Broken Chains (Broken Beauty Novellas Book 3)

by Lizzy Ford

  “Told you so, Ari,” I reply quietly.

  I read through the rest of her notes. Apparently, her antics escaping school got her in trouble with her daddy today. If Chris had more time, I’m certain I would’ve received another one of his lectures, too.

  I move on to Dom’s text, and my pulse quickens.

  Call me next time you’re in a bad spot, is all his text says.

  Whatever, hero, I type back.

  His response is quick. Defensive shit again.

  I sigh. I feel like rebelling and telling him I’ll be as defensive as I feel like. But a part of me knows he not only saved my life, but has helped me since that night in more ways than I can ever repay him. If anyone deserves me at my best, it’s him.

  Sorry. Today was awful, I respond. I’m stressed out and scared. That simple truth takes effort for me to write. I don’t like telling anyone but my therapist how I feel, and I have to tell Dr. Thompkins.

  You have a good team, Dom writes back. I’m here whenever you want to talk.

  I smile, touched as always by his kindness. I’ve never really known kindness. It definitely doesn’t run in my dysfunctional family.

  As I re-read his words over and over, I can’t help thinking about how he shut up Ari with a handful of words. It makes me giggle. Ari is a different kind of train wreck, and Dom can handle even her. I’d pay him to see him do it again – but the chances of me voluntarily calling him are pretty much zero right now. I’m too frazzled and too embarrassed about the ride home.

  Thanks, I text.

  He and Ari make me feel like there are people in my life who really do care about me.

  Are you in the car? Chris texts.

  Yes. I respond. We had enough Fabios this time.

  Has your new cell been in your possession since you picked it up?

  “I hide it in my sports bra during practice and sleep with it under my pillow,” I mutter the words as I type them in response to his question.

  When he has time to explain things instead of barking orders at me, Chris is actually a good guy, too. Dr. Thompkins would say he cares in a different way than most people expect. Still, sometimes, I feel like Chris is trying hard to control my life. After years without a fatherly presence in my life, I’m not sure I like someone taking up that role now.

  4

  The next day, it’s a nightmare getting to school. Anyone who didn’t know about the issue yesterday definitely does today. I’m an hour late for school – and I left an hour early. At more than one point, the press had completely surrounded my car. I text Chris when I arrive and let him know I made it but it wasn’t easy. Six Fabios were enough yesterday. At this rate, we’ll need a new one or two every day.

  I bolt from the car, stop by my locker and hurry straight to second period. Ari’s in this class and looks at me expressively. I shrug and go to my desk. She texts me.

  WTH?

  Press. I reply. I don’t bother paying attention to class. Instead, I review the reports coming out in the media. They’re calling this Abbott-Gate, which upsets me. The reporting is all over the place, with some saying I’ve pressed charges and others saying I’m still pregnant. I have no idea what’s going on and neither does anyone else. It’s complete mayhem.

  I fan myself, overwhelmed by what I’m reading, and scared about the implications of a media feud when I can’t even wear the right clothes in public.

  Ari texts me all throughout the class, and I send Molly a note, too, telling her I’m freaking out. Her only response is that I need to talk to my brother Joseph later. I can’t help feeling disappointed by the short text. It sounds like she’s pushing her unwanted sister off onto the brother I don’t know if I can trust.

  I wish I could talk to Mom. The thought comes out of nowhere, and I frown. I miss her. But whenever I call her, she promises to show up in my life and never does. I don’t know if I can handle that right now, not when I’m barely hanging on. I’d give anything to see her but will have to settle for pretentious Molly’s strange support.

  The bell signaling the end of class rings, jarring me out of my miserable thoughts. I tuck the phone away. Ari joins me in the hallway. I can’t help thinking I’ve never been grateful enough for her in my life. Her smile pulls me out of the overthinking I do every second of the day. For this moment, I can focus on my bestie.

  “I’m going out with Benji Friday. I don’t suppose you can come?” she asks.

  “Uh, only if you want the media going with us.”

  “You can ask Dom to get us through the crowd.” The words are too innocent.

  “In case you didn’t notice, he’s nothing but professional,” I say, wanting to put this Dom thing to rest.

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  I glance at her. She’s smiling. “What’s that look for?” I demand.

  “What look?”

  “That one. Are you keeping secrets this time?” I demand.

  “Nope. He said nothing to me all the way home, except have a nice evening.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t try to ask him out,” I say.

  “Do you have community service tonight?” she asks.

  “Yes. Chris says I need to put in as many hours as I can this week since I’m in the spotlight again.”

  “That sucks. Can I still come over this weekend?”

  “Of course.” I’m happy she’s visiting, especially since I’m about to get yanked out of school.

  The rest of the day goes slowly. Cheer practice starts as it has the past two weeks. Jenna refuses to talk to me. Ari winks at me and nods towards the side gate. I giggle at the thought of our adventure. It was scary but nice to be out of the spotlight.

  “From the top,” the cheer instructor shouts, clapping her hands together.

  Jenna and I line up beside each other. The music starts. I move right – the way I’m supposed to – but Jenna moves left. We collide and stumble away from one another.

  I lift a hand in apology. For once, I don’t feel like punching her. Maybe it’s my morning workouts.

  She glares at me. I open my mouth to speak, and Jenna smashes her fist into my face. Any notion I have of being in control of myself or my world snaps.

  Suddenly, we’re on the ground fighting again, smashing each other in the face and yanking hair. The fresh pain is almost refreshing after my inner angst. At least this pain I can understand.

  When the football team pulls us apart, the media is leaning over the gate snapping pictures. I only end up with a busted lip and bruised cheek. Jenna’s nose is bleeding, and she’s cursing.

  The two football players who have my arms release me when they realize I’m not fighting. Jenna gets dragged a few more feet away before she finally relents.

  What is it with this girl? I’m stressed, but I didn’t start it this time. I’m doing all I can to follow Chris’ boring rules.

  The cheer instructor points towards the locker rooms. I turn away in irritation and touch my swelling lip.

  Ari drags me to the locker room, not releasing me until we’re safely hidden away from anyone’s view. I rest my forehead against my locker.

  “Chris is going to kill me,” I mutter.

  “Yeah, probably. What the hell happened?”

  “It was an accident.”

  Ari rolls her eyes.

  “Really,” I insist. “The first time, it was my fault. Not this time.”

  “Whatever. You know the media will spin this however they want.”

  I sigh and clean up. Even if I didn’t start it, it still felt good to release all that pent up anger and stress. Gianna would tell me that means I need to extend my morning workouts or something. I’m sure I’ll hear about it, once she sees it in the media again.

  Ignoring Molly’s advice, I get in the car still in my cheer practice clothing instead of changing into my school uniform or anything she might approve of. Sometimes, I marvel at Molly for being aware of her public persona, and other times, it’s the most annoying thing ever not t
o be able to be myself.

  Sulking and furious with Jenna for breaking up my record of being near-perfect the past few weeks, I text Ari the whole way to the women’s center, wait for my bodyguards to clear a path when we arrive, and then hurry into the building.

  “Gianna says to go to the gym,” Wendy calls without looking up.

  I groan. Going to my desk, I drop everything there then go to the gym area, the cell clenched in my hands. The self-defense class is going on, and my eyes settle on the instructor.

  I have the worst luck ever. Dom’s in a snug police t-shirt and sweats, demonstrating some move with Gianna. He looks really good in the shirt that’s tight around his biceps and across his chest.

  Disheveled at best from the fight, with a lower lip twice its normal size, I approach in defeat. I’m destined to humiliate myself whenever I see Dom. I look at Gianna instead of Dom. The instruction stops, and the partnered women start practicing the moves Dom is teaching. Gianna waves and walks over to me while her brother helps the other women perfect their defensive moves.

  “You want to try?” Gianna asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Did you get in another fight?” Surprise crosses her face.

  I shrug.

  “Alright. You can stay here or go back to your desk.”

  I know which I’d rather do. Run away before Dom notices me.

  Dom catches my eye. His smile lights up his face and reveals the dimples in his cheeks. He returns his attention to the women he’s trying to teach.

  Or … I can stay. He’s busy, so it’s not like I’ll have to figure out what to say to him or anything. I can watch for a little while then go input boring forms into the world’s slowest computer.

  I sit against the wall and watch. The rapport between brother and sister makes me smile. They joke, spar verbally, and seem to be friends. He lets her practice throwing him down and hitting him and always gets up with a smile. He’s equally upbeat with the other women. The few times he demonstrates breaking a hold with one of them, he’s gentle.

  I’m jealous. My brother and sister would never interact with me like this. The one time Joseph played basketball with me, it was for a reporter doing a story on him. Otherwise, Joseph never would’ve bothered. My half-siblings only want something to do with me when it’s politically advantageous to them.

  I feel like I’m alone again, watching what the normal world is like. I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin on my one knee. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I belong anywhere. I’ve been isolated since I was a child, more of a liability to my family than a perfect child, like Molly. After the rape, I’m even more isolated, despite the fact the entire world seems to know who I am.

  Gianna and Dom genuinely care for one another. I want this. A normal sibling. Someone unconcerned with politics with no hidden agenda. A normal person in my life who will choose me above everything. But I’ll never have it. I’ll never have normal.

  I watch until the class is over, torn between resenting the brother-sister pair and envying them. When the women are gone, Gianna waves me over. I go grudgingly, crossing my arms as I join them on the mat.

  “It’s not that bad,” Gianna says hopefully. “Maybe next time?”

  “No, thanks,” I reply.

  “Every woman should know a few moves.”

  Dom says nothing. I wonder what he’s waiting for, but I’m not about to look at him to see if he’s paying attention to me or not.

  “Just a few?” Gianna prods. “It’s a confidence builder.”

  I couldn’t care less about my confidence. Fighting in the schoolyard is one thing. It’s reactionary. Deliberately preparing for someone to attack me in the future … well, it terrifies me. I’m not Chris. I can’t plan for something that might happen down the road. I just want to make it through today.

  “When she’s ready, Gi,” Dom says. “You play basketball, Mia?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, facing him.

  “Your dad and brother play with you?” Gianna asks.

  “No. Ari’s brothers taught us both.”

  “Wanna shoot?” Dom motions to the basketballs in the rack along one wall.

  “Sure.” I can’t help feeling relieved. I’d much rather play basketball than recall how helpless I was the night of my rape – or prepare myself for another attack down the road. Dr. Thompkins has said learning self-defense would probably make me feel more in control. I just don’t see it. I’m too overwhelmed right now anyway to withstand the pressure of learning anything new, especially if there’s a chance I could disappoint Dom by sucking at it.

  “Have at it,” Gianna says. “I’m not much into sports.”

  Dom trots over to the ball rack and tosses one to me then grabs a ball for himself. Gianna heads toward the locker room.

  I’m happy to have something to distract me. Along with the latest news breaking, I’ve been waiting for Daddy to issue a statement disowning his rogue daughter and then to kick me out. In truth, I’m surprised he hasn’t packed up my stuff while I was at school and moved it already. The only reason he probably hasn’t is because it would look bad politically.

  Whenever I think of him, I feel sad and then angry. I focus instead on aiming and shooting the ball.

  Dom shoots a few baskets. I glance at him as I trot after my ball. As usual, I feel like I want to talk to him but have no idea what to say. Ari is so much better with people than I am.

  I finally come up with something.

  “What days do you teach here?” I ask.

  “Just Wednesday evenings.”

  “Explains why I didn’t see you the past couple of weeks.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel like they’re all wrong. “Not that I was looking.” I suck! “I didn’t know the gym was here anyway.” I throw my head back and sigh. I’m just not gonna try to talk to him. “Never mind.”

  My face is hot and I focus on shooting the ball. I am not going to look at him; I’m terrified he’s laughing his ass off at me like Ari would be, if she were here. When she says stupid things, it’s cute, and she can make up for it with a smile or laugh. When I mess up, it’s a complete disaster.

  “You play one-on-one?” Dom asks.

  “Yes!” My response is too eager, but I’m glad for the way out. It’s been a while since I played with Ari’s brothers. They’re usually pretty rough with us, but we learned to play rough young. We’d even sneak out with them and play street ball. It’s less scandalous now than it seemed then. They played at a country club’s outdoor courts, not on the real streets. But to us, it was an adventure.

  “Your ball.” Dom rolls his off the court. “Play ‘til twenty one?”

  Nodding, I grip the ball then go to the top of the key, waiting for him. He approaches, standing a few feet away. I size him up. None of Ari’s brothers are built like linebackers. They’re tall, all arms and legs, and fast. I’m wondering if Dom’s bulk is going to slow him down. Cheer and sports have given me decent speed, and I was knocked down so many times by Ari’s brothers, I’m not afraid to body-check someone if I have to.

  Dom is going to be hard to body-check. Speed it is, I decide. I assume Dom’s right handed – most people are – and decide my first move will be to go left.

  He catches me studying him. My face feels hot. This is the first time we’ve been face-to-face since the hallway where we talked, after my statement. I’ve thought about an ice cream date with him a few times since that day without daring to hope it could ever happen. I mean, how could it? I can’t go outside without being swarmed, and I would never put Dom in that position.

  Why do I feel nervous? I’ve played Ari’s brothers many times and never felt nervous.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, realizing I’m staring at him stupidly.

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  “Things are crazy again.”

  “You’re safe in here,” he says with a small smile. “I promise.”

  I believe him. I’ll never understand exactly w
hy, but I do. “Let’s play,” I say with more energy than I feel.

  “Bring it!” he says with a grin.

  5

  With a semblance of a plan in place, I check the ball. It barely hits my hand when I fake right and dart left. He’s half a step behind me all the way to the basket, and I stop suddenly to let him pass – then take my shot when he’s out of my way. It’s a messy shot, but I’m nervous, and the ball eventually goes in after sliding around the rim twice.

  “How did a girl like you learn to play basketball?” he asks, trotting after the ball.

  “Girl like me?” I ask and eye him.

  Faint red flares in his cheeks, and he smiles. It’s rare when he’s the one who is embarrassed, and it helps me feel better about how awkward I always feel around him. He’s human, too.

  “No offense. I meant, someone who appears on the society pages.”

  “My family thinks it’s uncivilized,” I reply. “Ari and I started playing to piss off my sister and ended up liking it.”

  Dom chuckles and goes to the top of the key. I stand a few feet off and lower my stance. He’s looking at me the way the friends of Ari’s brothers look at me: like he doubts something so small is gonna pose a challenge, and he doesn’t want to hurt me. He bounces the ball to me, and I bounce it back.

  “You’re not gonna knock me down,” I tell him, irritated and afraid he thinks I’m too weak to play him.

  In real life, out in the world, I feel fragile. But in sports and cheer, which are structured with established rules, I’m comfortable. They take my attention off my thoughts, and I relish that break from overthinking. I want Dom to push me on the court even if I’m afraid to call him off it. The harder I play, the more I escape from my brain.

  “You don’t weigh over one twenty five,” he says. “I’m almost double your weight.”

  “If you play nice because I’m a girl, or because I’m an Abbott-Renou, I’ll –”

  He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He drives forward.

  I move enough to keep from getting run over, but I also slap the ball away, slowing him down as he lunges after it. I do what Ari’s brothers taught me: stand on my tiptoes, plant a hand on his back, and let my other hand hover close to his guard arm, which I’m pleased to see is now up. The moment he gives me an in, I’ll swipe the ball away from him.