With a Hitch

by RC Boldt

  But it’s the only way.

  I release his wrist. “Look, I know it’s terrible timing, but I’ve been thinking…”

  His expression turns wary. “Okay.”

  “It’s been wonderful to spend time with you these past few—”

  His eyes dim, features drawing tight. “Is there a reason I hear a ‘but’ in there?” His voice is lethally quiet.

  “I just don’t think this is working out for me.” As soon as the words pass my lips, the sensation of my heart cracking into thousands of pieces is so visceral, I fight to refrain from pressing a hand to my chest.

  Pain and betrayal etch his handsome features. I avert my eyes, unable to witness my infliction of it.

  “You can at least look me in the eye when you do it.” He grits out the words, not bothering to mask the animosity in his tone. “Go ahead, Darcy. Look. At. Me.”

  I jerk my eyes up to clash with his. “I can’t do this with you. We’re just too different.”

  The instant his lips part to form what I’m nearly certain will be a protest, I know what I have to do to drive this point home. Regardless of the devastating hurt it will cause.

  “I’d be better off with someone more like me.” I swallow hard and force the words out while pain radiates through me to the marrow of my bones. “With my own kind.”

  Only after I’ve said the words do I uncross my fingers.

  His head rears back as though I’ve physically assaulted him.

  “I’m sorry, Dax,” I whisper, my throat unbearably tight. “So sorry.”

  Without another word, he spins around and stalks away.

  Kyler materializes at my side, instantly ushering me back inside through the throngs of people celebrating. “Keep it together until we get to the car.” At least I think that’s what he said. It’s difficult to focus on anything aside from

  the debilitating anguish radiating through my entire body.

  But with each hurried step toward the theater’s exit, I commend myself for doing what’s right. For not allowing Dax to risk the career he loves. To not risk losing the ability to provide for those he cares for.

  The doors in sight, I mentally remind myself that sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good. I may not have grown up with a loving family, but I know I wouldn’t be able to live with the knowledge that I’d tarnished Dax’s image, that I’d played a role in him being benched, or that I was the reason he lost his endorsements.

  There’s no way I can stand by and allow that to happen.

  So, I do what was done to me when I was six years old.

  I leave him behind.

  “This was not what I had planned.” I sound petulant—bitchy, even—but it doesn’t faze Kyler in the least.

  “Deal with it.” He tugs open the dresser drawer in his spare bedroom and pulls out a pair of women’s shorts.

  I hold up a hand to stop him. “I am not wearing clothes from some woman you nailed.”

  He looks like he’s barely holding back laughter. “These are from when my sister comes to visit. She won’t mind.” He thrusts the shorts at me and leans in. “And I can promise you I’ve never nailed her.”

  I roll my eyes at him, and the slightest huff of a laugh spills out.

  He tips his head down the hall of his house. “I’ll give you a bigger shirt to sleep in since, uh”—he suddenly looks uncomfortable—“you don’t seem to be wearing a regular bra, and my sister complains those things are a torture device anyway, so something roomy would probably be more—”

  I lay a hand on his arm to stop him. “Thank you.”

  He drags a hand through his hair, ruffling it adorably. “No problem.” He starts down the hallway, leading me to his room, and I hover in the doorway. Quickly, he pulls a large jersey off a hanger in his closet. The fabric looks soft, and even though I know it’s stupid, I feel a little closer to Dax because it’s a Jags jersey.

  Kyler hands it over. “You should have everything you need in the guest bathroom. My sister leaves a bunch of stuff every time she’s here.” He slips past me and heads down the stairs. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to get dinner started,” he calls out.

  “You cook?”

  Laughter trails in his wake. “I’m going to get started on ordering pizza, Darce. Gotta have some flaws, right?”

  I snicker and head to the guest room and close the door. Leaning back against it, I release a long breath and let my eyes fall closed.

  It’ll be okay, I repeat mentally. I will it to work, silently begging for a miracle to somehow assuage this desolate emptiness.

  I’m still chanting it throughout my shower until halfway through I finally cave and lower myself to the tile floor. With knees tucked to my chest, I hold them tight and succumb to the waves of grief.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I started without you.” Kyler glances over at me when I enter the living room. “I was starving.”

  “Surprisingly enough, I am too.” Who knew that grief could cause one to be ravenous?

  He waves in the direction of the kitchen. “Pizza’s warming in the oven. Didn’t want it to get cold on you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once I set two slices on a plate, I settle beside him on the couch and dig in. He’s watching one of the Transformers movies, and I’m grateful for the lack of conversation. The last thing I want to do right now is talk.

  “You planning to tell me what that was all about tonight?”

  Apparently, I jinxed myself.

  I dart a glance at him. His attention is focused on the television, and his demeanor is casual. His voice, however, is laced with worry.

  “Long story,” I mutter before taking another bite of pizza.

  He slowly turns his head to look at me. “I have time.”

  I’m not sure if it’s the gentle way he says it or the fact that he’s so genuine. Like he doesn’t care one bit that he’s saddled himself with a woman whose eyes are so red and puffy from sobbing not so quietly in his guest shower that they’re swollen and raw.

  “If Garner said or did something to you, Darcy…” His jaw clenches tightly, but his gaze holds mine.

  I scan his features because something’s odd about the way he said that. “Have you heard of him—”

  “Laying his hands where they don’t fucking belong?” His voice possesses a sharp edge, those blue eyes flashing with anger. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

  I physically jerk; not because of his anger-filled response, but because my fears have been confirmed.

  He’s still the same slimy asshole who gets off on intimidation and touching others without permission.

  And he had the audacity to wear that pin…

  My appetite now vanished, I slide my plate onto the coffee table and settle deeper into the leather couch. I draw up my legs, my feet flat on the cushion, and wrap my arms around my legs. Without a word, he turns off the television and shifts to face me.

  His eyes rest on me, and he holds out his upturned palm.

  I stare down at his hand without making any move to accept it. It’s not because I’m being weird and don’t want to touch him. It’s far more meaningful than just that.

  I raise my eyes to his somber ones and exhale slowly. When I slide my hand in his warm one, he closes his fingers and lays his other palm overtop mine. The sincerity evident in both his gaze and gesture serves as a nearly tangible comfort, like a balm that’s attempting to sooth the harsh and jagged edges of my soul.

  And for the first time in years, I confess.

  Darcy

  Just shy of sixteen years old

  Brentwood, Tennessee

  CONSENT IS NOT SOMETHING FOR ANYONE TO DECIDE BUT ME.

  “I told you no.”

  I shove at him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than me, with muscles honed by hours of weightlifting and time practicing on the field.

  He holds my face in his hand, squeezing it so hard I whimper. “Shut up.”

  “Please,
stop.” My words are barely audible, my jaw cinched tight in his grip, lips unable to move.

  His lips curve into a smile that chills me to the bone. “I like it when you beg.”

  I see it in his eyes. That look. He loves the power he gets from this. From being stronger than me. From having all the control.

  He’s been getting more aggressive, and it worries me. The past few months, he’s only hit me where my clothes would hide bruises. Punches or jabs in my stomach or in my ribs to subdue me before he’d touch me. Now, he’s become more crazed and bolder.

  He shoves a thick finger inside me so roughly I tense at the pain, but that only makes him sneer. Nasty words punctuate each punishing thrust of his finger.

  “Stupid whore.” A heaving breath sputters from his mouth, spraying droplets of spit on my face. “Telling my mom and dad.” Another heaving breath. “Should’ve known better.” Sweat beads his forehead and upper lip. “They’ll never let anyone get away with shit.” He adds another finger, and God, it hurts. I’m still a virgin, and no one’s ever been inside me.

  Aside from Chad and his nasty fingers.

  His motions are so violent it feels like my insides are being torn apart. “No one fucks with the Garners.” I buck against him, trying to shove him off me.

  A scowl lines his face, and that’s when it happens. He backhands me across the face, and I make a desperate grab for the comforter to keep from tumbling over the edge of the bed. My eye stings, and my cheekbone begins to throb as if it has its own beating pulse.

  Fear floods my veins.

  This is his revenge for me telling his parents. Even though they refused to do anything and made me feel like I was the one who tried to coerce their son into doing sexual stuff.

  I hate him. But more than that, I hate this family and how they’re able to maintain a fake façade of the perfect, wholesome family.

  This is how it’ll be, an inner voice warns. He’s hit you in the face once. Then he’ll do it again and again.

  Something rises up within me, starting low in my belly and growing in force. Anger. Resentment. Refusal to let this happen ever again.

  It needs to stop now. But how? I’m trapped. I have nowhere to go. Not to mention, if I tried to make it on the streets, I’d have no way of protecting myself against multiple Chads out there.

  But I can’t let this go.

  I catch him when he least expects it—when he backs away to fumble frantically with his pants. He’s a damn idiot if he thinks I’ll let him get away with this, let alone steal my virginity.

  I take advantage of his brief distraction to use all my strength to drive my knee up and between his legs.

  As soon as he clutches at his groin, temporarily incapacitated, I run.

  43

  Darcy

  Kyler is slack-jawed and shifts in his seat. “Whoa.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So, what happened?”

  I blow out a slow breath. “I ran screaming, my pants barely pulled up, and the maids came running.” The scene flashes so vividly in my mind. “His parents came out of their offices and were already demanding to know what I did to Chad. I told them he’d hit me. By then, my eye was beginning to swell shut.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath.

  “They called an ambulance for Chad.” I hold up a hand, my tone derisive. “But only after they made the necessary calls to ensure everything would be kept quiet and”—I use finger quotes—“be handled with care.”

  “He underwent surgery to untangle a testicle.” I can’t suppress the faint smile that tugs at my lips. “Apparently, I kneed him hard enough for that to happen.”

  “Even though it makes me cringe like hell, I need to high-five you for that one.” He holds up a hand, and I slap it with my own. His voice is hesitant as he gently prompts, “And after that?”

  “He had a brief stay in the hospital during his recovery. In the meantime, the maids reached out to me and said they felt horrible, but they couldn’t risk losing their jobs. That was why they didn’t speak up about what they’d seen and heard.” I toy with the hem of the oversized jersey. “Then the mayor and his wife decided I was unfit to be a part of their family.”

  Another muttered expletive leaves Kyler’s lips.

  “I received a police escort from the house and was taken to the station and booked with a sexual battery charge.”

  “Holy shit,” he breathes out. “Darcy…”

  “I know.” I press my lips together thin and swallow hard. “But I had a bit of a fairy godmother.” I tip my head against the back of the couch and peer over at him. “There was a teacher at our high school. He was new, and he’d had a few run-ins with the Garners. Sure didn’t like how they ran the place.

  “When I came to school with my eye looking the way it did, he didn’t buy the story I was coached to give. He took me aside and told me he could help me.” I shake my head at the memory. “I thought it was a trap or something, but then he gave me his sister’s business card.”

  “She was a lawyer,” he supplies softly, putting the pieces together.

  I nod with a strained laugh. “She was as cutthroat as they came. Out for blood. Sick of the good ol’ boy system.” I recall how scared I’d been to let hope take hold back then. “If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have spent the rest of my adolescence in some juvenile detention center.”

  I shake my head, still amazed. “Somehow, she got her hands on signed confessions from other victims, photographs of some of them when he roughed them up. Everything looked like it was in our favor and he’d finally be punished for his actions.”

  His brows slant. “What happened?”

  With a humorless laugh, I say, “The Garner money.”

  I tip my head back and close my eyes, suddenly so weary from this walk down memory lane and coming face-to-face with my past.

  “The judge had a change of heart in his view of things, and ultimately, it came down to them paying and negotiating. I agreed to not breathe a word of it to anyone for a long period, including a statute of limitations, and they’d drop the charges as long as I was placed in another foster home in another county no less than two hundred miles away.”

  “Motherfuckers,” he murmurs.

  “Basically… they paid for everything. I know they greased palms to get me moved from the county. But it worked out for the best.” I open my eyes and look at him. “That’s when I found Ivy.”

  His smile is part thoughtful, part sad. “And everything changed for the better.”

  “It did,” I say softly.

  We settle into comfortable silence, the only sound the ticking of the small grandfather clock in the corner.

  “So, what now? You just gonna let him push you around all over again?”

  I bristle at his question, but not because I take offense. He poses it gently, without any judgment. I’m not sure what to do, but I know I can’t let Garner get away with it, and I tell Kyler as much.

  “I have some questions for you.”

  I peer at him curiously. “Okay.”

  “What was the length of the statute of limitations?”

  “Ten years.” As soon as I answer, my lips part as it dawns on me.

  He arches a brow pointedly. “You just had your twenty-sixth birthday, right?”

  My eyes widen. “Yes.” There’s a sharp pinch in the center of my chest as I distinctly recall who made my recent birthday so memorable.

  “Now, for my second question…” He trails off, as if trying to find the right phrasing. “Would you be willing to go public?”

  One Week Later…

  Burying oneself under a plethora of work is an effective way of coping after having to make the most difficult decision of one’s life.

  At least it is for me. And it’s worked.

  Well, mostly. Work and the anxiety over my upcoming Forbes interview have kept my mind busy. I’m unsure whether I’m grateful or disappointed they requested to do a video interview r
ather than a face-to-face one. The crazy thing is, the me from a week ago would be over the moon with excitement and the good kind of anxiety while I prep for the interview.

  Now, though… not so much. Other things preoccupy my mind these days.

  “What is it with you girls?”

  Such as what the man who’s just entered my office has to tell me.

  I raise my eyebrows at Leif. “Meaning?”

  He closes the door with a soft click. Placing his laptop bag on one chair, he slides into the other one opposite my desk.

  With an exaggerated sigh, he feigns thoughtfulness, brow furrowed. “Let’s see.” He ticks off a finger. “Ivy had craziness with Becket.” Another finger. “Now you have that same look she had when shit hit the fan.”

  I scowl at him. “I most certainly do not.” I jab a finger in his direction. “My sister moped. I’m not moping. I’m working.”

  He has the audacity to grin at me.

  I slump back against my desk chair. “What did you find out?”

  His expression sobers in a flash. Forearms resting on his knees, he links his fingers and peers at me thoughtfully.

  “Why didn’t you come to me before?”

  The gentle quality of his voice has tears pricking my eyes, but I fight against them.

  “By the time Ivy and I met you, it was far in the past.” I attempt a casual shrug. “It wasn’t crucial information.” A thought hits me, and I narrow my gaze on him. “Did you know already?”

  His features turn apologetic, and it sends waves of uneasiness washing over me. I dart out of my seat to pace by the windows.

  “Darce, think about it. I checked out everyone I crossed paths with. Even back then.” He’s referring to our days at LSU—Louisiana State University in Shreveport—where we met. “I had to know my friends weren’t trying to befriend me because I could help them learn to hack in the U.S. Treasury or the CIA’s database or something.”