Zenith Falling (Zenith Trilogy, #1)

by Leanne Davis

  He set the cup on the nightstand, but stood at the side of the bed, holding the aspirin. He waited for her to look at him, to show him, or let him see what she suffered. She swung her eyes up towards him and lifted her chin just far enough. He stared. What else could he do? Her left eye was black and blue, swollen, and puffy. Her cheek was a red gash, and her mouth was very swollen on one side with a deep, angry, red line where her lip split. He gently took her hand, but she stiffened at his touch. Placing the aspirin into her palm, she looked down, surprised at first, then clutched them. Carefully, she swallowed them one at a time.

  He stood there silently as she finally took a sip of tea, wincing when the cup met her ragged lip. He collapsed into the bedside chair.

  “What happened?”

  She sucked in a breath as tears instantly filled her eyes. “He didn’t do all this.”

  “Then who did? And how much did he do?”

  “I came home and found someone in our room. The intruder was big and he rushed me, and threw me against the door. He hit me, and pulled me by my hair, all the while yelling at me.”

  “Yelling what?”

  “He wanted to know where Rob was. I was terrified. I was sure he would kill me. He kicked me, hit me some more, and threw me against the wall. I fell on our dresser. I think I blacked out for a few moments. When I woke up, he was gone, but I think he found the money.”

  “What money?”

  “Rob had some money taped to the back of the heat register.”

  “Cash?” Nick asked, surprised. Picturing the envelope she’d recently given him. What was Rob into to be keeping cash strapped to a heat register in the bedroom he shared with his wife?

  “Yes. Cash.”

  Nick didn’t know what to be happier about: that Joelle wasn’t killed by the intruder; or that it wasn’t Rob who beat her up. He jerked to attention, realizing he might have to call her son of a bitch husband to come and get her. Rob might not even know that Joelle was attacked, assaulted, and brutalized. Maybe she only ran to Nick because she was scared, after she couldn’t find Rob. He nearly groaned at the thought of surrendering Joelle to her sleazy husband. He wasn’t sure he could do that.

  “Do you want me to find Rob? Is that why you came here? Because you couldn’t find him?”

  She turned her head, and made eye contact with him. “You’d do that for me?”

  Her eyes were dark and big, and his heart fell to his feet. He shut his eyes. “I’ll do anything you ask me to do.”

  She nodded and whispered back, “I know.”

  Moments ticked by as they stared at each other. Finally, Nick cleared his throat. “Do you want me to call Rob?”

  “No. I don’t want you to find him. He already knows.”

  Nick sat forward in his chair. “What do you mean he already knows?”

  “After the intruder left, I went into the hallway, trying to get to the phone. I was confused, and scared. I was sure the man would return to finish me off, and I desperately wanted to call the police. Then he came back.”

  “The intruder?”

  “No. Rob.”

  There was an eerie tone in her voice. Something. Rob had done something to her. “Rob came home? Then why aren’t you in his arms right now? Why isn’t he taking care of you? If Rob knows what happened to you, why are you here with me? What did he do to you?”

  “He was high. I don’t think he even really saw me. He came at me when I was in the hallway. I was cowering there, and he wanted to know what happened, then… Suddenly, he was angry at me.”

  “About what?”

  “About the money.”

  “The money?” Nick’s tone was flat, lethal. The money. That was what Rob cared so much about? A lousy few hundred dollars? Really, how much money could Rob have?

  “The money is all Rob cared about?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do to you?”

  Her head dropped down, and she twisted her fingers together on top of the bedspread. “He was just rough with me.”

  Nick sighed and scooted to the edge of the chair. He rubbed at the crimp that was now growing in his neck. “Rough how?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters. It all matters more than everything.”

  She shook her head.

  “Did he rape you?” Nick finally asked, his voice a ragged whisper. His entire body was frozen by his taut nerves.

  She jerked back, and her eyes flashed onto his. “No. No he didn’t. He pushed me against the wall. Yelled at me. Kissed me. That’s not what hurts so bad.”

  So, Rob walked in on Joelle, finding her curled up on the floor, beaten, bloodied, and abused. And his reaction was to pin her against the wall and kiss her? She winced in pain each time she swallowed or moved her lips. She sought Rob’s care, compassion, and help. And what does Rob do? He kisses her? Nick had no doubt it was an ugly, brutal kiss, because nothing else would have sent Joelle running into the dark, wet night all alone, scared and beaten up. Blindly fleeing with nowhere to go.

  “Was he trying to rape you?”

  She grew silent and he knew the answer. He waited for her to say it, to come to terms with it. “He stopped.”

  “None of it is your fault. You get that, right? Nothing. He shouldn’t have had his drug money hidden in your bedroom. He practically invited any thug to hustle him. And as to Rob manhandling you: that isn’t okay.”

  “I ran. And I kept running.”

  “You were running for your life, and your safety. You get that, don’t you?”

  “I think so.” Her tone was quiet, sincere, and eerily honest, so Nick quit pushing her. He took a breath, and decided to deal with her husband another day.

  “How did you get here?”

  “Someone gave me ten bucks for bus fare.”

  “Joelle what that stranger did to you was bad, really horrible. You’re hurt all over. But your husband? His uncaring attitude, and failure to react how any normal human being would at seeing you like that, of all times, really matters. It matters a lot. I know you think you love Rob. You excuse his behavior by claiming he’s just confused, high or drunk. Whatever. He’s not. He’s dangerous. Whatever he is, and to whatever extent, can’t excuse this.”

  “I can’t think about that yet.”

  Nick had to do something big, to make sure she didn’t end up right back with Rob. Back in that chaotic semblance of life, at the mercy of Rob, his friends, his band, and now, his apparent drug dealing. Nick sat back in his chair, deflated. This time though, he didn’t intend to play nice. He didn’t care if it was his place or not to help Joelle anymore. He had to drive Joelle away from her husband. He’d do everything he could to see she not only left Rob, but saw it through and finally divorced him, so she’d never so much as look at him again. Nick officially became Rob Williams’s worst problem.

  If Joelle returned to Rob and Zenith, it would be only a matter of time before she was hit again, beaten again, and hurt again. He decided he’d kidnap her if it came to that, just to keep her safe from everything Rob brought home to endanger her with.

  She peeked at him. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “I know that. You come to me. You can always come to me.”

  “Why? Why can I always come to you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You just can.”

  “You pity me.”

  He shifted. “Yes. I do. What kind of person wouldn’t right now? Anyone who saw you would feel that way towards you: sympathy, sorrow, worry. Any human would show you some caring. Joelle, just look at yourself. And then you were forced to run out in the pouring rain, alone and broke. What should I feel knowing that? Vindicated, since I was right about Rob? What else could I feel but sorry for you?”

  Love. Shit. He could feel love for her. That thought loudly occurred to him as he gazed at her just then, lying so injured and small in his bed.

  Her eyes held his for a moment, before she averted her gaze, saying softly, “Maybe someday, yo
u won’t have to feel so sorry for me.”

  He looked at her profile, and in just as soft a voice, he answered, “Maybe I won’t. Why don’t you start by letting me call the police now?”

  “No.” She held her neck stiffly. “No, Nick. I mean it. Don’t do that.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Any sane person would have done it two hours ago. Have you looked at your injuries?”

  “I don’t want you to call the police.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if Rob’s dealing drugs, what else might they find at the house? Then what would happen to him?”

  “That’s not your problem. Your problem is all the bruises that now cover your body.”

  “He’s still my husband.”

  “Yeah. I see what his true love has done for you. Over and over.”

  “Please. Do this my way.”

  “Why? So you can go home to him tomorrow? Is that what you’re getting at? Getting ready to go right on home tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Not tonight. Just please… just drop this for tonight. It’s still my life. And my bruises.”

  “You come to me like this and have the audacity to suggest it isn’t my problem too? God damn it! Open your eyes! How long before he puts you in the ICU? Or kills you? And now you dare argue with me that you don’t want to call the cops in order to protect him? You want to explain that to me and help me understand it?”

  She nodded slowly, holding his gaze. Her tongue delicately ran over the swollen pulp of her lower lip. “Yes, I want you to understand that.”

  He released a pent-up breath. He had to clench his fists to keep from raising his voice. She expected way too much out of him. But… she was all beaten up and in his bed, how could he deny her anything now?

  “Fine. We’ll do it your way. But the cash Rob lost; what do you know about it?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Look, I’m not saying I won’t ever do something about all of this. Just not tonight.”

  He waited a long, drawn-out heartbeat. Finally, against every logical reason, as well as every natural instinct, he said, “All right. What choice do I have?”

  “Thank you,” she whispered almost like a reverent prayer.

  He got up then. “Will you be able to sleep?”

  “Maybe. I can’t imagine what I’d have done without the help from you and Erica.”

  As he shut her bedroom door, he leaned against it, wondering what the hell he was going to do about what he undeniably felt for her. He didn’t think he could possibly let her return to her former life, or Rob. These last few months of their impersonal, professional relationship wasn’t something he wanted with Joelle, and it nearly killed him to pass her in the hallway as if she meant nothing to him. Ignoring her and trying not to find out how she was doing got old really quick. His head rolled back in defeat. Depressed and heartsick over what happened to Joelle and knowing that if she had it her way, no one would ever pay the consequences for doing it were destroying him. Knowing she was hurt and he couldn’t do anything, not even hold her, made his heart ache. He couldn’t admit to her how he felt at seeing her like that. How he felt just seeing her, period. Because, God damn it, he was starting to feel something unexpectedly rare, something of major importance toward Joelle Williams.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The morning brought with it a new pain that shot through Joelle. Every inch of her body throbbed and ached. Her head hurt, her temples pounded, and her body moved as though arthritis controlled it. She gingerly sat up, pulling her legs out of the covers, and slid them over the edge of the bed. She groaned softly as she held a hand to the stabbing sensation in her side.

  She glanced around at her surroundings. The bedroom was luxurious, like nothing she had ever seen before, except maybe, in a magazine. But not in real life. She put a hand to her face, and palpated its puffiness, while cringing at the tenderness, and thought about what she’d look like today as the bruises turned darker, yellower, uglier and blended together over her face.

  What would she do today? Where would she go? The paralyzing thoughts made her nearly slide back into the bed. But no. There was no doing that, and there was no going back. Or forward, at least, until she figured out what to do right now.

  She opened the door to the master bedroom and heard voices coming from the kitchen. Her heart dipped. Damn, Nick was still here. He was too courteous, or too caring, to leave her this morning of all mornings without checking in on her first. Joelle limped towards the kitchen. Nick was sitting at the breakfast nook table, the morning newspaper spread around him. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, and hadn’t yet shaved. He looked good like that. Relaxed, casual, a kind of late morning sexy. Then she saw Erica coming over from the fridge, holding a carton of milk, in a lovely silk robe, with her gossamer hair streaming down over her shoulders. No morning bed hair for Erica, or puffy eyes. She was like a fresh daisy sitting down next to Nick. Their intimacy, and attractiveness as a couple, enjoying breakfast, made Joelle feel like a gawky, little kid, interloping on their soap-opera perfect life. She’d never been engaged in such a scene as this. Calm. Dignified. Or sat down to a breakfast of coffee, orange juice, cereal, and even English muffins. Joelle never sat down at a neat table to eat either; she always ate on the run.

  Finally, she urged her legs forward, feeling more intimidated of the scene she was witnessing between these two now, and the circumstances, than she’d been up until then.

  “Joelle,” Erica said, noticing her immediately and jumping up. “I didn’t think you’d be up so early. Come here. Sit. Do you like coffee?”

  Joelle nodded dully, and felt like an ass. Erica was so nice. Perhaps the nicest woman she had ever met. And here she was, mooching off Erica’s boyfriend, interrupting their lives with her ugliness and obvious lack of stability. Nick’s gaze landed on her; following her as she sat down at the table. He studied everything about her. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not now in his bright, shiny kitchen on this beautiful, sunny morning; and especially not after the confidences she shared with him, cowering up to him last night like a beaten, stray dog. Erica set a cup down for Joelle. She poured the coffee, holding back her long hair with one hand. “There. Can I get you something to eat? There’re muffins. Cereal? Oatmeal? Yogurt?”

  “Uh, yogurt, I guess,” Joelle mumbled. Finding it hard not to respond to Erica’s genteel manners, and eagerness to be cheerful, helpful, and all around wonderful to her. “I can get it.”

  “No. You sit. How are you today? Can I get you some more aspirin?”

  “Yes. But you don’t have to wait on me.”

  Erica came back with yogurt and a spoon. “Of course, I’m going to wait on you. It’s nothing. The least I can do.”

  Joelle smiled up at Erica, wincing when the slight facial movement hurt her swollen, bruised lips and cheeks.

  What planet was she from? What kind of people did things like this, for people like her? She gingerly put a spoonful of yogurt to her mouth, avoiding her sore, split lip. All the while, Nick watched her.

  His voice interrupted her concentration to not open her mouth too wide. “You didn’t answer. How are you?”

  She lifted her gaze. Although his tone was assertive, even commanding, his eyes were filled with kindness and sympathy.

  “How do I look like I feel?”

  “Terrible. You look like you must feel terrible.”

  “Nick! You don’t have to be so cruel. Don’t listen to him, Joelle; he’s just pissed off at what happened to you, not at you,” Erica said, rushing to keep Nick from making her feel any worse.

  “No. It’s okay. It’s true. I do look and feel terrible.”

  “And pissed off, tell me you feel pissed off at what happened to you,” Nick prodded.

  She pressed her lips together. Why did he always have to push her so much? “I don’t know what I feel.”

  “Why not? Why won’t you admit this isn’t okay? A relationship can’t get much more wrong than this, and b
ehavior like Rob’s is uncorrectable and unforgivable. Why won’t you admit that and just accept it?”

  “Nick. This can wait,” Erica said, staring at Nick, and wearing her mild disapproval in her eyes.

  “Wait for what? Watch! She’s going to ask you for her clothes, and go right back there. Right back to Rob. I know her better than you do, Erica. I know exactly what she’s going to try and do.”

  Nick was staring hard at her as he spoke, in his now familiar, but lethal tone. She should have continued to deny it. But she didn’t know what else to do, and she had nowhere else to go.

  “I don’t think you should be pushing her so hard right now,” Erica continued.

  “I think I should be, Erica,” Nick said, still staring at Joelle.

  Joelle raised her eyes to Nick. “What can I do, Nick? I have nothing in the world on me. I don’t even have my ID. That life that you despise and criticize is all that I know.”

  “That life is shit for you. What can you do? You can start by not ever going back there. You want your purse, your clothes, your childhood mementos? No problem! I’ll go pick up every damn one of them for you. But you, you can’t go near that place again. You have to stay away. You need to get your head on straight before you decide what to do next.”

  “You can’t keep advising me what I should do.”

  “You know what? I can. I sure as shit can urge you what to do. I backed off once, twice, totally the last time. Not this time. You’re fragile right now. You’re the injured victim and can’t see this situation as clearly as I do, or as Erica does, which is exactly why you’re not going back there. You’re not seeing him yet.”

  “What else can I do?”

  “Stay here.”

  “I can’t live with you.”

  “Why not? At least, no one will beat you up here.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it? It’s true though.”

  She tightened her jaw. He was stubborn. But he could not dictate to her what she should do, and through gritted teeth, she answered, “I said I can’t live with you.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Why not?”