by Cassia Leo
I needed to give him time to get his bearings before I dropped yet another bombshell on him. Part of me knew this was selfish. I should confess now instead of waiting until the earth had solidified beneath him. But another part of me knew if I told him now, after everything he’d learned in Boise and after what I just told him, that would without a doubt be the end of us.
I knew now, after everything we’d survived, that Jack and I would never be as good apart as we were together. I needed to give us a chance. We deserved another chance to get this right.
Four days later
“I’m going to the yoga studio. Do you need me to pick anything up on the way back?” I asked Jack as I pulled my plum-colored GORE-TEX jacket off the hanger in the coat closet.
I was going to yoga, but not with Drea. My best friend and I still hadn’t made up after her refusal to help me lie to Jack. I understood why she refused, but that didn’t dull the sting of being rejected and possibly judged by her, even if I did deserve her judgment.
I was also going to make a stop at the drugstore on the way home from yoga, to pick up an at-home pregnancy test. Using an online calculator, I learned that yesterday would be the first day I could expect to get an accurate result. To err on the safe side and prevent any misunderstandings, I decided I would wait one more day.
My day of reckoning was here.
Jack sat on the edge of the soft gray sofa in the living room, leaning forward as he hunched over his laptop, which was perched on the industrial style coffee table. “I’m good, baby. Thanks for asking.”
I grabbed my yoga bag off the hook in the coat closet and slung it across my chest. But as I made my way toward the front door, that nagging sense of dread returned. I slid the bag off and dropped it on the floor. Jack looked up just in time to see me walking toward him. He opened his mouth to say something, but I quickly grabbed his face and silenced him with a deep kiss as I climbed onto his lap.
He chuckled as he leaned back on the sofa. “Is this your idea of yoga with Drea?”
I smiled as I look down at him, not correcting his assumption that I was meeting Drea. If I was pregnant, was Jack the type of man who would stick by me even if the baby wasn’t his? Or was Jack more like my father? Would he force me to choose between him and the baby? And if I chose Jack, was I perpetuating the cycle of abandonment issues and violence that eventually took Junior’s life?
“What are you thinking?” Jack murmured as he slid his warm hands under the back of my athletic tank top.
I planted a lingering kiss on his forehead, breathing in the scent of the lavender-mint shampoo we shared, which he claimed made him smell “like a girl,” but he didn’t care because it also made his hair “shinier than a masochist’s ass.”
“Gee, your hair smells terrific,” I replied.
It was a reference to an old shampoo commercial from the 80s my mom had told us about, one of her many colorful stories about “the good ol’ days.” Knowing the origin of the phrase, Jack didn’t laugh. Nor did he say a word. He laid a soft kiss on my chest and tightened his arms around my waist.
I lay my head on his shoulder and we sat like this for a while. No words between us. No anger between us. No pain, just love.
I sat up slowly and planted a kiss on his scruff. “I should get going. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
Jack grabbed my waist before I could stand up. “I’m supposed to get a call from Detective Robinson today. She said they recovered Brandon’s cell phone from his trailer and they were going to check his cell phone records to see if he had the phone with him the night of the murders. If he did, and his phone was turned on, it may have pinged some local cell towers. They’ll also be able to see if he called anyone around the time of the murders.”
I nodded and stood up. “I hope I’m wrong this time,” I said, zipping up my athletic jacket.
“You’d think you’d be used to that by now,” he teased me.
I rolled my eyes and waved at him. “Bye, jerk.”
He flashed me a sexy smile. “Love you, pixie.”
I blew him a kiss. “I love you more.”
As I left the yoga studio, I reached into my bag to retrieve my cell phone, then tossed the bag onto the passenger seat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I closed the door and glanced at the screen. There was a text from Jack, which had come in about ten minutes ago.
* * *
Jack:
Going to the gym. I’ll be back in an hour or so.
* * *
I narrowed my eyes as I stared at the message. Jack went to the gym at least five days a week and almost always went before six a.m. Sometimes, he got his workout in before I even woke. But I couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the gym in the afternoon.
Dread crept up from the pit of my belly as I realized I was having suspicious thoughts of Jack because I was projecting my own guilt onto him. Shaking my head, I gripped the steering wheel and took deep breaths as I repeated the mantra I’d been reciting in my mind for the last four days: It’s almost over. Everything will be okay. It’s almost over. Everything will be okay. It’s almost over. Everything will be okay.
I exhaled slowly then turned on the car and headed for the drugstore. I chose a store I’d never been to before, because it was two miles farther away from our house than the one I normally went to. Despite the November gloom and pouring rain, I wore sunglasses into the store. I also kept the hood of my jacket up as I picked out four different tests, and found myself glancing down every aisle and over my shoulder like a paranoid lunatic.
Jack and I were very recognizable to the peaceful citizens of Hood River. Our faces had been plastered on local and national media. The story of the murders had even been picked up by some tech reporters in other countries who called Jack’s office requesting interviews.
The first year was a media frenzy. But after I refused to go to the candlelight vigil on the one-year anniversary, and Jack stayed home with me in a rare moment of solidarity, the media madness quickly died down. People assumed our absence meant we no longer cared. The truth was quite the opposite. We cared so much it was shredding us apart from the inside out.
Jack’s truck was gone when I pulled into the garage and closed it behind me. With hands trembling, I left my yoga bag in the SUV and grabbed the plastic bag containing the pregnancy tests. As I pushed the car door open, I realized my entire body was shaking. Sweat sprouted on my brow, my chest tightened, and I closed my eyes to take several shallow breaths. I couldn’t have a panic attack now.
I coughed a few times, to clear the tightness in my chest, and took a couple of rapid, deep breaths to flood my lungs with much-needed oxygen. Within seconds, the tightness slowly began to dissipate. Opening my eyes, I quickly exited the SUV and headed straight inside and directly to the master bathroom. Jack would be back from the gym in about thirty minutes — if that was indeed where he’d gone. I had to do this fast.
My hands still trembled as I locked the bathroom door behind me. The shaking made opening the packaging and reading the instructions almost impossible. I splashed water in my face in an attempt to wash away the anxiety. But I could hardly hold myself up.
I shook my head and lined up the tests on top of the plastic bag I’d laid out on the counter next to the toilet. As quickly as I could, I urinated on each test stick for a couple of seconds, holding in my urine as I changed tests. When all four tests were lined up on top of the plastic bag, I wiped and flushed, then set the five-minute timer on my phone.
I waited with my head resting in my trembling hands. I tried to focus on my breathing as my fingers and toes began to tingle, a sure sign that my body was being flooded with adrenaline and stress hormones. The blood was rushing away from my limbs toward my racing heart. I really hoped those pregnancy tests were negative. If they weren’t, I was fairly certain I would pass out.
Massaging my temples and taking shallow breaths, the tingling in my fingers slowly went away just seconds before the timer went off.
The sharp beeping sound sent my heart galloping. I clenched and unclenched my fists, wiggling my fingers to encourage the blood flow. The sound of the garage door opening came to me like a distant sound at the far end of a tunnel as I peeked at the tests.
Four tests. All four positive.
Chapter 2
Jack
Pulling my truck into the garage, I’m glad to see Laurel’s SUV. I had to tell her I was going to the gym. I didn’t want her to know I was going to see Charlie Rangel, the lead detective on the murder case at Hood River Police Department. If Charlie had good news, I didn’t want to worry Laurel for nothing. Unfortunately, the news was not good.
Byron Huxley’s cell records indicated he and Brandon were both in Hood River the night of the murder. And Boise PD now has reason to suspect he — or both he and Brandon — may have also murdered Byron’s wife, Dottie, more than a decade ago. Unfortunately, when police were dispatched to Byron’s house to bring him in for questioning, he was already gone.
Paranoia seized me as I exited the truck. Before I closed the garage door, I checked underneath both vehicles and in the storage closets, where I kept power tools and gardening equipment. Once I was satisfied the garage was devoid of suspicious persons and devices, I pressed the button to close the garage door, watching it slide down until it came to a complete stop.
Turning around, I entered the laundry room as quietly as possible, listening intently for any suspicious noises. The house was quiet as a monastery. Maybe Laurel was taking a nap after yoga.
I closed and locked the door behind me. Exiting the laundry room into the hallway, I still saw and heard no sign of Laurel. Something didn’t feel right.
I turned right, toward the master bedroom, and my heartbeat climbed as I registered the open door. Laurel usually closed the bedroom door when she took a nap. I charged into the bedroom and saw the bathroom door closed. Trying the door handle, my body flooded with adrenaline when I found it locked.
“Laurel? Are you in there?”
Nothing.
“Pixie, are you okay?”
More nothing.
Fuck this nonsense.
I took a step back and landed a hard kick on the door next to the handle. The door buckled and flew inward, almost coming off its hinges, as I rushed inside. Laurel was on the floor, her eyelids fluttering as she awakened.
“Baby, what did you take?” I asked, but she didn’t reply.
My mind immediately zeroed in on the panic and guilt I felt last year, when I found Laurel in bed unresponsive with green vomit dribbling from the corner of her mouth after taking too much ibuprofen. But that was nothing compared to the guilt I felt when I allowed the hospital to keep her for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. Leaving her that evening was the second worst night of my life.
I told myself I let the hospital hold Laurel because she needed to talk to professionals who understood what she was going through. The hard truth was I didn’t know if I could keep her safe anymore. I had lost faith in myself, not her.
I slid my hand under her neck to help her lift her head, my other arm curled around her legs to pick her up off the floor. “What did you take, Laurel?” I asked. But as I stood, I saw the pregnancy tests on the counter.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I… I fainted.”
I tightened my hold on her as my limbs began to feel weak. “Come on, let’s get you in bed. Did you hit your head?”
As I laid her down, she reached up to feel her forehead and scalp. “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I… I feel a little woozy.” She blinked a few times, as if she was trying to clear something from her eyes. “I’m seeing floaters.”
“Stay right there. I’ll get your purse and we’ll go to the ER.”
“No!” she cried, grabbing my hand. “I’m fine. It’s just the sunlight. I’m better now.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Sit,” she said, patting the edge of the mattress. “Please.”
I helped her sit up carefully, propping up a couple of pillows behind her, before I took a seat on the bed. “Baby, I saw the tests. Are you pregnant?”
I tried to temper my emotions, because the possibility that Laurel was pregnant with our second child felt too fucking good to be true. The idea that we might be parents soon filled me with obscene joy. When she nodded, I thought my heart would burst.
Tears welled up in my eyes and I shook my head, unable to believe I’d been given another chance to get this right. Her hands reached for me and I wrapped my arms around her waist as I buried my face in her chest. She was softer now that she’d been eating regularly, but her skin was cold, probably from passing out. As I inhaled the scent of her skin, I wondered why she had passed out when she found out she was pregnant.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, sitting up so I could see her face again. That beautiful face, with features so delicate and graceful she looked like royalty. And she was. She ruled me.
She laid her hand over mine as I reached for her face. Closing her eyes, tears streamed down her face as she leaned into my touch.
“No. I’m not okay,” she whispered, her eyelids opening as her gaze found mine. “I am miles away from okay.”
The joy that had lifted me up a moment ago deflated and I suddenly felt heavy and tense, on the verge of an emotion I couldn’t pin down, the threshold between confusion and anger. “Why? What happened?” I asked, pulling my hand away from her face.
She averted her eyes, her gaze cast downward as she cleared her throat. “I slept with Isaac while you were in Idaho.”
The muscles in my face slackened as the ones in my arms and hands tightened like a bow stretched taut and ready to fire. I wanted to rip the lamp off the nightstand and throw it across the room to release some of the tension, but I had to think before I acted. Taking a few deep breaths, I curled my fingers around the comforter to keep my hands occupied.
“Is it his?” I asked, staring at the headboard as I was incapable of looking at her. “Is the baby his?” I shouted.
She flinched and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “It happened the night of my birthday. I was really drunk. I thought it was you. I thought you’d come back to me. That’s why I didn’t believe it was you when you showed up the next day.”
My stomach turned over inside me as I realized she had sex with me mere hours after she’d had sex with him. “No,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You wouldn’t. You’re fucking with me, right? Please tell me this is a sick joke.”
She buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I hate myself,” she said, her fingers grabbed onto chunks of her hair as her hands tightened into fists. “I’m so stupid. I’m sorry,” she cried as she yanked chunks of hair out of her scalp. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, staring at the fluffy nests of blonde hair in her hands. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”
I grabbed her forearm to stop her from getting out of bed. “Where are you going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I grit my teeth, clenching my jaw so hard I thought my teeth might shatter from the force. “You’re not going anywhere,” I said, letting go of her arm. “Fuck!”
She flinched again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated the words over and over like a shaky mantra.
Her body trembled so hard, I could hear her teeth chattering. God help me. I couldn’t leave her like this. She’d ripped my heart out and I couldn’t even bring myself to lash out at her with the news about Byron Huxley.
I could barely stand to look at her, but I couldn’t leave her alone. Not after what I learned today.
I drew in a deep breath. “Stay right there. I’m calling Drea to stay with you.”
She lifted her head to look at me, and I quickly turned away. “Where are you going?” she asked in a voice so small and fragile I almost took her into my arms. Almost.
“Just stay there. I’ll be in the kitchen until Drea get
s here.”
She sniffed loudly. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jack. Please believe me.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t hurt me, Laurel. You fucking killed me.”
Chapter 3
Laurel
The anguish in Jack’s face made me sick to my stomach. Knowing I was the cause made me want to die. I reached for him as he stood from the bed, but he didn’t stop. He walked out of the bedroom, possibly out of my life, without a second glance.
I pressed the heels of my palms into my forehead to try to relieve the massive tension headache that was coming on. Maybe I did have a concussion. Maybe the universe would take mercy on me, allowing me to go to sleep and never wake up again.
I even hated my thoughts. So melodramatic and full of undeserved self-pity. It was true that I didn’t know I was having sex with Isaac. I had no memory of the sex other than the moment I came to, with him between my legs. But I remembered the sensation of his erection sliding out. The warmth of his seed spilling from me.
The dull ache in my head morphed into a bolt of skull-splitting agony. I dug my fingernails into my scalp, but the pain only worsened. I sunk my fingernails into the skin on the back of my left hand instead and let out a heavy sigh. The relief was instantaneous.
I sat cross-legged on the bed, changing the position of my fingernails in the back of my hand every couple of minutes, whenever the headache started to return. By the time Drea entered my bedroom, the skin on my left hand was swollen and fiery red, dotted with bloody crescent moons.
“What have you done?” Drea cried, her eyes wide with shock as she stared at my hand. “Stay here. I’ll get some ice.”
