The Colonel nodded, with perhaps a hint of compassion in his face after my statement, then turned to two MPs who were acting as bailiffs. He'd read all the same evidence I had, and he knew that if I'd insisted on taking it to a jury trial, a good lawyer had a chance of getting me off. "Secure the prisoner for transport. This court-martial is adjourned."
Chapter 7
Abby
The house was quiet when I got back, and I was worried that Daddy may have gone to work. Brittany didn't work. I don't think she'd ever had a job in her life, and I could not have faced dealing with her alone. Not on top of all that had happened to me in the past twelve hours. But. . . I needed him, regardless of how childish it made me feel to admit it.
On the cab ride from Midtown back to our house, I kept turning over in my mind how damn stupid I'd been. It had taken me a while after I saw Chris's face to make the connection, but once I had, the name Dane Bell stuck out like a sore thumb in my mind. I had been just about to turn eighteen when I read the news about a soldier in the 101st Airborne killing one of his own in Iraq. Chris hadn't told me a lot of personal details about his friends at Fort Campbell, probably because of operational security, but the names Dane and Lloyd stuck out because they were so close.
I'd known that Chris was older than me when we first met, but it was charming that he was willing to wait. We'd met on a day that Daddy had let me come to the job site, where he was working on a new building for Lake Chevy. Chris had been there on leave from the Army, visiting his dad, and the two of us hit it off. Within two weeks, we were seriously dating. Dad was concerned about our age difference at first, but he accepted it because he felt Chris was so mature and noble.
I, of course, felt the same way, especially when he swore his loyalty to me. "Honey girl," he told me when he had a three-day weekend to spend down in Atlanta before shipping out to Iraq, "you just happen to be the most beautiful thing I've seen in my entire life. Only a damn fool wouldn't be willing to wait for you."
We'd kissed. We had done a lot of that back then, and I'd let him get to second base. But the one time he'd tried to push for more, I told him no, not until I was done with high school. He'd agreed easily enough, and other than a hand on my backside when we would kiss in his car or out on the lake when we went swimming, he never strayed out-of-bounds again.
After the killing, Dane's name had been all over the news for a few days. Even though I don't watch a lot of TV news, Daddy loves his Fox & Friends, along with Hannity, O'Reilly, and the others on that channel. It had made for good TV at the time, especially when it came to light that Dane was from a so-called blue state and had actually left college to enlist. Normally, this would have been a cause for celebration, but for the fact that Dane had been involved in what the campus termed 'multi-faith support group,' and the talking heads termed an Islamic acceptance front. Also, the classmates who came forward to get their fifteen minutes of fame described Dane as a misfit, who'd partied and goofed off more than studied, so he had lost his scholarship. "So you see, this little liberal, guilt-ridden sympathizer decided that it would be fun to go and play soldier," one of the commentators had declared one night, the same day I'd gotten the email from Chris telling me about the arrest, "but when the chance came for him to show his true colors, he chose the enemy over his own friend."
That Lloyd's father had made the rounds of the talk shows after that didn't help matters either. He was mad as hell and used every chance he got to try and push for Dane to get more time. Listening to his side of the story, you'd think Dane had gone hunting Lloyd purposefully.
By that time, though, I'd been caught up in my own drama, too much to know the truth from the spin. Chris had written me an it's not you, it's me letter, leaving me eighteen, not knowing which college I'd go to, and having to go with Pete Stantz, of all people, to the senior prom since every other guy worth going with already had a date by then. I'd been considering Georgia Tech and the University of Kentucky at the time, but Chris's breakup made my decision clear. As time had gone on, the hurt healed, and until the night before, I thought I was pretty well off, all things considered. I was happy.
At least I thought I was, until I saw Chris's photo and it all came rushing back to me. The hurt, the pain, all of it. Add to it that Dane had been amazing in bed, so wonderful that my body still yearned for his touch even after knowing what kind of murdering bastard he was, and I didn't know what to do except feel miserable.
The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house louder than I thought it would, only to be followed by the sound of footsteps rushing to the front door. I stood there, unsure of myself when my father came around the corner from the kitchen, his face lined with worry.
"Abigail Melissa Rawlings, where have you been?" he demanded, anger on his face until he saw the way I looked. His eyes immediately softened, and he stopped, holding his arms out to me. "Oh, baby girl, come here."
He hadn't called me his baby girl in years, not since I got over wearing my hair in pigtails back in fourth grade, but it didn't matter. I rushed over to him, burying my face in the cotton of the polo shirt that he normally wore to the office. Inhaling the comforting scent, I started to bawl my eyes out. I heard footsteps again, this time lighter and more measured, and I knew that Brittany had joined us. It didn't matter as I continued to bawl, tears and everything else pouring out of me as he held me tight, whispering comforting words that had little meaning except that I was safe into my hair.
"I'm so sorry, Daddy."
"Shh, we'll talk about it later," he said, in that way that told me everything would be all right. "We've just been worried sick about you, honey. Come on, let's get you up to your room where you can change clothes. Do you need anything?"
"I just want to sleep," I said, my exhaustion hammering into me. Despite the cat naps I'd taken during the night with Dane, I was shattered and barely able to stay conscious. "Please, I just need sleep."
"Then let's get you to bed," he said. "We can talk after you wake up."
I felt like a zombie climbing up the stairs to my bedroom. Daddy stopped at the door while Brittany followed me into the bedroom, helping me with my clothes. "I'm sorry I was so strict with you, Abby," Brittany said after the door closed and we were alone. "I didn't mean to make you run away."
"It's okay, Brittany," I said, too tired to say much more. "I just . . . I need to sleep."
"I understand, honey," she said, tucking me into bed. She sat down next to me, brushing the stray hairs out of my face. "I know that I come off as a bitch to you, Abby. I'm sorry about that. I never had a daughter of my own before. But I do love you, and I want to at least be your friend. I'll never try to replace your mother."
"Thank you," I whispered, my eyes drooping. "I know you care."
I didn't hear her answer as the black curtain of sleep started to fall over me and I descended into my dreams.
By the time I woke up, afternoon had come, as evidenced by the bright light that poured through the windows to the left of my bed. Atlanta's a warm city, even in winter, so my bedroom faced west to minimize the amount of sunlight that came through the glass during the day. With the way my bed was arranged, that put the main window off to my left.
I yawned, feeling myself remarkably refreshed and much better than the weepy, sobbing wreck that had been put to bed hours earlier. Stretching, I thought about the conversation that I would have to have with them, but I was more prepared for it than I had been that morning.
I looked down at myself, not realizing how much Brittany had helped me get changed. I was still wearing the same panties as the night before, but I had on one of my sleep t-shirts and a pair of my old cheerleading shorts that I still wore for sleep and exercise. I went over to my dresser and peeled my shorts off, changing into a pair of pink boy shorts that matched a t-shirt bra that I liked to wear around the house.
I looked at the panties in my hand, seeing a faint bit of dried mess from the night before, and sighed. I wasn't so much panick
ed anymore as I was ashamed. I'd acted like a total slut, practically jumping on Dane's cock as soon as it was out of his pants. A few tattoos, a little bit of a bad boy vibe to him, and I melted right into his hands . . .
And the way those eyes looked at me when he touched me, the voice in my head said in his defense. Face it, you were falling for him.
I was, but that doesn't mean I need to keep it up, I bitterly said to myself. I balled up the panties and threw them into the hamper. Much like the night before, I scored, this time two points.
I headed downstairs and found Daddy and Brittany in the living room. "Good to see you awake, sweetheart," he said, setting his remote aside and standing up. "How do you feel?"
"A lot better, thank you," I said. "And thank you, Brittany. I saw that you helped me change. Honestly, I don't remember much of that part."
"You were pretty exhausted, Abby. Come now, have a seat."
I rubbed my stomach, thinking. "What time is it?"
"Just after two, sweetie," Daddy said. "You look famished."
I shook my head. "No. I think I can wait until dinner time. That is, if you guys don't mind eating a little earlier than normal?"
"I don't think that'll be a problem, dear, but how about a glass of milk at least?" Brittany asked. She stood up, then stopped. "Sorry. I've been thinking, and I feel like I owe you an apology. I feel like a lot of what caused last night are my suggestions to you."
I took a deep breath, having a seat on the couch. It had taken a lot for Brittany to say what she had to me in my room. It had been just the two of us. There hadn't been a need to show off to my father. Her words had come from the heart. "Brittany, I'll admit that there was a part of me that got up because of that. I had an overwhelming need to rebel. But that wasn't all of it."
I took a deep breath and started. "Part of it was you. I know you love me. And I know you want what's best for me. But I can't keep living inside the bubble you've built for me. And as much as it may pain you, I'm not cut out for the world that Brittany is so familiar with."
His face pinched, and Brittany had a worried look, but both of them held a respectful silence as I continued. "I'm not cut out to be a debutante! Nor am I the type of girl who enjoys putting on a thousand-dollar dress to drive over to Camden in April to hobnob at the Carolina Cup only to have some frat boy from Duke end up puking all over it. I'm blue jeans and t-shirts, and during the summer, sometimes I like wearing Daisy Dukes and a blouse."
"Yes, much to my worry, honey," Daddy said. "Why do you want to live the way I had to? Dirt in my hands, the sun on my neck, and sometimes my father having to choose between paying the electric bill and paying for food. I just don't want you to live like that."
I smiled and came over, sitting in between them, taking both of their hands. “That's not going to happen. Your hard work has put me through GT, even if you never give me another dime in your entire life. You've put a roof over my head, food in my belly, and most importantly, love in my heart. After Mom died, you worked hard, but you also loved me hard too. And Brittany, I have to say sorry too. I know you were trying to help me, and I'm not trying to demean who you are or where you come from, but it's just not me. I'm sorry if I couldn't appreciate what you were trying to do."
He squeezed my hand and smiled. "It's hard to believe that my little girl’s grown up so much. I guess part of me still thinks of you as the little girl who used to want to do coloring books and would mess around in the old workshop with me."
"Part of me still is. But I've grown up, too. I know part of me is still a bit jealous that I have to share him with another woman, and again, I'm sorry for that, Brittany. I feel like I haven't always been fair to you about it."
Brittany smiled and squeezed my other hand. "Abby, I think you did more today than anything I've seen to show me that, while you may not exactly fit in with some of the country-club set, you've got more than enough moxie to be able to stand on your own two feet. I'll be honest, I don't think I could have done what you've done over the past few years when I was your age. And one other thing."
"What's that?" I asked, somewhat stunned by her words.
"I love you very much, dear."
I blinked, smiling as tears threatened my eyes again. "I don't say it enough, but I care for you too, Brittany. You've got some ideas that I may not agree with, but you love Daddy, and that’s most important to me. And if you don't mind, I’ll take some of that milk."
Brittany smiled and nodded. “How about we make it chocolate?”
Despite the improvement in my relationship with Daddy and Brittany, life refused to get back to normal. I was glad that classes were nearly finished for the semester, because I was too caught up in my own drama to be able to focus on tests or papers or anything like that. Still, I had finals coming up in a month, and I knew that when those rolled around, either I had to get my act together, or else my GPA was going to drop. With grad school admissions coming up soon, I didn't want anything to put my chances of getting accepted in danger.
The problem was, I couldn't get Dane out of my head. When I woke up in the mornings, his name was on my lips more often than not, and I hated myself for it. How could I still be obsessed and thinking about this man who was a killer? Was I really that hard up for a relationship, or was there something wrong in my head? I thought about those sick, twisted women who would write convicted murderers in prison and supposedly fall in love with them. Was that what was happening to me?
He said there was more to the story, the little voice in my head would say whenever I thought about him. He sounded so genuine when you were running out of the apartment.
An apartment that wasn't his, I reminded the little voice. An apartment that he was only crashing in because he was a convicted killer who didn't have a job, and probably didn't even have two dimes to rub together.
You mean like Daddy didn't have when he was growing up? the voice asked again. And just how did he turn out?
"That's different," I muttered to myself.
"What'd you say?"
I started, looking up, and realized that Shawnie had spoken to me. We were sitting outside a pizza joint near the GT campus, where she'd invited me to grab some lunch with her before her afternoon lab class. "Sorry, Shawnie. Just talking to myself."
"You've been doing that a lot lately,” she said, taking a sip from her Coke. "People are going to think you've gone crazy."
I shook my head, wondering just how close to the truth she was. I took a deep breath to force my mind off the subject and looked over at my friend. "They already know I'm crazy, Shawnie. About the only sane thing I do is hang out with you."
"My case in point," Shawnie said with a laugh. She was wearing her typical campus clothing, a pair of jeans and a Georgia Tech t-shirt, the G and the H poking out a lot farther than the center of the shirt. If I was to be accused of being curvy, Shawnie was nearly a cartoon caricature come to life. She took it all in stride though, and more than once had shut down a horn dog that tried to ease up on her with a lame 'hey, shawtie' come on. She liked her men intellectual and cultured, something that was pretty hard to find around campus. "Seriously, though, is everything okay? You've been off for the past few weeks."
"Yeah," I said, sighing. "Just . . . well, remember that night I said I was going to meet you at the art exhibit?"
"The one by the German? Yeah, I remember being pissed off at you, and even more when I found out that you were at the dinner for Greg DeKalb, of all people. But you told me you got hung up on some stuff. Why, what's up?"
"Well, I tried to walk to the gallery," I said, and Shawnie held up her hand, shocked.
"You did what? Abby, Atlanta might be safer than it was a few years ago, and this certainly isn't Freak Week, but are you out of your damn mind, girl? And you're a native of this area. What were you thinking?"
I smiled and took a sip of my own Coke, reaching for a slice of the medium pizza we were sharing. "Careful, Shawnie. Your Sandhills drawl comes through more when you
get all worked up. But, as I was saying, I tried to walk. I ran into some trouble, and before you say anything, I know I was being stupid. But I got some help, and the guy who helped me . . . I’m just having problems getting him out of my head."
"Ooh, I see," Shawnie said. "Tell me, was he cute?"
"He was." I nodded. “A little different from the type I normally go for. Maybe that’s the attraction.”
"So why haven't I been introduced to him? Afraid I'll try and take him from you?"
I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I picked it up off the table and grimaced when I saw the number. It was Dane, and while he wasn't exactly pestering me with phone calls, he had called me a few times in the three weeks since we'd spent that night together. I hoped he'd have given up, because every time he called, I was almost guaranteed to dream about him that night. I hit the red call rejection button and set my phone down. "Because sometimes guys aren't what they seem to be.”
Shawnie looked at my phone, then up at me, and sat back, tenting her fingers under her chin in the way that told me she was being perceptive. For a girl who was in school for engineering, she had a deep psychological streak that could either be helpful or frustrating, depending on the situation. "Really? And without going into too many details, since I can tell you don't want me to know exactly who this mystery man is, what is it about him that has you so worked up?”
I sighed and shook my head, confused. "Shawnie, it's just that . . . I thought he was a good man. But, how can a good man have done terrible things? I mean, he's been in prison."
Shawnie tilted her head, smirked, and shrugged. "You mind if I tell you something?"
No Limits: A Dark Romance Page 27
