by L. B. Dunbar
I stare at him, disbelief radiating from my entire body. I’ve heard this all before. It’s only words. It’s been spoken to me by a man I’d trusted and now said to me again from someone I don’t. My head shakes in response to him.
“You don’t love me,” I reply, my voice breaking again. “This is not love. Leaving me is not love. Making me worry and afraid is not love.”
“No one’s hurt, baby.”
“I’m hurt!” I yell. “I’m hurt.” My voice cracks as I repeat myself with more emphasis, slapping a hand to my chest as the tears I’ve been fighting break. “I’m not like you. I didn’t shut down.” I toss his words back to him.
He’s nodding at me, licking his lips. “Okay. Okay, baby. I get it.” He’s still watching me as tears fall, and my body hums with a clash of emotions. Resentment. Pain. Disappointment.
“You said I was safe with you, Leon, but I wasn’t safe. My heart . . . it can’t take this kind of thing again.” Yet it races in my chest with hope that he means what he says, and I feel safer now that he’s standing before me.
“I’m not him,” he whispers, his voice a low growl.
“You’re right. You’re not. I thought you were better.”
His eyes widen, and he steps up to me.
“‘Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. If you love me, I will always be in your heart. If you hate me, I will always be in your mind.’”
“Stop quoting Shakespeare,” I hiss, my heart breaking again.
“I’m always going to be a part of you as you’re always going to be a part of me, Tricia. We connect in the way Shakespeare wrote about. You’re it for me.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“I’ll stay at a motel down the highway until you’re ready to speak with me.”
Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against mine like he did that first time. A soft stroke. A swift caress. And then he turns and leaves me again.
+ + +
Leon stops by the house each night after school to see Lys, and I typically make myself scarce when he arrives. It feels all messed up that he’s here in town but not staying with his sister, who lives with me when I’m not family. Don’t even get me started on how broken I feel for Lys regarding her parents and her sister. It’s like she and Levi have more in common than they realize, and while a friendship bloomed during the time Levi helped at my place, her feelings for him are unrequited on his end. It breaks my heart for Lys all over again.
One night, I overhear their sibling conversation, and as much as I want to ignore it, I just can’t.
“I want to tell you again how sorry I am that I ran off,” Leon begins from the living room. Lys remains quiet, and I imagine her deep dark eyes watching him. I’ve tucked myself inside the dining room, pressing myself against the wall to be hidden from their interaction. “I don’t want you to think I abandoned you. I knew you were safe with Tricia. You know she adores you, right?”
I’d hope she knows how I feel about her after we’ve spent these weeks together.
“I adore her,” Lys states quietly.
“I didn’t bring you with me to follow Lena because we both know Lena is a handful, and I didn’t want you mixed up in her drama.” Leon chuckles, and I believe Lys might agree. “She’s eighteen, and I need to let her make her own decisions.”
There’s a heavy pause before Leon continues.
“I’m not Mami and Papi. I’ll never be a good enough substitute for them, but I want you to know I’m here for you. It will be good here.”
“I like it here,” Lys interjects, almost as if to reassure her brother.
“I like it here, too.”
“Will you get back together with Tricia?” Lys hesitates, and my head falls back against the wall where I’m listening in on this conversation.
“I’m trying my damnedest, but she needs my patience. I have a lot to prove to her.”
More silence follows his admission, and my heart feels heavy in my chest.
“I made some promises I need to keep. I need to do better by her, but I want to promise this to you as well. It will never happen again. I mean it. I won’t shut down like I did and disappear like I have in the past. I’m here for you—for Tricia and you, hermanita.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I reflect on the fact that sometimes someone can say it will never happen again and actually mean it. Perhaps, Leon does.
+ + +
Emily calls me a few days after Leon returns and asks me to meet her at a new place just south on Elk Lake City, off the highway. The Unsalted Mermaid. I’ve heard it’s a nice restaurant, romantic even, but I have never been here. I’d hoped Leon and I could go sometime. Maybe have real, out-in-public dates, but I’m so uncertain of my future. Trent hasn’t budged on the divorce papers and has been strangely quiet during the long days when his brother was at my house and Leon was absent.
I’m looking forward to hanging out with Emily. I need someone to talk to, someone to help me sort out my feelings for Leon. Someone to help me as I flip from disappointment to yearning, hating to loving, dismissing to missing him like crazy, and especially when I know he’s back. He’s so close. I just need to reach out to him, and I imagine he’d return to me. But do I trust him not to hurt me? Do I believe he won’t let this happen again? Is my heart really safe with him?
I’ve gotten out of my car but turn back to grab my phone, which I’d tossed on the passenger seat. I parked on the side of restaurant instead of the front lot, finding a spot up against the building. When I turn around again, a large, familiar body blocks me from stepping away from my Honda.
“I just want to talk.” His voice sounds rough and a bit slurred.
“We have nothing left to say to each other, Trent.” I glare at him, unable to fully see him with the parking lot light behind him. His head is haloed in light, but he’s no angel, and I don’t know how he knew I’d be here.
“You back with him?” he questions. I don’t know how Trent would know Leon is back in town, but that isn’t my concern.
“That’s none of your business,” I state, taking a step to the left. Trent shifts with me.
“You fucking him?”
My mouth falls open. “That is just . . .” None of his damn business. The truth is, we aren’t. We’d only spent one night together before everything went to hell, but I’ll admit nothing to Trent, who I consider my ex-husband—signed papers or not. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near my home.”
“Your home is with me.”
I snort. “We never had a home, Trent. You had a bachelor pad with your wife living in it.” My dad hated the cabin, and he thought I should convince Trent to move out. He even offered to give us money for a down payment on a house somewhere else, somewhere closer to my parents where my dad could keep an eye on Trent.
I’m sorry, Daddy. It didn’t happen how you wanted.
Get away from him, I hear his voice in my head.
I shift right and Trent follows, stepping closer to me.
“Trent, get out of my way.”
“Got a date?” He sways a bit and the words sound thick on his tongue. I’m not answering him. I should tell him I’m meeting Emily in order not to provoke him.
“Just sign the papers already,” I demand, and Trent shakes his head.
“No can do, muchacha.” He smiles at his weak attempt at a Latino accent. I’m not impressed. Instead, I fake left, pivot right, and slam into him when his arms wrap around my waist. The scent of him overwhelms me. Sweaty male. Dirty wool. Alcohol.
“Trent,” I hiss, my hands coming to the forearms locked around my waist. He lifts me off my feet and carries me around my car where I see his truck in the dark recesses of the lot. I kick my legs wildly. “Trent, put me down.”
“He’s waiting for you, isn’t he?” he growls into my ear, the scent of whiskey strong in the stream of air he exhales. My legs continue to kick. I should tell him the truth about meeting Emily, but I refuse to explain myself to him. I’
m not defending my actions anymore.
“Put. Me. Down!” I yell. I throw back my head to knock him in the face, but he moves, tilting his head so we don’t connect. His body shifts to accommodate my squirming. We near his truck, and I swing my feet forward, pressing them into the side of his cab. With my soles on the vehicle, I hope to leverage myself, pushing back at him so he loosens me.
No such luck.
“Scratch my truck, bitch, and you’ll pay for that in more ways than one.” My feet tap dance on the metal as my arms still press down against the vise-like grip of forearms around my midsection.
“Your threats mean nothing to me, Trent. You mean nothing to me.”
“You don’t mean that,” he snarls in my ear, struggling with me as he works to open the truck door at the same time my feet kick at the side of it.
“I mean every word!” I scream. I can’t believe no one saw him grab me, but it’s mid-November, and it’s pitch black in the early evening. The lot is mostly empty for a weeknight, and I parked on the wrong side of the building.
I scream again for help, but at the same time, my throat clogs, panic taking over, and the sound comes out as no more than a squeak. It’s like my vocal cords are paralyzed while the rest of me refuses to be still.
Trent shifts his body, continuing to angle for the door handle and toss me around like a rag doll. He swings the driver’s side door open and moves left. I’m positioned to face the open cab and my arms go up and out, clutching at the opening. Then I see the shotgun.
“You get away from me, and I’ll shoot you in the back like a prized buck.”
I have no doubt about his aim. He’s a skilled marksman, and while he doesn’t hunt humans, he isn’t lying. If he targets me, he’ll hit a bull’s-eye. My arms fall, defeat loosening my body. He tosses me forward, and I catch myself on the seat by the steering wheel. Only I kick backward, hoping to connect with his chest and throw him off guard. I’ve hit him somewhere, but it’s not enough to force him back and he catches my ankle, twists it, and I flip to my back and land over the rifle on the seat.
“You watch yourself, missy,” he threatens with a gleam in his dazed eye. I know that look. It’s the one he has when he wants to have sex with me, and I need to shut myself off. I shiver while my leg remains caught in his hand. He stands outside the open door, and I scoot closer to him, so my knee bends.
If I can just get closer…
I kick out with my other foot, aiming for his face. Only the outside of my calf hits the steering wheel instead. Like a yo-yo, I wiggle my captured leg back and forth, hoping to loosen his grasp.
“Stop squirming,” he grunts.
“Take your hands off me!” I shout at him. I can’t get the leverage I need, and Trent tucks his head, ready to climb into the cab over me. I’m shoved backward by his hold on my captured ankles and my back scrapes against the length of the gun under me.
I scream again as if it will help, suddenly finding my outside voice. Instantly, I’m dragged forward as Trent falls backward. He’s tugging me as something pulls at him, and my hands catch on the steering wheel, hoping to prevent myself from falling out the open door. I hear the sickening crack of bone and my ankle falls free of Trent’s grasp. Still clutching at the wheel, my legs kick wildly, blindly seeking Trent’s body as I dangle out the door.
I hear another sharp crack and a choking sound. Using the steering wheel, I pull myself upward and twist from the awkward angle.
I can’t believe my eyes. Leon is pummeling Trent.
Releasing the wheel, I slip out of the cab, my legs hardly able to hold me when my feet touch gravel. I slide along the side of the truck, the metal cold through my wool jacket and I watch in new horror.
“Leon,” my voice squeaks no louder than my first attempted scream. His arms move in a practiced manner. His fists connect with Trent’s face, hammering at him. Trent holds Leon’s coat while Leon has a hold of Trent’s throat. He gurgles under Leon’s grasp.
“Leon.” My voice loudens, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s lost in his beating, and my shaking arm extends to reach his shoulder.
“Leon,” I snap, still no louder than a crack. “Leon, please.” I swallow. “Let him go.”
Sirens sound in the distance, and I don’t know if they are coming for me or another emergency somewhere, someplace else.
“She’s always going to choose me.” Trent struggles to speak, and it’s the wrong thing to say as Leon tightens his hold. Trent’s gurgling shifts to a strangled choking sound.
“Leon,” I cry out. My hand makes contact with his shoulder, and he turns his head to me. His silver eyes are wild. His nostrils flare with warm air steaming from them. He looks at me, but he doesn’t focus.
A sheriff’s car with circling red and blue lights and a siren blaring pulls into the lot.
Everything happens so fast.
Doors open.
Voices shout.
Leon drops Trent and slowly lifts his hands.
I don’t understand.
I look from Trent, swollen and bleeding as he lays on his back, to Leon, who stands taller, arms spread wider. Voices call out something.
What’s happening?
Slowly, Leon turns like the calculated twist of a dial. His eyes quickly pass over mine, and then he looks away, still measuring his movements as he spins.
My head turns in the direction of the too-bright lights and overly loud siren, and I push off the side of the truck.
“No,” I call out. “No,” I repeat, stepping forward.
Someone shouts my name, but I’m not certain from which direction it comes. My eyes focus on the men standing behind open car doors, guns poised and aimed at Leon.
“No,” I scream, stepping before him, lifting my arms like his, shielding his body.
I don’t register anything other than those swirling lights and the deafening siren. Then I’m falling to my front, a body over mine as another sound rips through the night.
A shot from a gun.
Lesson 24
A promise is a promise.
[Leon]
I don’t know what the hell she was thinking.
The sheriff was shouting words I’d heard too many times in my past. My hands dripped with the evidence I’d wanted to kill that son of a bitch.
He’d almost had her.
Then she was in front of me, her body like a shield against mine. Her cries of ‘no’ echoed through the air but were still hardly heard above the siren’s blare.
A gun went off, and I wasn’t certain if it was behind me or in front of her. I twisted her, taking her down in hopes it hadn’t hit her.
Trigger finger, we later learned. The adrenaline of the small-town deputy mixed with his shouts for her to move, and his finger pulled the trigger.
We’re both lucky he’s a poor shot.
Guns still came to my back, including threats to roll off her. Following their commands, I flipped to my back, arms out. I did as I was told until she rolled with me, covering me.
“He was trying to save me!” she yelled. “He was saving me!” Her voice struggled through the shock while her body blanketed me. Her sudden movement could have triggered another shot, but thankfully, it did not.
More deputies arrived on the scene, and Tricia kept up the same string of words.
“He was saving me.”
I’d still been cuffed and pushed toward a vehicle until Tricia got in the way once again.
“Listen to me, Derek,” she called out to the deputy at my back. Her hands pressed into my chest. “You know Trent Walker is my husband. I filed divorce, and he was . . . he was trying to kidnap me. Leon Ramirez was rescuing me.”
Our eyes met, and there was so much said between them.
“Tricia?” The deputy finally recognized her through the knit cap on her head and thick scarf at her neck.
“I’ll make a statement. I’m pressing charges against Trent Walker.” She spoke to the man behind me who begrudgingly removed my
cuffs.
“We’ll still need you to come to the station,” he told me, more like a warning, and Tricia intervened again.
“He’s with me.” Her eyes leaped to mine, holding my gaze as if she held her breath. I nod to agree.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, her eyes still on me, and I open my arms.
The next thing I know, she is in them, holding me as hard as I can hold her. We couldn’t get close enough with her bulky winter coat and I set her back only enough to unzip my leather jacket and pull her into my heat. Her arms circled my neck and she held tightly, breathing into my skin. Despite the thick clothing, her heart thudded through the layers, and I could only hope it mirrored the beat of mine.
+ + +
Tricia gave a statement, admitting all that Trent had done to her—past and present. It made me sick to listen. The emotional abuse and physical touches, no matter how minor she tried to make them sound, were too much. I’d beat him all over again for laying a finger on her or saying a word that was untrue or unkind.
Unfortunately, without physical evidence, as she’d never reported anything in the past, it was her word against Trent’s. She still gave them the truth—all of it. I wished I had known. I would have taken more care with her. Then again, it shouldn’t have mattered. I should have taken care either way. If she meant everything to me, then I should have been here, and a lot sooner than two weeks ago. I should have been here years ago to shield her from this path.
Unable to change my past, I held her hand tighter while I give my own statement.
Jess Carter had asked me to meet him at this off-the-path restaurant for a drink, and I should have known something was up. I’d been waiting and waiting, thinking I’d been stood up, and went outside for some air. While I was standing near the entrance, I heard what sounded like a struggle and took a walk around the side of the building. My gut told me to move, and thank God, I listened. I heard her scream. Then I saw her car but not her. Searching, I found him bent into the open door of his truck. I didn’t even know it was him or her until I got closer. The sharp wail of a car horn. The grunt of a man. Whoever he was, he was struggling to get someone into his truck, and that person was struggling to get out. I pulled him back, catching him unaware. My eyes hardly registered her and blindly leaped to him.
