his eyes and looked down at a glass.
Hunter nodded at the object. “Go ahead.”
Stephen gripped the glass and threw it against the wall. Then he grabbed a dish and did the same. He attacked the couch pillows, the lamp and a few pictures until the rage dimmed to a cool simmer. He stared around at the damage and the anger slipped into regret. “Brenna’s going to kill me.”
“I’ll deal with her,” Hunter said. “Personally, for the longest time, I’ve wanted to do that myself.” He picked up a pillow and tossed it on the couch. “Feel better?”
“No.”
He patted him on the back. “It takes time. Trust me, you will eventually.”
It was a casually affectionate gesture and Stephen was oddly touched by it. He sat in front of the couch. He still couldn’t predict Hunter, but he felt an affinity. He liked him. “People don’t understand you either, do they?”
“No, they don’t.”
The phone rang before Stephen could reply. Hunter answered it and Stephen watched Hunter’s face change. “I’ll be right there,” he said then hung up.
“What’s going on?” Stephen asked as Hunter grabbed his keys.
He headed for the door. “Brenna’s in the hospital.”
***
Hunter paced outside the waiting room. He’d been asked to leave because he was making everyone nervous. He had to pace or he would need to break something, preferably his grandfather’s hands.
“Mr. Randolph?”
He spun around and saw a dark skinned woman wearing a white lab coat with a tag that said ‘Dr. Brice’. “How is she?” he asked with more force than he meant to.
She hastily stepped back.
Hunter sighed and softened his tone, trying to take control of his worry. “I’m sorry. I just…how is she doing?”
Dr. Brice gave him a look of sympathy. “I’m afraid your wife is very sick.”
“What does that mean?” Bryon asked, coming up to them with Stephen close behind.
She looked at the three men and chose her words with care. “It means she’s going to need a lot of help.”
“I brought her in,” Byron said. “Do whatever you need to do cost is not a problem.”
Hunter shot him a glance. “Whatever bills need to be paid will be sent to me.”
“Even if you can’t afford it?” Byron smirked.
“I can take care of my wife.”
“She wouldn’t be here if you could.”
Stephen stepped in-between them. “Brenna’s the issue right now. We can worry about the money later.” He turned to the doctor. “What do you have to do?”
Dr. Brice folded her arms and turned to Hunter. “Your wife has a fever of one hundred and two and the X-rays show the pain she was experiencing is the result of a fractured pelvis.”
He groaned. “I probably made it worse.”
Dr. Brice smiled gently. “It’s not likely that you did her any harm. The location of the fracture would not have prevented you from engaging in intercourse.” She sighed. “When your wife fell, she should have come in sooner. Hers is a special case because of the deformity she has. Adequate blood flow is crucial, and for a number of weeks it has been compromised.”