[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  “Because I was a coward,” he admitted, lowering his gaze. “The truth is that nothing would have felt worse to me than losing face in front of them. It wasn’t until I got sick that I realized how stupid that was. I’ve learned how easily they could all turn on me—one of them literally did as soon as he got a look at my face, and the rest of them have followed suit. They were never really my friends, but I wanted to think being one of them made me someone. I should have stood up for you, Lindsay. I’m so sorry.”

  Sighing, Lindsay ran a hand through her hair. “Look, I’ve got a good life now. I got to go off to school, where no one knew me, and start over. If anything, what you and your friends did just made me stronger. It taught me just how strong I can be, and how much I can take while still keeping my head up. But that doesn’t mean the memory stops hurting. Every now and then, I remember, and it hurts. Your apology means a lot to me, even though I’ve moved on. So, I forgive you, Tate. And not just because of what happened to you—”

  “Some might call that karma,” Tate said with a dry laugh.

  Lindsay shook her head. “If you’re waiting for me to agree that you deserve to be sick, then you’ll be waiting a long time. No matter what you’ve done, I wouldn’t wish what’s happened to you on anyone. I do mean that.”

  Tate rose his eyebrows, as if he were surprised. “Wow. I can’t believe how gracious you’re being, when I’ve never done anything to deserve it.”

  Standing, Lindsay smiled. “That’s what happens when you’re happy with your life. You don’t have time to spend wishing bad things on others. I’m happy now, Tate. I’ve moved on. Now, I hope you can do the same.”

  We stood also. As we rounded the table, Lindsay reached up and wrapped her arms around Tate’s shoulders in a hug. He stiffened for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Then, he placed one hand at her back and hugged her back.

  “I hope you got what you came for,” she said.

  Letting go as she backed away, Tate smiled. “I did, thank you.”

  Nodding, she stood back and waved as we left, descending the porch steps and making our way to the car. Once inside it, Tate fell back against his seat, exhaling with relief.

  “I can’t believe I went through with that.”

  “You did it,” I replied. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Turning to glance at me, he wrinkled his brow. “Are you? Every time I think about what I did, I feel sick. How can you want to be with me knowing what I did to her?”

  Leaning in, I offered him my lips. He kissed me, reaching up to cup my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. The kiss dragged on as he lingered, engaging my lips, then my tongue… making it last. By the time he finished, I was breathless.

  “You aren’t that person anymore,” I replied, once I’d found my words again. “Lindsay forgave you and has moved forward with her life. I know it’s hard, but you have to move past it and let it go. You have to forgive yourself now.”

  Giving me a smile, he kissed me again, a shorter peck on the lips. “You’re amazing. You know that?”

  “I am fully aware of how incredible I am,” I quipped. “Now, let’s go before my dad sends out a search party.”

  Tate had just thrown the car in drive and started toward my house when his phone rang. Glancing at the screen on his dashboard, I noticed Ezra’s name and number. Hitting the button to answer through the Bluetooth system, Tate took a deep breath.

  “Hey, Ezra. Is there more news?”

  “I’m afraid so, and it’s not good,” came Ezra’s voice over the speakers. “Is Bellamy still with you?”

  “Yeah, I’m about to drop her off at home right now,” Tate replied. “Ezra, what’s wrong? Did something happen with Dad? He’s not supposed to be arraigned until tomorrow.”

  “It’s not your dad. It’s Mr. McGuire.”

  My heart leapt into my throat, and, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Rolling to a stop at a red light, Tate reached out and placed a hand over mine. I clutched it, clinging tight as I fought to breathe.

  “What happened?” I managed, my voice coming out all hoarse and scratchy. “Is he okay?”

  “Tate, turn around and get back to Baldwin House immediately,” Ezra said. “Do not, under any circumstances, go near the McGuire’s house.”

  Tears sprung into my eyes, and dread filled me. Something was very wrong. “Oh my God. What’s going on? Where’s my dad?”

  “I’m still trying to get all the details,” Ezra replied. “But it would seem your father has been arrested.”

  “I want to see him.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I paced, feeling as if I might explode if I didn’t keep moving. Tremors had wracked me the entire car ride back to Baldwin House, where Ezra and Faith waited for us in the kitchen. Faith offered me dinner, but I couldn’t eat—couldn’t even think about putting anything in my mouth with my stomach twisted in so many knots.

  “Right now, that isn’t possible,” Ezra said, gazing at me from where he sat beside the couch in the downstairs living room.

  Tate sat on the sofa beside his mother, who watched me with tears in her eyes. “Bell, it’s going to be okay.”

  “No, it’s not,” I snapped.

  On the television, the local news replayed the police dash camera footage of my dad getting into a scuffle with Sheriff Bailey before being taken down by a couple of his deputies. I’d seen it three times already—the sheriff approaching my dad in front of our house, where the two exchanged words. Within seconds, Dad had lunged for the sheriff, almost as if attempting to place him in a chokehold. The two grappled for a bit before the sheriff threw a punch, and then took one from Dad. Then, two deputies jumped onto his back, taking him down the pavement. I’d cried out in horror watching his head smack against the asphalt. He’d gone still as they handcuffed him—and that was where the footage ended. I’d never seen him move again after that, and if it weren’t for the fact that Ezra assured me he had survived, I might have worried the blow to his head had killed him.

  Shaking my head, I paused, choking back tears. I failed miserably, sobbing as the warm drops splashed my face.

  “That’s enough,” Tate muttered, reaching for the remote and turning the news off. “They’re just going to keep playing that over and over, and it’s going to continue to upset you.”

  “My dad wouldn’t hurt a fly,” I managed between sobs. “If he felt the need to attack Sheriff Bailey, it’s because that man threatened him. I know him!”

  “So do I,” Tate said, standing and pulling me to my feet, then against him. “Everyone in town knows him, too. No one is going to believe the sheriff’s story.”

  “Except everyone knows that Mr. McGuire has some… eccentricities,” Ezra pointed out.

  “My dad isn’t crazy,” I snapped, glaring at Ezra from the haven of Tate’s arms.

  “I know he isn’t,” Ezra replied. “But they’re trying to say that your father is mentally unstable and unfit to be released into his own care. So… he’s been admitted to Ridgeview Hospital for psychiatric evaluation.”

  “He’s been committed?” Tate asked, one arm tightening around me. “They can’t do that!”

  “Yes, they can,” Ezra said. “Legally, an officer can take a person into custody and transport them to a medical facility if they feel the person is a danger to themselves or others because of their mental state.”

  “They fear no such thing,” Tate spat. “This is nothing but Sheriff Bailey retaliating against us for turning Canton Haines in. He knows he’s next. Once the police finish searching Canton’s house, phones, and computers, they’ll find what we already know—Sheriff Bailey is one of Haines’ cronies and has bent and broken the law for him on many occasions.”

  “I know that, and you know that,” Ezra retorted. “But the public doesn’t, and neither will the judge he goes before.”

  “Oh God,” I whispered. “What are we going to do? How long can they hold him?”

  “That he’s in the hospital is pro
bably a good thing,” Ezra replied. “If he were in county, the sheriff and his deputies could have access to him, and we don’t want that. He can’t leave the psych ward, but at least he won’t be hurt. They can only hold him seventy-two hours, and by the end of that time, a doctor has to evaluate him and decide whether he can be released to the public. The only problem is that if it’s decided charges are to be brought against him, he may be released into police custody. If the doctor decides he needs to stay in the hospital, they can obtain a court order requiring him to stay.”

  “Charges,” I repeated. “What kind of charges are we looking at, here?”

  “Assault against a police officer, most likely,” Ezra replied. “But don’t worry. We don’t think it will go that far.”

  “That’s right,” Faith chimed in. “I’ve contacted our lawyer, and he is going to represent your father if comes to that.”

  “We can’t afford it,” I lamented.

  “You don’t worry about money,” she assured me. “It’s on us. Douglas would want that, and so do I. We are going to do everything we can for Nate.”

  “Meanwhile, you need to remain here until things get sorted out,” Ezra said. “We’re worried that if you return home, Bailey and his goons might come for you, and we don’t want to take that chance.”

  “I completely agree,” Faith said, rising to her feet. “We are going to take care of you until he’s released. Don’t you worry.”

  “I should call my aunt,” I said, swiping at the moisture gathered beneath my eyes. “If this ends up on the news or something, I don’t want her blindsided. Will I be able to see him at all?”

  Ezra nodded. “Visiting hours are in the morning from ten until noon. You can see him then.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Okay, that’s what I’ll do. Can we go to my house so I can get some things?”

  “I’ll go for you,” Ezra insisted. “Make a list of the things you want and give me your keys. I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

  Accepting a slip of paper and pen from Faith, I sighed in frustration, but complied. The thought of him rummaging through my underwear drawer was embarrassing, but if I was going to stay at the Baldwin’s house, I was going to need them, and other stuff, too. After I made my list, I took my phone into the kitchen. Regina tried to insist on coming to get me and taking me to Atlanta, but I assured her that I was safe with the Baldwins. Besides, I didn’t want to leave town, needing to be close to Dad so I could visit him and make sure things were going the way they should. She relented, but urged me to keep her posted before we hung up.

  Finishing the call, I turned to find Tate standing nearby, leaning against one of the counters.

  “What do you need?” he asked, watching me with concern. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

  I gave him a shaky smile and almost burst into tears again, but I managed to keep my composure. “Make this all go away?”

  “I wish I could,” he murmured. “What a mess. I’m sorry, Bell. Maybe if we hadn’t taken this stuff to the police—”

  “It was the right thing to do,” I interrupted. “Dad knew that, and he was just as adamant as you that we turn Canton and the others in. Sheriff Bailey is trying to intimidate us, but it’s not going to work.”

  Taking my face in his hands, he kissed my forehead. “That’s my Bell. Come on, you should try to eat.”

  Feeling a little bit better now that I knew my dad wasn’t in actual jail, and that we had a plan in place to free him, I followed him to the cabinet where he pulled down two plates and handed one to me. By the time we’d finished eating, Ezra had returned with my things. After handing me the bag he’d packed, he motioned toward a box lying on the floor in the entryway.

  “This package was waiting on your doorstep when I got to your house,” Ezra said. “It has your name on it.”

  My heart sank as I knelt beside the box with my aunt’s return address. My gown for the Founder’s Day ball. Ripping off the tape, I opened the box and pulled away the tissue paper cradling the gown. Shimmering yellow-gold fabric glistened in the light of the setting sun shining through the windows. The dress was huge, having been folded to fit in the oversized box. I stood, lifting it to reveal an off-the-shoulder neckline, full skirts and a bustle—in keeping with this years’ ‘back in time’ theme. The dress was absolutely beautiful. And all I could think was that my dad should have been with me when I opened it.

  Sinking to my knees on the floor, I buried my face in my hands, unable to hold it back any longer. Shoulders shaking with forceful sobs, I burst into tears.

  I woke up the next morning to find Tate in the bed beside me. Blinking groggily, I tried to remember whether he’d still been here when I’d fallen asleep. My meltdown the night before had sapped what remained of my energy, prompting Faith to hustle me upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. I’d managed to get out of my clothes and into pajamas before sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in my own thoughts. Tate had found me there a few minutes later when he’d knocked on the door to check on me. Not wanting me to be alone, he’d climbed into the bed next to me, kicking his shoes off and gathering me against his chest. He’d said he would stay until I fell asleep, but, apparently, he’d drifted off not long after I had.

  Squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window, I sat up, running my hands over my hair and groaning. I’d forgotten to tie it down with a scarf, and now the friction from the pillowcase had frazzled my curls.

  “God, I’m a mess,” I murmured.

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” Tate replied, his voice husky from drowsiness

  Turning, I found him staring up at me with drooping eyes. He smiled, reaching up to stroke a frizzy lock of my hair.

  “It’s terrible,” I replied. “Sorry you had to wake up to this.”

  He chuckled and pointed at the right side of his face. “You had to wake up to this. No judgement here.”

  I scowled at him. “Stop that.” Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I saw it was nine o’clock. “Crap! I overslept! I’m supposed to be with Max and Emma.”

  Sitting up in the bed, Tate placed a hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Mom is taking the next couple of days off work. She told me last night that she wanted you to be free to go see your dad for as long as you wanted today. She’s got the kids.”

  I sighed with relief and fell back against my pillow. “Thank God. I would have felt awful to leave her hanging today.”

  “Don’t worry about any of that,” he replied. “Getting to the hospital to see your dad is our top priority.”

  “What about Douglas? His arraignment is today.”

  Tate shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do about that until it’s over. If the judge sets bail, he’ll pay it and be home for dinner. Today, my focus is you. So, if you want me to go with you to the hospital, I will.”

  I nodded. “That would be nice. I’ll need a ride, anyway.”

  Standing and stretching, he bent to pick up his shoes. “Great. I’ll go up to my room and get ready, then I’ll come back for you. We can grab breakfast before we go.”

  “Sounds good,” I replied.

  Once he left, I opened the bag Ezra packed for me, pleased to see he’d been thorough, thinking to bring the various hair products lining my bathroom sink. I was definitely going to need them today. After a shower and washing the now-dry locks, I moisturized and quickly styled it, then dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I’d finished tying my sneakers, Tate had come back, his hair still damp from the shower.

  I shoveled down my breakfast, anxious to get to my dad, and then followed Tate out to the car. The drive to the hospital was short since it sat on the edge of town rather than in its center, and after locating the psych ward on the fifth floor, we made our way there.

  A nurse in pristine white scrubs directed us to a large, open recreation room where patients in gowns and robes sat around in various areas—some watching TV, others playing cards or b
oard games, while a few spoke with visitors. I spotted my dad seated near a window at a small table, talking to a man in a suit.

  “Dad,” I called out, swiftly crossing the room toward him.

  At the sound of my voice, he stood and turned, a smile crossing his face as his eyes began to water. He pulled me into his arms when I got closer, pulling me into a tight hug.

  “Munchkin,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been worried sick.”

  Pulling back to look at him, I found his eyes heavy-lidded as if he’d hardly slept, the whites tinged red with fatigue.

  “You don’t need to worry,” I assured him. “The Baldwins have taken good care of me, and Aunt Regina was all ready to make the drive from Atlanta if I needed her. I’m okay, Dad.”

  Nodding, he kissed my forehead and smiled. “I can see that.”

  “What about you?” I asked, cringing as I noticed an abrasion on his forehead. “What happened?”

  “Here, come sit down,” he urged, motioning for Tate and me to join him and the other man at the table. “This is Peter Beck, the attorney Mrs. Baldwin hired to represent me.”

  Taking his offered hand, I shook it. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

  Mr. Beck smiled. “It’s no trouble. I was just telling your father that I might be able to get any charges brought against him dropped… if we can get our hands on certain evidence. Your father shouldn’t have to appear in a courtroom more than once.”

  “That’s great news,” I exclaimed, reaching out to grasp Dad’s hand. “What evidence do we need? How do we get it?”

  “Well, I recorded the conversation that happened before Sheriff Bailey and I came to blows,” Dad said. “But they took my phone when they arrested me.”

  “Maybe you should start from the beginning,” I urged him. “We saw the police dash camera footage, but there wasn’t any audio. Why did you attack him?”

  “I was walking home from work,” he began. “When I got there, I found Sheriff Bailey and two of his deputies parked outside. I had a feeling it had something to do with this whole mess with Haines, so I pulled out my phone and set it up to make an audio recording before slipping it back into my pocket.”