Battle

by KJ Bell

  Battle

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  More Books by KJ Bell

  BATTLE

  Copyright © 2014 by KJ Bell.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author / publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the ebook from one of its many distributors.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by:

  Ellie LoveNBooks

  Nichole Strauss, Perfectly Publishable

  Proofreading by:

  Nichole Strauss, Perfectly Publishable

  Thank you to Ellie at LoveNBooks for the gorgeous cover photo

  Photographer: Chad Hirata

  Cover Model: Hollis W. Chambers

  Cover, Interior Formatting and Design by:

  Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable

  To my friend, Nic for giving me the nudge I needed to write Battle’s story and for always believing in me.

  “Young man, I understand you’ve decided to live with your mother. Is this true?” the man in the black robe asks from behind a secluded box where he’s perched above the rest of the courtroom. He stares at me from over the top of his round glasses.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer as my sweaty hands twist in my lap.

  “Have you been influenced by anyone to make this decision?”

  No one other than my lyin’, cheatin’ rat of a father. I answer, “No, sir.”

  “You’re sure? No one at all?” he says again, stating each word clearly.

  “No, sir.” I shake my head.

  I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me if I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of a decision in my twelve short years of life. No one had to influence or convince me to hate my daddy. He did that all on his own.

  “And you understand if you live with your mother, you’ll be moving away from your friends and family, and starting a new school?”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Very well, then. It is the ruling of this court that Evelyn McCoy be granted full custody of the minor, Battle McCoy.”

  He pounds the gavel and the courtroom falls silent.

  My daddy stands, straightening his bolo tie. His not glancing in my direction before leaving the courtroom proves I made the right choice.

  I’ll miss Gentry, my friends and my dog, but I won’t miss my father.

  He’s dead to me.

  To hell with the plan.

  Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve known the precise direction my life was headed. My father has a plethora of euphemisms for his excessive and relentless planning of my life.

  “Faye, life’s like a game of chess, one wrong move and it’s game over.” “You know Faye, without a decent game plan, even the most talented of teams can lose.” My personal favorite is, “Life’s a puzzle, Faye. If one piece is missin’, you’ll never successfully finish it.”

  “Faye, are you listenin’ to me?” My boyfriend, Wyatt asks, tapping his foot with his arms folded over his chest. My skin prickles as his blatant disapproval of my reverie irritates me.

  I let out an annoyed breath, nodding in agreement. Truthfully, though, I don’t have to listen to hear what he’s saying. He’s given this speech countless times since college when I first felt his commitment fading. I cry myself to sleep too many nights, questioning what I did to make my boyfriend’s feelings change. It has left me unfairly harboring the blame in our relationship and I’m about fed-up!

  I fully expect him to call me out on my silent lie. Like usual, he’s too self-involved to notice anything going on with me. He continues talking as though he’s the only one with anything important to say.

  Up until this exact moment, I’ve agreed with my father about a good plan paving the way to a happy future.

  Graduate high school with high honors—check.

  Attend the University of Kansas, and graduate a proud KU Jayhawk—check.

  As my father’s Alma Mater, I didn’t dare disappoint him by choosing another school—Rock Chalk Jayhawk pride goes way back in the Callahan lineage.

  Secure a stellar job in finance—check, as one of my proudest accomplishments. I landed the job at Marshall Investments all on my own, declining my father’s offer to help me.

  Next on the list, marry Wyatt—blank, but inevitable, if he should ever grow up enough to ask me, which recently I’ve come to believe will never happen.

  Wyatt represents the piece of my puzzle labeled, husband. Our parents have been moving our chess pieces along the board to the altar since we were children.

  As I listen to Wyatt ramble on about needing another break from our relationship, I question if he’s an actual piece to my puzzle, or if I’m forcing him to fit because I’m afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.

  My thoughts are brought on by my insecurities. Wyatt loves me. We shared our first kiss when I was in seventh grade; he was in eighth. I knew from that moment on, we would grow old together. However, lately, I feel like nothing I do is good enough for him.

  I keep telling myself if I do everything right, he’ll be happy. Only despite my best efforts, he’s never satisfied with our relationship. The burden to be the perfect girlfriend has been wearing on me. If I don’t do something soon to relieve the stress, it’s going to crush me.

  My parents adore him. Wyatt has all the qualities expected of my future husband. He’s handsome and successful and sweet. A smile I never felt disappears, replaced quickly with a frown as I remember how angry I am. He’s incapable of an honest commitment. I continually justify his behavior, classifying him with most guys his age who aren’t ready to settle down.

  Wyatt reaches the point in his speech where he explains how I need to understand it’s not me, it’s him. My ability to tune him out has grown stronger this past year. Feeling indifferent should raise an enormous red flag. However, I continue to ignore the warning. Denial makes reality sting less and keeps me from dwelling on my lack of control.

  Wyatt sounds like the teacher from Charlie Brown. “Wah…Wah…Wahwawah.”

  I want him to be a man, have a backbone, and for once, say what he means. “Look, Faye, I’m twenty-six-years-old, and I want to have sex with a lot of other women before I’m tied down to one.” I’d respect him more for being honest.

  He continually asks for breaks, yet insists I can’t tell our parents, or more to the point, his mother. His mother controls every aspect of Wyatt’s life. Again, I ignore the red flag waving frantically. I love Mrs. Daughtrey, despite her obs
essive ways. I guess that means she controls an aspect of my life as well, which makes me feel uneasy. I have enough people dictating my course.

  “Wyatt, stop,” I shout. He looks at me with surprise. I never interrupt him. I’m the quiet girlfriend who listens and nods politely. The girlfriend who agrees with everything he says, the dog wagging her tail, and begging for attention. Not anymore. I’m over protecting my feelings to keep the peace. My father will see my behavior as out of line, which stirs my irritation. I’m done worrying about him, too. “Maybe it’s time for us to move on.”

  “What?” he blinks, stunned I spoke. “How can you say that? I love you. You’re gonna be my wife, but I need this break.”

  Like he needed all the others.

  “What’s her name?” I make no effort to hide my anger or appear ladylike.

  I’m tired of being quiet. Of feeling like a doormat, of going out of my way to please a man who makes me feel like I have little to no value. Like I’m insignificant, and as though my feelings are invalid.

  “Who?” he asks, his eyebrows raised high.

  “Come on, Wyatt. Admit it. You need a break to have sex with someone else. What’s her name? Is it Kailyn, Jenny, or Tisha, maybe?”

  “Do you really think so little of me?” His insistence appears almost genuine, like I’ve actually hurt his feelings. I won’t be fooled. We’ve been down this road several times. I hold my ground without answering him. He sighs. “I told you before; I’m done with other girls. You’re it for me, but I’m under a ton of pressure at the firm to be the best attorney. I’ve had five new cases dumped in my lap. Being an associate sucks. If I want to make partner, I have to devote every second of my life to my cases, and it’s not fair to you.”

  I stare at him for a moment unsure of how to respond. All this pressure he feels comes from his father. Wyatt wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be an attorney. I’m not convinced he actually wants to make partner. What he wants is to please his daddy, but none of that is relevant to my feelings. He’s deflecting.

  I thrust my hands onto my hips to avoid talking with them. Wyatt hates it when I do. There I go again, making an effort to please him. To behave as he expects. I huff, gesturing wildly with my hands for effect, which feels surprisingly liberating.

  “Did you ever think I can decide what’s fair for me?”

  He shakes head with an earnest expression. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

  His answer, although expected, makes me feel small. My boyfriend blatantly admitted he doesn’t consider my feelings. Yet, I’m still woefully hoping to salvage our relationship.

  Am I so brainwashed by my parents that I can’t see I deserve more? That I deserve to feel beautiful, and cherished by the man I want to spend my life with? Or am I desperately holding on to what we used to have?

  The idea of ending our relationship for good scares me. I struggle with the is the grass greener concept.

  What if I leave Wyatt, only to end up with someone who treats me much worse? What if I’m miserable without him?

  Thinking about not being with him twists my stomach into a tight knot. I peer up at him, trying not to show how much he’s hurt me. “What’s fair to me is not havin’ my boyfriend ask for a break once a month.”

  He reaches for my hand, but the look on his face makes me back up before he touches me. The condescending sneer always appears when he thinks I’m being ridiculous. He usually follows with a comment about me being psycho or crazy, which I loathe, mostly because there have been times when I’ve questioned my sanity. Times he’s made me feel crazy.

  Right on cue, he says, “Faye, you’re actin’ crazy. I have to go to Chicago for a few weeks to work on a case, and I leave in the mornin’. Please, you need to understand before I go.”

  I silently repeat, “I’m not crazy,” several times before I speak. “Wait. I thought your trip wasn’t until next week?”

  “It was pushed up. My flight leaves at five forty-five tomorrow mornin’.” This time when he reaches for my hand, I let him take it, seeking some kind of reassurance that our relationship isn’t completely broken. He brings my hand to his chest, holding it tenderly as I cling to the hope that he’ll change his mind. “Look, I know it’s selfish, but I need a break. This case could launch my career. I have to win, and I can’t be distracted.”

  “So now I’m a distraction? Wow!” I shout, ripping my hand away as my hope for our future diminishes.

  That’s a new one. Not that I haven’t felt confused about his feelings. Most days, I feel like I’m more a means of entertainment than his girlfriend—a recreational activity he enjoys one day a weekend. Hearing the words spoken by him hurts much worse than it did when I only assumed he felt preoccupied by me.

  A frustrated growl erupts from his chest as he throws his hands up. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Maybe not, but you said it.” I stop myself from adding, “And it hurt like hell.”

  “I’m sorry,” he sighs, his eyes lowering to the floor. “I need to put my career first while I’m young.”

  “Not helpin’,” I say calmly, turning my back to him. I want him to put me first. I want to feel like I’m a priority in his life. I want him to need me. Why can’t he see that? And why can’t I see he doesn’t want to?

  When he yanks on my arm, I spin back around with my head down to avoid the chance his puppy-dog eyes will coerce me. His fingers push up on the bottom of my chin, coaxing me to make eye contact. The anger flowing through my veins provides me with the strength I need to refuse him. I won’t cave. No this time.

  “Someday you’re gonna be my wife. We’re gonna have kids. I want a solid foundation before we’re married, so I can provide for my family, take vacations, and spend time with you. If we sacrifice now, it’s better for our future. Can’t you see that?”

  I lift my head, trying to smile, but my lips press flat as I realize he said exactly what I wanted to hear, like he always does. “I can see clear as day, but I’m not sure I can believe it. A wife is someone who can be there to get you through the struggles. I can be there. If you let me.”

  “Please try to understand. I’m under immense pressure. I feel like I’m gonna snap. Give me a little time.”

  The guilt I usually feel after he turns the tables on me begins to surface. Only with it comes a sense of dread, an overwhelming feeling that if I don’t stand my ground, I’m doomed to be miserable for the rest of my life. No. I’m done. I stuff the contrition down, determined to keep it buried.

  “I’m not gonna sit around and have no life until you decide you’re ready to start our life together. I’ve put up with a lot, but I’m not a complete pushover.”

  “I’m not askin’ for a long time.”

  “But you are askin’?”

  He frowns, before walking quietly to the door. “I’ll call you later.”

  I don’t want a phone call. I want love and commitment, and all of his promises. I want actions over words. The time has come when I can no longer pretend I’m happy. I have to be a stronger person for my own sanity.

  “Don’t! I mean it. If you walk out that door, it’s over between us. You either want all of me, or you don’t, but I’m not stickin’ around as your convenience for another second of my life. Do you hear me, Wyatt Daughtrey? Not one more goddamn second!”

  My sudden bravery feels amazing until Wyatt opens the door and walks out without another word.

  I wish I could discuss what happened with my parents, but I’m too afraid they’ll be upset with me. Sadly, my relationship with them is much like mine is with Wyatt. As long as I do what they expect of me, they’re happy. They’ve sheltered me to the point I feel like I haven’t transitioned into adulthood.

  My friends and co-workers assume because I own my own home, have a college degree, and a steady relationship that I’m a responsible adult. But emotionally, I feel like I haven’t matured, or grown into a woman. I depend on my parent’s input to make decisions as if I’m still a little girl.
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  I’ve always kept my head down and did exactly as I was told. Only now I feel like I’m manically searching for who I am, and what I truly want out of life. The pressure to keep pretending I want the life my father planned out for me, makes me feel like I’m going to explode.

  Times like now, I miss my grammy. She died last year; killed by a drunk driver. I always thought the two packs a day and bourbon for breakfast would take her, but no, in the end, it was some asshole that was too irresponsible to call a cab.

  Grammy used to say life has a way of working out exactly as it’s supposed too. I disagree. That asshole wasn’t “supposed” to be driving. They never caught the man responsible. Living in a town no larger than a potato chip crumb on a map, the police suspect the driver was merely passing through. A witness claimed to see the male driver in a red sports car. Her description was all they had to go on and it wasn’t enough to lead to an arrest.

  My heart aches every day when I wake up, remembering she’s gone. I miss her terribly, and I need her right now. She liked Wyatt enough, but she always told me someday, someone else may come along and surprise me. Someone who would make butterflies dance in my tummy. “When you find him, Faye, never let him go.”

  Our talks annoyed my father. My close relationship with her bothered him a great deal. Grammy lived life spontaneously. He was afraid she’d erase all the hard work he’d put into molding me. Maybe she has. It didn’t help that I not only related to Grammy, but I’m the spitting image of her younger self.

  At twenty-two, the tiny blonde haired, green-eyed beauty from Alden, Kansas was the reigning Miss Kansas, on her way to a successful modeling career. She gave up her dream for love. My grandpa died before I was born, but I’ve heard his marriage to my significantly younger grandmother caused quite a stir in town.

  Despite the judgmental rhetoric of small town life, Grammy was always true to herself. I want to hear her tell me how she loves my daddy, and tried to raise him right, but he’s a boob. How it’s okay if I don’t marry Wyatt, because I feel like nothing will be okay, like I’ve made a huge mistake.