One to Love (One to Hold #4) (29 page)

Hugging my little boy closer to my chest, I felt the tears rising in my throat. “I didn’t want him to see me cry. He’s too little to understand.”

She nodded, taking another sip. “Want to tell me about it?”

I exhaled a laugh. “The perfect mommy of my little boy? Not really.”

“I’m not so perfect.” She rested her head on her hand. “I’m a person just like you.”

The fire crackled, and I stared at it a moment. “Blake was the first guy I ever loved. He was exciting, and he didn’t give a shit about anybody. He had these sparkling green eyes and spiked black hair... he was covered in tattoos, and he was dangerous and sexy... I felt so alive when I was with him.”

“I think I can understand that.” She smiled, waiting.

“He was also a first-class asshole. He was a nineteen year-old former juvenile delinquent. He was the guy in the convenience store hassling the clerk. He was the idiot who’d be in your face if you tried to criticize him.” Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the chair. “If I met him now, I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

The living room was quiet except for the hiss of the fire. Just then, Lane made a snarfle, and our eyes met. Then we both laughed. “Is my baby snoring?”

“Can’t you see him being just like Patrick?” Elaine’s voice was full of adoration.

I couldn’t stop the smile crossing my lips. “Watch out preschool girls.”

We both laughed more, and she picked up the gauntlet I’d thrown. “So Blake was a mouthy troublemaker. Slayde...?”

“Is a quiet killer.” My eyes squeezed shut. “Jesus! I don’t know what to do with this.”

She took a deep breath and a sip of wine. “When you came back pregnant, and Patrick and I split up, I was so miserable. But I thought he had to be with you. He got you pregnant, he had to make it right.”

“But Patrick never loved me. He loves you.”

“And if you had married him, how long would it have lasted?” Her tone wasn’t aggressive. It was thoughtful, building, and I was curious about her point.

“Until I stuck a fork in his head,” I said with a smile.

She smiled too. “I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes the ‘right’ thing isn’t what we’ve been taught is what’s supposed to happen. Life isn’t neat or clean enough for that. We have to be willing to try a different way sometimes, take a risk to get to happiness.”

I thought about what she was saying. “I feel like my life is one big test.”

“And what if it is?” She sat up in her chair. “I give tests all the time. They’re not judgments. They’re an opportunity to show what you’ve learned.”

Her eyes were round and full of heart, and a pain twisted in my chest. “I guess I’ve learned I’ll never stop making mistakes.”

“Does it have to be a mistake? I mean, look at us right now.”

My eyes went from her to my happy little boy sleeping in my lap, and I thought about the twisted path we’d followed to get here. “You’re really smart.”

“I’m a teacher.”

“A middle school teacher. The worst years.”

“That means you should listen to me even more.”

She grinned, but I couldn’t talk about it anymore. I hugged Lane and stared into the fire thinking about tests and twists and finding a path to happiness through a life filled with wrong choices.

* * *

L
ane was snug at my mom’s house when I set out to do my usual jog on the beach the night after we returned to Bayville. She loved keeping him, and he was seriously in danger of being spoiled completely rotten.

Whenever I took him to visit my parents, she was beside herself with wanting to hold him and show him off to all her friends. Even my dad softened when my little boy’s golden head appeared with me in the doorway. He might’ve been angry and disappointed when Patrick and I showed up that day with the news I was pregnant and had no intention of marrying the father, but he couldn’t fool me. His love for his grandson was stronger than his lifelong frustration with his daughter.

The sun was just starting to set, and I parked my car at the end of the pier. As much as I didn’t want to look toward Slayde’s apartment, I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering in that direction. Doc was still there. He was determined to stay until his friend reappeared, and somehow that made the pain in my chest a little easier to bear. It gave me the slightest bit of hope that maybe there was a solution. I couldn’t see it yet, but perhaps it would come to me.

Leaning forward, I stretched my hamstrings. Then I straightened and pulled my foot to my buttocks. The warm-up filtered through my quads, and I took off walking through the soft sand down to the firmer, wet sand by the shore.

Running in sand was tough. It was one of the hardest exercises I’d ever done, but it was nothing like being on these familiar beaches alone, trying not to remember Slayde’s arms around me, him lifting me in the surf. I ran harder, away from the memory of finger paint floating around us in a loving rainbow as our bodies slid together.

More, faster, dig deep...
I tried to outrun those feelings. If I kept going, the pain in my chest would dissolve into a burn that blocked out every emotion. The only room left would be for adrenaline to push me on, fighting the resistance low in my stomach begging me to stop.

I’d gone a mile, maybe farther when I saw the lights of a bar ahead. It was the boardwalk or it was one of the clubs on Toms River. I couldn’t tell. I kept pushing until the burn in my chest lost out to the screaming of my lungs. I had to take a break.

Slowing, I dropped to a jog, then to a walk. I was breathing hard, but the pain was temporarily gone. No emotion could withstand the punishment of a sustained sprint.

There was no reason for me to keep walking toward the bar, but my legs kept moving putting one foot in front of the other. The night was completely black. Either it was a new moon or the clouds rolling in had obscured it. Self-preservation should’ve made me go back, but I kept walking until I slowed to a stop.

Above me on the beach I could just make out the dark shape of humans. I froze in place, fear gripping my insides. What was I doing out here alone? I was far from anyone who could help me, and worse, nobody knew where I was.

I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. The shapes further up on the shore weren’t interested in me. First I heard a moan. It sounded like sex on the beach. Then I heard the scream.

“Let me GO!” A female voice.

Through the darkness, I could almost make out arms, waving like a pinwheel, but the larger shape clamped them down.

“Stop fighting me you little bitch, and you might enjoy yourself.”

The words hit me hard, like lightening, fusing me to the spot. The voice.

I knew that voice.

More struggles, female wails. Then a second voice.

“Come on, Grif. Let’s get out of here.” The skinny guy. They were both here.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of here so I can nail this bitch.”

It was the same thing all over again. Did they rehearse this sick stunt?

“Please let me go. Please.” Her whining and begging twisted an ache of anxiety in the center of my torso. I was paralyzed with fear, but I couldn’t let this happen. I had to do something.

“That’s right,” Grif snarled. “Stick that little ass up.”

My stomach roiled, and I thought I might vomit. Her next words snapped me out of it.

“Help me! Somebody, plea—”

“Shut up.” It sounded as if his hand was over her mouth the way her voice became muffled. Still it was enough.

Rage that had simmered long and low in my stomach for months boiled up and over. I remembered what Slayde told me, but I didn’t have pepper spray or mace. All I had was the power of my body, my fists. He’d taught me how to throw a punch from the depth of my core all the way through the center of my fist, and I was ready to put my skills to the test.

Running forward, my hands clenched into tight balls as I rapidly crossed the sand, tilting my wrists slightly. I was just at him when the roar pushed out of my throat. “Let her GO!” I shouted in a voice I didn’t recognize.

My first two knuckles plowed at an angle across his cheekbone and into his nose with the force of all my running and what little body weight I had to throw behind it. Pain exploded into my forearm when I made contact, but my form was good. I wasn’t injured. I’d only made contact with bone, and he staggered dropping to his knees on the sand, releasing his victim. Fast as I could, I followed my one with the two, this time aiming for his throat.

“BASTARD ABUSING ASSHOLE!” Another roar tore from my throat, but no pain followed my second strike.

He fell flat, arching his back and gagging. As before, the thin man was nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t care. I waited over Grif’s body, fists still up, elbows tight. He struggled in the sand to breathe, and the girl crawled away fast, just like I had done the night Slayde saved me.

I looked up and she was limping and running back in the direction of the bar. “Wait!” I yelled, but she didn’t stop.

I let her go. My rapid breathing moved my shoulders as I stood over the loser at my feet. I didn’t have a phone. I didn’t have any way to report this. He continued writhing and gagging, and at least I knew he wasn’t dead.

“Look at me,” I growled. He didn’t move, and my voice grew louder, another roar. I was the tiger. “Look. At. ME!”

His head turned. “That was your second warning, fucker. Do you hear me?” I kicked him in the torso, and he let out an
Oof!

“NEVER COME BACK.” I pulled my leg back and kicked him again, harder. Another
Oof!
I dropped to my knee and grabbed the hair at the top of his head in my fist, jerking his head back as hard as I could. Blood formed a black mask over the lower half of his face in the darkness, and a sick satisfaction warmed my chest.

My voice was low and sinister. “If you ever come back here again, I
will
find you. And I
will
finish you. This is your last warning.”

The sound of another person approaching snapped my head up. I released Grif’s hair, and stood to face what had to be his accomplice walking toward us.

“Who’s there?” I couldn’t believe this asshole was going to try acting tough—again! He was going to try and spin it like the girl had asked for it.

Standing over the moaning body at my feet, I almost wished I had killed him. Then I thought about what kind of person that made me. I thought of Slayde—standing right here, fighting with all the inner strength he had not to kill this guy. I could still see his fists clenching and unclenching.

Pulling my foot back, I planted another, hard kick right in Grif’s stomach, resulting in another grunt. This time, he curled forward.

“What are you doing?” Skinny was moving a bit slower.

I spun on my heel and started to run back the way I’d come. I heard his voice yell after me as my pace picked up. I was flying back toward the pier, toward Slayde’s place.

When I got closer, I slowed to a walk. The burning in my chest was back, pushing out any fear or anger I felt. My run had burned up the adrenaline surging through my limbs, and now all I felt was the pain in my right wrist and forearm.

Looking up, I walked to Slayde’s apartment. Doc would be inside, and I could only hope as a former convict, he’d know what to do with my battered hand.

“What happened to you?” Doc’s eyes were wide, and his jaw slack as he took in my appearance.

I could only imagine what I looked like—hair slick with sweat, plastered against my forehead, blood on my hands. “I was running on the beach.” My breath was still coming in quick gasps. “A man was attacking this girl, and I... I...”

“It looks like you handled it.” His expression was cautious but prepared for what I might say.

I nodded fast. “She ran, but I got him. I left him lying on the sand.”

“Get in here.” Doc led me into the studio apartment directly to the sink where he straightened out my hand. “How does it feel? Any popping sensations? Numbness?”

I shook my head. “I did it right. I just hit him in the face. As hard as I could.” Thinking about how it happened, I added. “The first hit was the hardest.”

“Make a fist.” He stood back and watched my fingers. “You’re going to be okay, but you should ice it and wrap it. If you develop any numbness, you need to go to the doctor and get X-rays.”

“You think I broke my hand?”

“I don’t think so. You clearly know how to throw a punch.”

My chest warmed, and I looked down at my throbbing wrist. “Slayde taught me.” It was hard to say, but Doc didn’t react.

I watched as he snatched the towel from the counter and went to the freezer. He took a few handfuls of ice and brought the makeshift ice pack back to me. “Hold your wrist in this. Keep it elevated tonight.”

Watching him, I thought about the beach, my feelings and what I wanted to say and do. My voice was a broken whisper. I was on the verge of tears, but I fought them. “Will I ever see him again?”

Doc left my hand in my lap and wrapped his arms over my shoulders. I felt him take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I think you will.”

We didn’t speak any more, and I knew I had to get back to my son. I could cover for my injury, play it off as some accident, but apart from all that, something inside me had changed. I needed to see Slayde again.

––––––––

T
he night the storm hit, I was lying in my cot dreaming of her. It was the same as every night. I’d finish dinner, walk the deck, then head down to my cot to read more of that damn book about the French kid, or close my eyes and dream of her beautiful body. God those dreams were the most exquisite torment. I typically fell asleep pretty fast, since the crew enjoyed working my tail off.

As an Ordinary Seaman, I was at the bottom of the deck department ladder, which meant I got the all shit jobs. Didn’t matter. I was used to it, and part of the reason I’d wanted this job was to work my mind and my body numb.

I’d spent the previous week scaling and chipping paint. Today, I’d sat on a board suspended by ropes over the starboard side painting. Never once did I fear falling into the ocean. If I drowned, it would be a welcome relief.