Just Jelly Beans and Jealousy (8 page)

She nods, and she does that thing she does
where she doesn’t look me in the face. She’d be terrible at poker
because she can’t lie worth shit.

“How long do you think he’ll avoid me?” I
ask.

Matt looks over at me, his face searching
mine, but he doesn’t answer my question either.

Reagan

I sit in my dad’s truck and drum my thumb on
the steering wheel along with the music. I dropped Dad off an hour
ago, and he sent me on an errand because he hates the idea of me
sitting outside a prison by myself. I finished his errand, and now
I’m waiting. He can’t fault me for that, can he?

I freeze when I see three tatted-up men walk
by where I’m parked. They’re blond and huge. But one of them is
holding hands with a girl, a pretty lady with dirty-blond hair. I
sit up taller and watch them. They’re friendly with one another,
and you can almost see how happy they are to be together. The one
holding hands with the girl slaps her on the bottom and runs from
her, and she streaks off after him until she can jump on his back.
She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. He puts her down
because she’s signing something to him. My heartbeat stutters. This
is the family. I’m almost certain of it. They’re Peter Reed’s
brothers.

Peter Reed is someone I have wanted to meet
for two and a half years. He saved me one night when I really
needed saving. He found me huddled in a room in the back of a frat
house after the unthinkable happened.

I’m huddled by the wall, still shaking from
what happened. He turned out the light when he left, so I sit in
the dark with my teeth chattering so hard that my jaw hurts. My
panties are still wrapped around my ankle, dangling there like the
useless piece of cloth they are. One side is broken from where he
ripped them off me, but I can’t make my arms unwrap from around
myself long enough to pull them up. Or off. My skirt is hiked up
around my waist. He didn’t bother to even pull it down when he was
done. He just whispered in my ear about how no one would ever
believe me if I told and how I better keep it to myself if I knew
what was good for me.

My phone dings beside me, its bright face a
beacon in the darkness, and I look down at it. I want to pick it
up. It’s probably one of my friends wondering where I’ve gone off
to. But I can’t unwrap my arms long enough to reach for it, either.
If I unwrap, I’ll fall apart. I can’t fall apart. I just can’t.

The door opens, and a sliver of light tumbles
into the room. A young man laughs at someone as he closes the door
in a girl’s face. He flips the light on and leans back against the
door, cursing playfully. I crawl on my hands toward the shadow in
the corner. Maybe he won’t see me. But he does. I can tell when he
freezes and curses for real.

My teeth are still chattering, and I can’t
draw in a complete breath. He drops down to squat in front of me.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asks. He reaches a hand toward me. An
animalistic sound leaves my throat. It’s one that scares even me,
and he jerks his hand back like I’m a rabid dog and he’s afraid
I’ll bite. The guy who just left, he wasn’t afraid of me at all.
After a few minutes of really nice kissing, I was ready to stop,
but he pushed me down, tore off my panties, held me still, and
raped me.

I look into this man’s sky-blue eyes, and
they’re so different from the brown ones that hurt me. I open my
mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. My phone dings again,
and I look toward it.

“Do you want me to get it for you?” he asks
softly. He reaches for it and then puts it within my reach. I take
it, jerking it from his hand as I crouch further into the corner.
He pulls back like I scare him. I look down at the screen.

Rachel: Where are you, hussy? I saw you
locking lips with the douchebag. Did you leave with him?

I need to reply. But my fingers are shaking
too much.

“Do you want me to do it?” the man asks. He
gently takes the phone from my grasp with a twisty tug, and I let
it go. It’s of no use to me. I’m shaking too badly to use it.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

I swallow hard. I screamed when it started,
before he covered my mouth with his hand, right before he banged my
head on the bathroom countertop, and now my throat hurts. “Help
me.” The words are a whisper, and he leans closer because he can’t
hear what I’m saying.

“What?” he asks softly.

“Help me,” I say. He looks at my face. He
doesn’t look down at my exposed body. He just looks at my face,
like I’m not sitting here with my skirt hiked up above my hips,
like my shirt’s not torn open. Like I wasn’t just raped. Defiled.
Used. I tug at my skirt, and he looks around the room, opens a
cabinet, and lays an unfolded towel over me. I start to adjust my
clothes beneath it. He looks down and picks up my shoes, which I
must have kicked off when I was flailing. He sets them next to my
feet. He sees my panties hanging over my ankle, and he reaches for
them, lifting my leg gently so he can pull them off my foot. “I
need those,” I say. I really, really need them.

He shakes them out and holds them up, as if I
was putting them on. “They’re torn,” he says.

“I need them,” I say again. A tear rolls down
my cheek, and his face softens. He finds the scraps of fabric where
the man who hurt me ripped them at the hip, and he ties a knot in
them. He holds them up, like I’m two and need his help getting
dressed. I put my feet in them and stand up, unsteady on my legs.
He reaches out to support me. My hands are shaking so badly that I
can’t pull them up. He helps me. He hisses in a breath when he
pulls them past the blood on my inner thighs. He lifts his gaze,
looking into my face as he pulls them over my hips, and then he
tugs my skirt down to cover them. I lower the towel, and he closes
my shirt with gentle fingers. He bends over and picks up my phone
where I dropped it.

“Can I call someone for you?” he asks.

I nod. But I can’t think of who. I can’t call
my parents. I wasn’t supposed to be at this party. I was supposed
to be in my dorm room studying.

“Call Rachel,” I say. I lean against the
counter, feeling like I can’t hold myself up anymore.

He scrolls through my contacts until he finds
her name. He calls, and I can hear the faint ring through the
phone. “Hello, Rachel?” he asks.

“Who are you and why do you have that hussy’s
phone?” I hear Rachel ask.

He looks at me. “Do you want to talk to her?”
he asks me over the phone.

I shake my head.

He closes his eyes and says, “My name is
Peter Reed, and I’m here with your friend…” He stops and looks at
me, his eyebrows scrunching together. “What’s your name?”

“Reagan,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. And he really looks
like he is. “I can’t hear you.” His tone is soft and much more
sympathetic than I deserve.

“Reagan,” I bark. I groan inwardly at the way
I said that. It was a spurt. But he heard me. That’s what
matters.

“I’m here with your friend, Reagan. She needs
you.”

“Where?” I hear Rachel say.

“J-just tell her the party. M-master
bathroom, I think.” I look around.

“Do you want me to just go find her?” he
asks, looking at me over the phone.

My gut clenches. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper.
My jaw quivers, and I hate it. But this man makes me feel safe.

He reaches out and very gently lays his hand
on the side of my head. I jerk back, and he immediately realizes
that touching me was a mistake. “I won’t leave. I promise,” he
says. He turns back to the phone. “We’re in the back bedroom, in
the bathroom. She’s hurt.” He looks at my face while he says it.
Not at my abused body. His eyes stare into mine. “She’s strong,” he
says. “But I think she needs you.” He looks down at the phone. “I
think she hung up on me.”

I nod. “Thank you,” I say.

“I’m going to stay with you,” he says to
assure me. “I’m not leaving. I promise.”

I nod and lean against the counter, crossing
my arms beneath my breasts.

“I’m going with you so I can be sure you go
to the hospital,” he says.

I shake my head. “That’s not necessary.”

He looks into my eyes. “A rape kit is
necessary.”

Oh, I’m going to the hospital. I need to be
tested for STDs. And get a morning-after pill. And do all the
things I never thought I’d have to think about, much less do. “I
know. I’ll go.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I shake my head. He’s already seen enough of
my shame.

“I can’t walk away and leave you like
this.”

There’s a quick knock on the door, and he
calls out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Rachel,” says a muffled voice. My soul
cries out for her. I nod, and he opens the door. She rushes in and
stops short. Her face contorts, but she bites it back quickly when
she sees a tear roll down my face. “What happened?” she croons. She
wraps her arms around me and pulls me in tight. I sob into her
shoulder as she holds me. I look up at him through the curtain of
her hair and see that he’s blinking furiously. He sniffles and
straightens his spine when he sees me looking at him.

“She needs to go to the hospital,” he says
quietly.

“I’ll take her.” She looks around. “How can
we get her out of here without everyone seeing her?” she asks.

He pulls his hoodie over his head and walks
over to me. He bunches it up like he wants to put it over my head,
but he asks for permission to do it with his eyes. I nod, and he
drops it over me, and his scent wraps around me. It’s like citrus
and woodsy outdoor smells combined. It wraps me up and holds me
close, still warm from his body. I tug it down around my hips.
Rachel wets a corner of the towel he gave me earlier and wipes
beneath my eyes. “You have scratches on your face,” she says. Then
she sees my neck. “Did he choke you?” she gasps. But she quickly
recovers. I cover my neck with my hand. That’s not the worst he
did.

A growl starts low in Peter’s belly, but I
can hear it. He’s angry for me. “Thank you,” I whisper to him as
she leads me to the door, her hand holding tightly to mine.

“Can I come with you?” he asks.

Rachel looks at me for confirmation, but I
shake my head.

“Can I at least check on you later?” he asks.
“How can I find you again?”

“We need to go,” Rachel says.

He follows us down the hallway and through
the noisy kitchen and the even noisier living room. He shields my
body with the width of his and opens the door for us so we can walk
in front of him. Rachel’s hand is in mine, but I feel the need to
reach for his, because he represents strength for me. “Thank you,
Peter Reed,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers back. He opens
the car door for me, and I gingerly sit down. I’m sore so I hiss.
He stiffens. “Are you sure I can’t go?”

I nod. I lay my head back and close my eyes.
And let Rachel drive me to the hospital.

A shriek jerks me from my memories. I watch
as a blond man walks out of the front of the jail, and the girl who
was with the three men launches herself at Peter Reed. I know it’s
him. I haven’t seen him since that night, but I am completely sure
that my savior just walked out of the prison.

A knock sounds on the passenger window, and I
jump. I look over at my dad, who makes a face at me through the
glass. I unlock the door, and he gets in. He looks at the scene in
front of us. “Are you happy now?” he asks.

My dad’s an attorney, and he took over Pete’s
legal needs when I found out where he was. I went looking for him a
few weeks after the attack. I asked around campus until I finally
found someone who knew one of his brothers. Pete was in jail for a
foolish mistake. So, I asked my dad to help him. He’s been working
to have him freed ever since.

My dad’s well known in this town for his work
with the youth detention program, and he does a lot of pro bono
work for people who can’t afford representation. Dad found out that
Pete had legal counsel that someone else set up for him, so he
asked to assist in the case. Pete still had to go to jail, but he
got a much lighter sentence because of Dad’s help. Pete doesn’t
deserve to be in jail. He deserves to be given a medal of
honor.

I look at Dad and smile. “Yes, I’m happy now.
Did you get to ask him about coming to the farm?” I ask it very
shyly because my dad reads me like I’m a book.

He nods.

“And?” My insides are flipping around, and my
heart is racing.

“He’s coming.”

I lay a hand on my chest and force myself to
take a deep breath.

“What do you hope to get out of seeing this
boy?” Dad asks.

“I just want to thank him, Dad.”

Dad grins and rolls his eyes. “I was thinking
you might want to have his babies.”

I snort. “Not yet.”

I’ll see Pete tomorrow. I can’t wait.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “He’s been in
jail two years. He may be a little harder than that boy you met
that night so long ago.”

Dad talks about it like it happened years
ago. But it happens again and again in my head, every single
night.

“He still saved me, Dad,” I say quietly.

Finally Finding Faith

Book 4 in The Reed Brothers Series

Daniel

Bells over the door jingle as I step into
the tattoo shop. The big red flashing sign said Reeds’, and they
appear to be open. I brush snow from my hair and blow warm breath
into my cupped hands. It’s fucking freezing outside. It’s
officially midnight, which makes it December thirty-first in New
York City. Of course, it’s cold. One day until New Year’s Day, and
I have twenty-four hours to cram in a lifetime of memories. Because
by the stroke midnight, the last second of 2013, I have to be done
with my list. I pull the piece of paper from my pocket and scan
down it really quickly.