If I Could I'd Wish It All Away (I Wish Book 1)

by Lisa Helen Gray

  I take a step back as he takes another towards me. He has that mischievous grin on his face which can only mean trouble.

  “Oh, you are so going to pay for that, Lola Bear.” He takes another step towards me, but that’s not why I step back; it’s the old nickname he used to call me. He’d only ever use it when he was about to torture me by tickling me to death. Before I can run or take another step, I’m airborne, landing on the bed with a bounce.

  He jumps on top of me, pinning my arms above my head with one hand while the other begins to tickle me. I start to laugh uncontrollably.

  Squirming under him in a fit of giggles, I try everything I can to buck him off. His strong hold falls when I knock his elbow with my hand, but it only causes his arm to bend, bringing his face closer to mine. Time stops, along with my breath, as I lie there staring into the most hypnotising, beautiful blue eyes.

  My breathing comes in huge pants, along with Dean’s. We’re both lost in each other’s gaze for a few minutes before his eyes flicker down to my lips. My tongue snakes out, licking the bottom one, and his eyes dilate.

  I wish he would just kiss me.

  I don't know where that thought comes from, or what it means. Since arriving here at Cabin Lake, I’ve felt like I’m living another life. My head is all over the place. One thing I’m sure of―I’m happy here. I finally feel like I belong.

  I’m too busy with wishing he’d kiss me and thinking of running away when the door downstairs flings open, interrupting us. At the sound, we both pull apart, our locked gaze breaking. I flush, embarrassed.

  “Hello?” a man shouts from downstairs, sounding frighteningly scary.

  I hear Dean mutter a curse under his breath, along with something else. And although I’ve not fully heard what he’s said, I nod, totally agreeing with him. Whoever has disturbed us better have a good excuse because for once, I was about to do something I wanted to do and not what someone else wanted me to do.

  When the man shouts up the stairs again, this time sounding weary, it’s familiar, like I’ve heard him before.

  Intrigued and a little curious, I follow Dean downstairs, wanting to put a face to that voice.

  Chapter 10

  Half way down the stairs, I stop, letting Dean walk ahead to where the man is standing at the front door with a big grin on his face. It takes me all but a few seconds to realise who it is―Jeff, the caretaker, who by now is easily in his late seventies.

  His grin fades when he sees me on the stairs. I wave lamely, not knowing what else to do.

  Jeff doesn’t clean and sweep floors as a caretaker. His job is to maintain the cabins’ security as well as their upkeep.

  He doesn’t look happy to see me, and I don’t blame him. Dean and I used to make his life hell, and he hated us. We were always removing his ladders, leaving him stranded on roofs, and once we even went as far as to put a laxative in his drink. At the time, we didn’t know what it was; we just knew it made our dad stay on the toilet longer than necessary.

  I laugh out loud when the memory of the time we swapped his chair out for a broken one at one of the BBQs the Salvatores put on once a year. He went flying backwards, holding onto the table cloth, and all of the food, including the glasses of red wine that were on the table, went all over him as they both crashed to the floor.

  It was funny as hell, and so worth the telling off and the grounding we were given for the whole week after.

  “You, Mr Salvatore, I can deal with,” Jeff says, pointing his finger at Dean before turning back to me. His beady eyes narrow and I gulp. “Even you, Miss Lawson, I could deal with on my own, but the two of you together? No! It’s going to cause my heart to play up.”

  He shakes his head, cursing, and I can't help but laugh at his horrified expression. His face is flaming fifty shades of red, just like it normally does any time he’s around Dean and me. His temples pulse as he grits his teeth, looking at us.

  “What’s so funny, Miss Lola?” Jeff asks, sounding snotty.

  “Nothing much, Mr Jeffery. I was just thinking back to the good old days,” I answer, smiling sweetly.

  “Amusing, I’m sure,” he mutters dryly. “Well, I best be off. Mrs Salvatore asked that I check in on the place and I have.” He shakes his head, seeming amused now. “When I walked up the path and heard a commotion, I thought some damsel was in distress. Clearly I was wrong. Of course, now I know it was you, Miss Lola, I doubt you needed to be rescued. I pray for the man you end up marrying if you haven’t already cursed a poor soul.”

  He laughs, but it sounds distant through my ears. I know Jeff couldn’t possibly know what’s happened to me, yet his words hurt me all the same.

  My vision begins to blur as my breathing picks up, heavy and quick. My hands shoot out, gripping the banister as I slowly bend down to sit on the step, but with shaky legs and sweaty palms, it becomes nearly impossible. My head is swimming, my vision completely blurred, and I think I’m crying. I’m about to have a massive panic attack, and I’ll most likely pass out from the pressure on my chest.

  No! This cannot be happening, not now, not in front of Dean and Jeff. Not when I’m in such a vulnerable position.

  Jeff’s words play over in my head, and it has me questioning whether that’s what people see when they look at me. Would they think it was Rick who needed rescuing from me?

  He’s charming, knows how to work a crowd and manipulate them into doing his bidding, and they don’t even realise he’s doing it. Whenever we were out for a work function, I was constantly reminded by everyone we greeted that I was lucky to have him and I wouldn’t find a better man.

  It actually makes me wonder if they would care that he hit me, if they believed me. He’d probably charm his way out of it, giving them a legitimate excuse as to why he did what he did.

  Hell, I’ve lost count of the amount of excuses he used on me, and when those didn’t work, he switched to domination, using his strength and manipulation against me.

  My lungs squeeze painfully, and it seems like I’m surrounded by smoke as I try to focus, but with each passing second that I can’t catch my breath, my panic increases, and a loud buzzing sound ringing in my ears.

  Dean’s talking to me from somewhere in the room. Maybe shouting? I don’t know. When I feel his warm hands on my shoulders, I know he’s close, and my breathing starts to steady at the same time the ringing in my ears begin to fade.

  “Lola, baby, he’s gone. It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “What just happened? Are you okay? Talk to me. Please!”

  I’m still struggling to catch my breath, even though the panic has started to subside. I feel Dean shift closer, and before I know it, I’m up and in his arms. With a shaky breath, I fall limply into his arms. He starts to move, and I wonder where he’s taking me. It’s only when he bends down with me still in his arms that I realise he’s moved us to the sofa.

  His scent and his hard, warm body surround me, and I sigh contently as I move my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

  It takes me a few more minutes―but it feels like hours―before I fully calm myself down. I stay in his lap, needing his comfort. It feels good, right, and I can finally breathe again.

  “No one would believe me,” I blurt out. “Even old man Jeff thinks Rick would need rescuing from me. I know he has no idea how much his words affected me, but they did.” I breathe in and out for a few minutes, trying to catch my breath again as more tears fall. “Don’t you see? No one is going to believe me. Hell, not even the police believed me, and it’s their job to. Everyone in our town considers him a good man, a gentleman. On the outside and on paper, he is, but behind closed doors, he’s another man altogether. They’ll take his side. They’ll believe him because I’m just a nobody,” I say incredulously, wiping at my eyes.

  He lets out a string of curses whilst turning me to face him, grasping my face in his palms.

  “You listen here, Lo, and listen good,” he says, a hard edge to his tone. “If Jeff knew wh
at that fucking sick fuck did to you, he would kill him, just like I want to.

  “When you started to panic, he knew something was going on. He knew he said something to make you lose it like you did. I watched his jaw tense, his hands lock into tight fists because he was worried about you. Hell, I was worried he was ready to feed me to the bears,” he tells me, trying to lighten the mood. He leans in closer, his nose touching mine as his grip tightens at my waist. Then, in barely a whisper, he carries on, making my heart pound.

  “Lola, you’re wrong about no one believing you. I believe you! I do! Not one cell in my body or brain has ever doubted you. Anyone who doesn't ever know you personally will only have to take one look at you, one look, and will know that you’re telling the truth.

  “That saying, ‘Never judge a book by its cover’? Well, people do. They can’t help it. They see a man with tattoos, piercings, and a motorcycle, and they see a bad guy, a dangerous guy. But when they see a person who is clean cut, a bloke with no tattoos, no piercings, they see a good guy. What they don't see is the person beyond that appearance. They don't see how wrong their judgment truly is. So babe, even knowing that, and looking at you, looking into your eyes, you can see there is only honesty and good in you.

  “No one will ever judge you, but they will envy you. You’re strong, strong enough to get through all of this. You need to own what’s happened, believe you can do it and then move on from it because I believe you can,” he concludes, taking my breath away and causing tears to run down my cheeks.

  After a few minutes, I look up into Dean’s eyes and see nothing but the truth. He does believe me, and he truly believes that other people will too. Not only that but he thinks I’m strong enough.

  If only I felt the same way.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, too overwhelmed by his brutal honesty to find the right words.

  “Lola, can you remember Jeff’s daughter, Blaire?” he asks slowly. When I nod, confused at the sudden conversation change, he continues. “Well, five years ago, Jeff left here without a word or a goodbye. It was just out of the blue,” he tells me and that shocks me. From what little I can remember, Jeff has never left this little town. “We found out a few days later when he brought his Blair home why he left. She was badly beaten and raped. She had been tortured to the point she couldn't form a sentence, and all because of her ex-husband.

  “Although Mom and Dad were worried, they didn’t press Jeff for details. It got to the point they were worried about what he was going to do because he was angry all the time, unpredictable. So they sat him down to talk.

  “Blaire took a shining to Mom, and only Mom. She wouldn't even communicate with her own father and panicked whenever another male was in the room. It was hard to watch her go from being so outgoing and talkative to a woman who would simply jump at her own shadow. Anyway, Dad took Jeff into the back garden, and I heard them talking. I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I did. I was so worried about her, and we weren’t even close. She wasn't the girl I remembered. I just wished I could do something, so I listened, figuring if I knew what was wrong I could help.

  “She divorced her husband when he started to become overbearing and controlling. His behaviour changed out of the blue. There was clearly more to the story, but I don’t think Jeff knew, or maybe he didn’t want to divulge her personal business to other people. Her visits to Jeff became infrequent, and she was distant the whole time she was there. Before that though, Jeff said the couple was always so happy and in love. He never doubted she had been mistreated, and I think it killed him to know there was something so sadistic going on behind closed doors.

  “He had started giving her trouble, wanting her back. When she didn’t go running back, he would cause a scene. I guess it got bad enough for a work colleague of hers to be worried about her not coming into work and ringing her next of kin. When the colleague explained to Jeff why she was so worried and how bad everything had gotten, he was furious. He made her explain everything about Blaire’s ex-husband and what he had been doing. From what I could make out, he was already concerned and had planned to visit her to corner her over it all.

  “That’s when Blaire called him from the hospital…”

  I’m thankful when he trails off because I don’t need to hear what happened to her. My stomach is already turning, and my heart aches for her.

  “When Jeff got there, I guess Blaire filled him in on the rest because I heard him telling Dad that her ex was stalking her and threatening her. The police, yet again, couldn’t do anything since there wasn’t any proof and he wasn’t breaking any laws by turning up in public places.

  “Blaire didn’t think he was ever capable of doing what he did. She also admitted he hit her before, but that it never went farther than a few punches and kicks. Like that made it okay. She came here and was completely broken, always staring off into space and never speaking a word. She wouldn’t leave the cabin for a while, so I never got to see her the first few weeks, but when she finally came out to visit Mom with Jeff the day Dad had a talk with him, she was still in a really bad condition. She had a broken arm and a fractured bone in her left leg. I can’t even describe her cuts and bruises because they were… God, they were everywhere.” He shudders, shaking his head. “I remember thinking of joining Jeff and finding the fucker who hurt her.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is abuse happens to different people, in different ways. It’s the same with the coping stage―everyone does it differently. No one ever heals the same way. But Blaire started attending a Women’s Aid group. It’s a support aid that helps women and children who are affected by domestic violence. They can provide support in so many ways, whether it’s talking to someone on a helpline, attending one of their drop-in meetings and so on. I know from an incident I was called out on that they can provide safety in a refuge too. Blaire chose the helpline first, not ready to talk to someone face-to-face and she said it helped her when I last talked to her. She’s actually running some meetings now and helping other people. I think she still has her moments where it affects her, but she’s like you, she’s strong.

  “Maybe when you’re ready you can talk to Blaire about it, about attending a meeting or something. What do you think?” he asks, taking in a deep breath as if he’s preparing himself.

  Comparing the Blaire I remember to the Blaire he’s just described is hard. I can’t picture her, but I do feel her strength in his words. I’m in awe of how brave she sounds, how strong she is. If I’m honest I’m a little envious.

  A part of me wants to meet her, but the other part is scared that I won’t be able to find the courage and strength like she did.

  I also feel myself melt towards Dean and his obvious protectiveness of a girl he barely knew. He got to know her, help her, and that’s honourable.

  “Can I think about it? I don't want to bring back her nightmares by talking about mine,” I tell him honestly. My mind goes over the possibility of talking about it to someone other than Dean, but fear stops me.

  “Of course. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  I burst into tears, my heart aching as I think about what Blaire went through, what I went through. Sheesh, what thousands of other women go through daily. I cry until my throat is dry and my voice is hoarse.

  My eyes close. I’m emotionally exhausted.

  Chapter 11

  My eyes open as I hear gunfire and explosions coming from the TV. My head is on Dean’s lap, my body curled up on the sofa.

  Yep! I totally feel like a dick.

  First, I go and cry on him like the weak little girl he probably thinks I am―that I know I am―and now he most likely thinks I’m clingy.

  Determined to be stronger, I go to get up from his lap, but the hand he has pressed on my shoulder stops me from going anywhere.

  “Lie down, love. The film’s nearly finished, but we can watch another one after if you like,” he offers softly, his thumb making sweet circles on my bare shoulder.


  Reluctantly, my head turns, and I lie on my back, facing him. “I don’t think this film counts as the first one since I fell asleep and all. How long have I been out? I’m sorry for breaking down on you and for crying. Oh, and for falling asleep on you, again.”

  “First, I knew you wouldn’t like this movie, and it was already in the DVD player since I didn’t get to finish it the last time I was up here. I would have changed it, but I didn’t want to wake you.” He shrugs. “Secondly, I’ll always be here to catch and hold you when you fall. Don’t ever feel like you can’t come to me for comfort, ever. I was going to go with a third, but I think my second pretty much nailed what I wanted to say. Plus, you didn’t drool on me, so we’re cool,” he teases, smirking at me.

  I giggle, loving the way he seems to always know what to say to make me feel better. When his belly rumbles, loudly, I can’t help but laugh.

  Sitting up, I swing my legs off the sofa and grab the two empty glasses off the coffee table.

  “Right, mister, let’s get you fed. What do you have here? I can cook us something if you like?”

  “I’ve never had a woman cook for me… except for Mom of course. It would be an honour to let you cook for me,” he says, in a mocking superior voice. He sounds so serious that I laugh again, which feels good. “Although, I don’t know what we have. I did bring some stuff, so it’s what you can make out of it, I suppose.”

  With that, he gets up and follows me into the kitchen. The mood is lighter, our earlier conversation no longer lingering in the air. Although, I won’t lie and say it isn’t at the back of my mind.

  *** *** ***

  It’s just under an hour later when we finally sit down to eat our food, Cajun chicken salad with cheesy pasta. The dinner is so random that we decided to make it more spontaneous by adding garlic bread and some onion rings that were left at the bottom of the freezer. We eat our dinner while making small talk. I feel like I’m a different person when I’m around him. I’m finally free to say what I want, when I want, and how I want, without having to worry about retribution. He doesn’t judge me or patronise me, just listens and talks. It feels like I can finally be the Lola I was born to be.