Cry Love

by Eve Gaddy

  Claire staggered to her feet, holding her purse in front of her like a shield. She was ready now. If he came close she was going for his eyes with the keys clutched in her hand.

  His cell rang, distracting him for a moment, and she took her chance and ran for the door. Knowing if she didn’t get away, she was in for worse. Much worse. He lunged for her but she evaded him, flung open the door, and ran outside.

  He shouted something after her, but she had no idea what and didn’t care. Ignoring the pain, she flew down the steps and across the circular drive, slid inside her car and locked the doors, thanking God she hadn’t parked in the garage as she sometimes did, but instead had left her car out front. She glimpsed Glenn coming after her, his face contorted with rage. With shaking hands she started the car and peeled out.

  Claire had seen enough domestic violence in her work that she hadn’t hung around to find out what else Glenn might do. He was so angry. Unbalanced. And drunk. But that picture. Oh, God, the picture. Even though she knew that it had only been a kiss, she looked guilty of worse. She looked unfaithful, when Glenn was the one cheating.

  But that didn’t justify him hitting her. Beating her. Nothing did.

  For a long time she drove around aimlessly. Dispassionately, she realized she was in shock. Her face hurt, her cheek felt sticky with blood. Her ribs throbbed like a bitch. She should go to the hospital. Let them record what had happened. Because she sure as hell intended to file for divorce tomorrow.

  But God, the hospital. Where she worked. How humiliating to come in as a victim. She wasn’t sure she could do it.

  But she had to. She dealt with abuse victims in the ER. She knew the worst thing she could do was ignore what her husband had done. Pretend it never happened, explain it away? Hell, no.

  She fished her phone out of her purse. Keyed in the hospital’s number. Identified herself and asked for Jonas’s number. She hadn’t realized what she meant to do until she did it. She had no business running to Jonas, but she didn’t care. She needed him.

  “‘Lo.”

  “Jonas, it’s Claire.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She sounded shaky, she was sure. Totally unlike herself. “Can I . . . can I come see you? Are you at home?” She’d called his cell first, thinking that was the surest way to get hold of him.

  “Yeah, I’m home. What’s wrong, Claire?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

  Jonas gave her an address, at an apartment complex not far from her house. Hopefully Glenn had given up on her and hadn’t managed to follow her in his car. If he had, she hoped the cops had stopped him for DUI.

  Jonas didn’t say anything when he opened the door. Just took a long look at her face, then pulled her inside and wrapped his arms around her. She cried out, and he released her immediately. “What happened?”

  “My husband. He . . . I . . .” Claire broke down. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she choked back sobs.

  “Goddamn it,” Jonas said, and took her back in his arms. Very carefully, very gently.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, clutching his T-shirt and burrowing against his chest regardless of the pain. “I feel like a fool.”

  “Hush.” He held her, let her cry, smoothed her hair, and patted her back. “Let’s get you to the hospital. You might have broken bones.”

  She drew back, attempted a calm she didn’t feel. “No. Just bruises.” Unless she had broken ribs, but there was nothing to be done for that. She hadn’t punctured a lung, she was breathing too well for that to be the case.

  “Why did he do it? Did you ask him for a divorce?” he asked grimly looking down at her.

  Unable to speak, she shook her head. She couldn’t stop the tears from starting again, though she made the effort. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. Come here.” He led her to the couch, made her sit, and left the room, returning with a damp washcloth and a couple of soft, cold compresses.

  “I need to take a picture before we clean you up.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “If you decide to press charges you’ll need proof. They’ll take pictures at the hospital but it won’t hurt to have more for backup. Where’s your phone?”

  Her phone. She closed her eyes, remembering the picture of her and Jonas on Glenn’s phone. Glenn had her followed. And she’d led whoever it was straight to Jonas’s door. Unless she’d lost him in her aimless driving around, but that was too much to hope for. She hadn’t been thinking of evasion. She’d have been an easy target to tail.

  Too late to worry about it now. And Jonas was right. She might need proof of Glenn’s actions. She pulled her phone out of her purse and handed it to him. “Go ahead.”

  He snapped a couple of pictures, then sat beside her and gently washed the blood away. Then he handed her the compresses.

  She took them thankfully, wincing again as she placed one against her cheekbone, the other on her mouth. “I’m a cliché. Not only clueless and betrayed but now abused. God!”

  “Can you tell me about it? Where else are you hurt? Your ribs?” He looked so angry. So concerned. Guiltily, belatedly, she realized how her actions might affect him.

  “I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”

  “Claire, stop it.” He covered one of her hands with his. “Tell me what happened.”

  She put down the ice pack on her mouth. “You don’t understand, Jonas. Glenn has a picture. Of you and me kissing. He’d been having me followed and he—I guess it was a private investigator—took a picture tonight. Now I’ve led him straight to you.” Agitated, she clutched his hand. “I wasn’t thinking, I just . . . I knew you’d help me. Now you’re going to be dragged into this nastiness whether you want to be or not.”

  “I’ve been involved since I met you. Things get ugly, we’ll deal. Talk to me.”

  Claire dragged a shaky hand across her forehead. “I walked in and Glenn was waiting for me. Drunk. He’s a nasty drunk. We argued. He showed me the picture. He accused me of . . . of cheating on him. With you. And then he hit me. Kicked me.” She stopped, drew in a breath. “God, I thought he was going to kill me. I didn’t wait for more, I ran the first chance I got.”

  “Good. You did the right thing.”

  “He’s never hit me before.” Jonas didn’t say anything. “You believe me, don’t you?” It was important that he believe her, that he know she wouldn’t stay with a man who abused her. But she had, she realized. Verbal abuse, but abuse nonetheless.

  “Claire, you’re not the one at fault.”

  “I wouldn’t have stayed if he’d ever touched me, but he hasn’t.” She closed her eyes. She’d seen signs, but she’d ignored them. Hadn’t really believed the man she’d married could physically hurt her.

  “What made him think we were together? Enough to have you followed? It’s like dinner the other night. It seems irrational.”

  “Not this time. Not really. A friend of his saw us having breakfast together. The morning you helped me with my car. I don’t think Glenn learned of it until recently. So he had me followed. Tonight, when I got home, he showed me a picture on his phone. It was tonight, Jonas, at the garage. We were kissing. Now he thinks I’m sleeping with you.”

  Anger showed in the hard line of his jaw. “So he beat you.”

  “I—” She started to downplay it but stopped herself. “Yes.” And he would have done worse if she hadn’t managed to get away.

  “A man shouldn’t lay a hand on a woman in anger. Ever. No excuses.”

  A man shouldn’t lay a hand on a woman. Another man in another time had said the same thing. Oh, God, she really didn’t need to go there. Not now, not tonight.

  “I can’t believe this is happening to me. I neve
r imagined anything like this. Glenn is . . . he’s got a mean temper but he’s never been physically violent before.”

  “Yeah, well, he is now. What are you going to do?”

  “File for divorce. I’ll call a lawyer in the morning. As soon as I get a chance. I’m working, of course.” Calling in sick wasn’t an option. Not unless she really was dead and dying.

  “You need to report what happened. Have your injuries treated. Let me take you to the hospital.”

  “No,” she said adamantly. “I can’t go to the hospital. I work there. How embarrassing. Humiliating. God.”

  “Claire—”

  She interrupted him. “I’m okay. It’s only bruises. Nothing’s broken. I’d know.”

  “We’ll go to a different hospital. We don’t have to go to Shady Grove. You should document this attack. Christ, Claire, you said yourself he could have killed you.”

  “Attack.” She shuddered. “It’s so sordid.”

  “No, it’s wrong.” He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “And it’s not your fault. Not in any way.”

  HOURS LATER, JONAS and Claire returned to his car. He’d taken her to another hospital, one in a suburb of Fort Worth. Regardless, he suspected word would be out at their own hospital by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Claire’s face announced what had happened. She wasn’t moving well either. Although she had no broken bones, her husband had bruised her ribs when he kicked her. The son of a bitch had done a number on her.

  Jonas started the car but didn’t pull out. “Obviously, you can’t go home. Do you want me to take you to a friend’s? Or a hotel?”

  Claire huddled against the door. He wanted to pound on her shit of a husband and see how he liked being used as a punching bag. See how he handled fighting a man instead of whaling on a woman like the chickenshit he was.

  “Can I stay with you? Just for tonight?” Her voice shook. She sounded scared, exhausted.

  Hearing her sound so unlike the confident woman he knew just made him more determined to see that Glenn Westbrook got what was coming to him. But in the meantime, Jonas had to do what was best for Claire. “Your husband is probably still having you followed. You’d be better off staying somewhere else. What about your friend Lanie?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t want to see her. I can’t talk to her. Not yet.”

  So, she was angry with Lanie, too. He wondered why. “Then a hotel. If you stay with me it will just give him more ammunition to use against you.”

  “I don’t care. He’s already got a picture of us kissing. What difference does it make what I do now?”

  “It will make the divorce more difficult. Uglier.”

  She laughed humorlessly. “Glenn’s a lawyer. Most of his friends are lawyers. It was always going to be ugly. You heard the cops.”

  Jonas frowned. The cops they’d talked to at the hospital had been anything but helpful. The conversation had been intensely frustrating, at least to Jonas and Claire.

  “Were you fearful for your life?” one of the cops had asked.

  “I . . . yes . . . no.” Claire looked down, pleating the blanket on the gurney with nervous fingers. “I don’t know. I was scared. He’s never hit me before.”

  “Look at her face,” Jonas said. “Of course she was afraid. She’s in shock.”

  “Sir, we’d appreciate it if you let the lady speak for herself.”

  Jonas had shut up, but he’d been pissed. Still was. It was plain to him what way the conversation was going, and it wasn’t in Claire’s favor.

  “I still can’t believe them. Their job is to help victims, not the abusers.”

  “They were just telling us what happens, in their experience. They’ve had a lot of experience with domestic violence. This is nothing new to them.”

  No, they’d seen it all before. The two men had taken Claire’s statement but had implied pressing charges was pointless. Claire and Glenn were married, it was a first offense, regardless of the fact that she looked like a mugging victim. The cops also made it clear they believed Jonas and Claire were more than the friends they claimed to be. Then, when they heard her son-of-a-bitch husband was a lawyer, they really didn’t want to bother.

  Claire hadn’t argued. She hadn’t filed charges, either. He couldn’t really blame her. Jonas suspected she was barely holding it together.

  But Claire staying with him? Bad idea, on more than one level.

  “Jonas?”

  She was waiting for an answer, and no matter what he wanted, Jonas had to do what was best for Claire. She wasn’t thinking clearly, so he would.

  “You can’t stay at my place. We’ll go back and get your car so you can go to work tomorrow, and then I’ll take you to a hotel. After those painkillers, you shouldn’t drive. I’ll get a cab home.”

  She was quiet a moment. “I understand. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have come to you at all.”

  He had to work not to grind his teeth. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m glad you called me. That you let me help. But you still can’t stay with me.”

  “I shouldn’t have involved you. I know, I . . . I didn’t know where to go.”

  “That’s not the problem,” he said, trying for patience. “A picture of us kissing and you spending the night at my place are two entirely different things. You can explain away a kiss. Staying with me implies a lot more. You don’t want to give your husband any more ammunition, especially if you’re going to file for divorce.”

  “If?” Her voice rose with anger, and she straightened. “You’re damn right I’m filing. I was sure before this happened, but now . . . God! Do you think I’d go back to him after he hit me? After he beat me?”

  “No, but women do.” He shrugged. “The guy apologizes, gives her gifts, promises not to do it again. It happens.”

  “It isn’t going to happen to me. I’m done.”

  “Then you need to be careful. A divorce attorney will tell you your best course of action.”

  She slumped against the door. “You’re right. You’re being reasonable and I’m being emotional.”

  “You have cause to be.” He covered her hand and patted it. “I’m glad you came to me,” he repeated. “I’m just sorry for the reason.”

  “Yeah, me too. Would you mind taking me to a Target or something before we find a hotel? I sure as hell can’t go back to the house yet. I need something to wear to work tomorrow. And some makeup.”

  Jonas was fairly sure the makeup wouldn’t hide much, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he drove her to Target.

  SHOPPING WITH CLAIRE was not an experience he wanted to repeat, he thought as they left. At least, not when she had an incipient black eye.

  “I thought the checkout lady was going to clock me,” he told Claire as they walked to his car.

  “She thought you were the one responsible. I’m sorry.”

  “Quit apologizing to me. None of this is your fault.”

  “Do you know she slipped me the address for a shelter? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. God, I feel so . . . so stupid.”

  “Why? Because your husband’s a sick bastard?” He opened her door and helped her get in before going around to the driver’s side.

  “No, because I never realized he might hit me,” she said when he got in. “Glenn has been verbally abusive in the past. A lot, lately. But I never thought it would escalate to physical violence.”

  “You trusted him. He betrayed that trust.”

  She stared out the window. “He thought I had been unfaithful. That’s what set him off, made him so crazy.”

  “But you weren’t.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Claire, look at me.” When she did, he continued, “Even if you had been, it doesn’t make hitting you okay.”

  “How do you know I haven’t cheated
on him? Just because we didn’t? Maybe I’m the kind of woman who’s had tons of affairs.”

  He hid a smile. He’d never met anyone less likely to be a serial cheater. “Have you?”

  “No. But you don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He started the car and looked at her. “I know you, Claire. I don’t know why I know you, but I do.” She didn’t have a response. He changed the subject, which was beginning to piss him off anyway. He hated what her husband had done to her, but he didn’t like all these touchy-feely emotions he was having, either. They made him uncomfortable, just as his growing feelings for Claire were making him twitchy.

  Once they went back to his place and switched cars, he asked her, “Where do you want to go? Someplace near work?”

  “Take me to the Worthington,” she said, naming one of the ritzy downtown hotels.

  “You sure?” Very nice and very expensive.

  She smiled grimly and held up a platinum card. “I happen to have Glenn’s credit card. Seems like the least he can do is put me up at a decent hotel.”

  Chapter Ten

  FORTUNATELY, THE night clerk at the Worthington was female and quite sympathetic. Claire didn’t bother pretending she’d had an accident. Tomorrow at work she would, but for now she could be honest. When Claire specified that her husband was not to be given a key or even told which room she was in, the woman had nodded grimly. “I’ll make a note of it. Don’t you worry, I’ve been there, too. Women need to stick together.”

  “What happened to yours?” Claire asked.

  Glancing around, she saw that no one else was close enough to hear. She smiled broadly and said, “Son of a bitch is in jail, where he belongs. On something unrelated, but at least he’s away from me and my kids. And not likely to get out any time before the end of the century.”

  Once in her room, Claire washed out the new underwear she planned to wear tomorrow. She could change into scrubs once she reached the hospital, but she had wanted something different to wear so it wouldn’t be so obvious she hadn’t changed clothes from the day before. Not to mention, she had blood on her shirt, so she washed that out too. She’d bought several things, toiletries and clothes, as well as a small suitcase to put them in, so she wouldn’t look quite so out of place when she checked in to the hotel.