Zenith Falling (Zenith Trilogy, #1)

by Leanne Davis

“You know why,” she whispered. She could not look him in the eye, or Erica, who was now listening closely.

  He put his coffee cup down with a pronounced “thud!” and shifted forward. “Tell me, Joelle, why is it you’ll obediently follow whatever your abusive husband says, when everything he’s ever done for you is crap. But will you listen to me? Even when you know I’m right? With regards to you, I usually am right. What are you so worried about? What your husband might say? Or think?”

  “Among other things.” She stood up, throwing her linen napkin on the table. Who used a linen napkin for a carton of yogurt? “I said I can’t live with you. I work for you, and I need my job more than anything else right now.”

  Nick fell silent briefly before saying quietly, with his head tilted, “Jesus, Joelle, you may consider your job safe. But you’re not going into the office until your face gets better. You’ll take some time off, figure things out, heal, and get stronger.”

  “Oh my God! You can’t tell me not to work.”

  He simply raised his eyebrows at her. “Yes, actually, I can. And if you won’t take care of yourself, then I’ll have to do it for you. Besides, you’ll scare all the clients away if you come in like that.”

  “Nick!” Erica’s jaw was out as she, too, stood up.

  Nick glanced at Erica. “Joelle can handle this. She can handle a lot more than she, or anyone else, gives herself credit for. What she can’t handle is her shiftless husband. So if I have to be a bastard to get her to kick him to the curb, then a bastard I will be.”

  Erica glanced from Nick to Joelle, who were now glaring at each other. Erica finally sighed in resignation. “I agree totally with Nick. You do need a few days to rest.”

  Joelle shut her eyes, pressing her fingers into the table, and leaning her weight onto it. “I can’t take anymore charity from you.”

  “Your presence here does not create any problem. The only problem is what was done to you, and hearing you even consider going back to the very location where it was done! We… no, I can’t live with myself, imagining the odds of that happening again,” Erica finished quietly.

  Joelle paused. She pondered Erica’s words, sensing her sincerity, and genuine caring. “So what am I going to do?”

  “First of all, give yourself some time. Stay here and heal at your own pace. Need money? Look around you; it’s not an issue anymore, for once in your life. Accept it graciously, as the gift it’s intended to be, and one that Nick, and I wholeheartedly offer to you.”

  “I gave you no choice; I slapped you in the face with my problems.”

  Erica looked at Joelle and said softly, “No, you had no choice.”

  “I have no clothes.”

  “Well, we do have a thing called credit cards.”

  “What have I become? Pretty Woman sharing the penthouse for a week?”

  Nick outright laughed, cutting the tension, and overall direness of the situation. “You need our help, so get over that first. If you want to be shocked, then be shocked at the barbarism you had to endure. Not because we’re helping you.”

  Erica nodded. “I’ll pick up some things for you today. That shouldn’t be too hard. What size are you?”

  “Short,” Joelle said, glancing at Nick. Did she really feel modest about discussing her clothing size in front of Nick? Her entire face was swollen, bruised and demolished: what did her lack of weight or curves matter?

  Erica’s eyes ran up and down Joelle. “A petite two or so? You couldn’t be much more.”

  Joelle shrugged. She always bought clothes at least one size too big. Erica wouldn’t do that. When Erica got up, nodding, she seemed happy to have a new plan for the day, something to do that was totally unexpected.

  “Okay, good. I’ll go get you a few things.” She turned to Nick and said, “I’ll be back,” kissing him on the cheek before walking down the hall, and out the front door, still clad only in her robe. Joelle’s mouth hung open dumbfounded.

  “Where is she going dressed like that?”

  Nick glanced up at her and replied, “She lives two floors down.”

  Joelle lowered her curious eyebrows. That was just weird. She felt a bubble in the back of her throat… of humor. A laugh escaped her mouth; and she was pleasantly surprised to have anything resembling humor left in her. Nick’s serious face broke into a slow smile as soon as she smiled.

  “That must come in handy.”

  “Sometimes,” he answered. Then they stared at each other. A sudden tension seemed to envelop the bright room around them, now alone together, over breakfast. Erica’s gracious presence easily diffused any awkwardness. But now it returned, almost visibly.

  “She’s amazing, you know. I can’t think of any girlfriend who would react the way she has to me. Most would despise me, and boot me out. She’s so gracious, kind, and wonderful.”

  Nick paused from taking his next bite, seeming to consider Joelle’s statement. “Yes. She is. But I think you’re wrong. Most people would feel compassion for you, and put aside their own issues or problems. It’s not okay what happened to you, Joelle; and most women, I’m sure, would agree with that. Especially Erica. She’s spent her entire career trying to help women and she’s a brilliant doctor.”

  Nick got up before she could answer and dumped his dishes carelessly into the sink. He left the room, and banged around in the utility room. When he returned, he had her clothes from last night, folded in a neat pile, with her underpants and bra on top. Erica must have done that. Erica: the epitome of perfection, gentility, cleanliness, goodness. What Joelle didn’t like, however, was Nick handling her undergarments. She quickly got up and snatched them from him. Not that she worried Nick would even remotely think sexual thoughts about her, after seeing her limping, stiff body and swollen, bruised face.

  He leaned back against the counter, watching her clutch the small pile of clean, still warm, floral-scented clothes. Finally, he asked, “What do you need?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Right now. What do you need from me? To leave you alone? Stay with you? Take you out? Sit here all day? What would make you the most comfortable for today?”

  He was like no one she ever met. “You don’t have to babysit me, Nick; I’m not going to run away to Rob, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  He sighed, reaching a hand up to his neck. “No. I wasn’t worried about Rob. Today is about you. Not him. Okay? Give that to yourself. What can I do to make things easier for you today? Right now?”

  Joelle looked down at the beautiful, dark hardwood floor of his kitchen. “You’ve already done that. I would have spent the last night on the streets if I didn’t know you and where you live.”

  “Yeah, I realize that.” Nick shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not looking for your gratitude. What can I do for you?”

  She turned away, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “I don’t know.”

  “I know you don’t,” he said finally, to her quiet admission. He came over, closer behind her. He seemed like he wanted to touch her, or hug her, or just hold her. But he didn’t.

  “You look exhausted. Why don’t you go lie down, and watch some TV? I’ll shower, and get dressed. Maybe you could write down what you want from your house. I assume you’ll want to let him know where you are, and I can do that.”

  Nick’s voice always sneered whenever he said “him” or “he” when referencing Rob. Nick preferred to avoid saying Rob’s name at all costs. “You can’t go walking into Rob’s house,” Joelle told him.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t know how any of the people will react to you coming there to get my clothes.”

  “I can assure you, he won’t try to pin me against the wall. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle him. Or them. Just write down what you need.”

  “I can tell you: my purse, by the dresser, and my coat. Any clothes from the dresser. Whatever. I don’t care.”

  He nodded with a clipped
jerk of his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I can’t believe I’m sending you there to gather up my stuff. I have a feeling it isn’t going to go well.”

  “I’m not telling him where you are or that you’re here. I’ll only go so far as to tell him you’re safe. Which is something he sure as hell didn’t care about last night.”

  “Okay.”

  He blinked in surprise. “No arguments? No ‘he deserves to know more’? Or that you should be the one to call him?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not yet. I think I just need to go lie down. I’m tired. So tired I can’t even see straight, let alone, think straight.”

  He nodded. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had. Let me handle Rob, just this once.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nick found Joelle sound asleep on the couch, with the morning news still on, a blanket covering her, and ice packs obscuring half her face. His heart twisted. A weirder situation he’d never been in. He wrote a quick note, and left it next to her on the coffee table before locking the front door behind him.

  Nick drove to Joelle’s neighborhood, which wasn’t so bad. The house she lived in, however, was very bad. He parked in front of the hovel that Joelle formerly called home, the party house that virtually imprisoned her. He knew he should feel nervous, or out of place, but he didn’t. He felt primed, and all revved up. God, how he ached to punch Rob Williams’s face to a bloody pulp, and smash Rob against the wall like he did to his young, defenseless wife. He would gladly strip Rob’s flesh from his bones for the trauma and abuse he regularly inflicted upon Joelle’s life, her self-esteem, and her physical well being.

  Instead, Nick knocked on their front door. It was several minutes before someone shuffled to answer it. Kenny, the lazy drummer guy, seemed to have just rolled out of bed to come to the door.

  “Whaddya want?” he yelled through the sagging storm door.

  “Rob here?”

  “Yeah. Come on in,” Kenny said as he turned down the hall. Kenny didn’t have a clue who Nick was, or Nick felt sure he wouldn’t have been let in so easily.

  Nick waited in the entry, holding his breath at the acrid odor of the place. It smelled old and musty, like mildew and gym shoes. Sweat. The carpet leading upstairs was worn through on several treads. The once gray carpet had a dull sheen of blackened, oily spots. How could Joelle stand it? Why did she stand it?

  Rob came shuffling down the hall. His jeans were zipped, but not buttoned, and he had no shirt, bare feet, and his hair was worse than its usual messed-up condition. His eyes were bleary and red, and he looked like hell. But not half as bad as Joelle looked. Rage had him curling his fingers into tight fists.

  “Where is she?” Rob’s voice came out gravelly, like dry corn stalks.

  “Away from you, you miserable piece of shit. I came here for some things she needs and you’re going to let me take them.”

  “Who says? Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?”

  Nick was never prone to violence, or losing his temper, or any kind of rashness. But at that moment, he snapped. Before Rob had any clue he was coming, Nick rushed him, and pushed Rob into the wall, gripping his throat tightly with his hand and shoving him harder against the wall. Nick’s height blocked Rob in. Rob’s eyes bulged, as he struggled, and his hands came up to claw at Nick’s hands.

  “Do you know what you did to her? I don’t see any reason not to kill you for it. Right now. I’ll just choke the life out of you against the very wall where you attacked your own wife on. Did it thrill you when you saw your wife bloodied and battered at your own hand?”

  Nick sensed movement behind him. Rob was gasping and struggling, and Nick glanced back. There was the tall, thin man named Spike standing in the hallway. His hair was pointy as ever and his dark eye makeup, obviously from the previous night, was smudged and smeared around his eyes. He had on black leather and was standing there, just staring at them. Nick stared right back. Expecting Spike to make a move, Nick knew he couldn’t take on both men.

  Finally, Spike spoke, “Something happen to Joelle?”

  Nick looked up and met Spike’s dark eyes. “Yeah. The living shit was beaten out of her.”

  “Not by Rob,” Spike said, but his eyes searched his friend’s for confirmation.

  “No. By someone who came to rip him off. Rob here? He just yelled at her; and what would you call what you did to her, Rob? Were you trying to grope her? Or rape her? What reason did you have for doing that to her when she came to you, cowering for your help? Instead of helping her, he pushed her up against the wall and kissed her so hard, her mouth bled.”

  Spike looked on. His vampire-like face unmoving, showing no indication he’d even heard Nick, or what he thought of it if he had heard.

  “Is she safe now?”

  Nick glanced back, surprised at the freak’s question, and Spike’s calm, clear, deep voice. “Yeah, she’s safe. As long as she’s far away from all of you.”

  “I didn’t know. I wasn’t here. No one told me,” Spike said after a long moment. Nick didn’t know what the man was thinking or what he might do.

  Nick kept pressure on Rob’s throat. He was hurting him, but not killing him. Spike looked at his friend again, and shook his head. “I can’t believe you’d hurt her, Rob! What’s happened to you?”

  Spike turned and walked away, as if to say, have at it to Nick. Nick didn’t expect that at all. Huh. He didn’t know what to make of the man. The whatever Spike was. Still, at least Spike cared enough to want to know what happened to Joelle, and seemed to worry more than Rob did over her.

  Nick eased his grip on Rob before letting Rob fall to the floor, gasping, and grabbing at his red, bruised neck.

  “This is how it’s going to be, you miserable little son of a bitch. You’re going to get out of my way. And stay out of it. And as for Joelle, don’t even think about looking for her.”

  Rob sat on the floor with his legs spread before him, and his head fell forward onto his chest. He seemed to deflate, and virtually die almost right before Nick’s eyes. Nick didn’t know what to make of him, or of Spike’s lack of interference. Nick ran upstairs and opened the first door, as Joelle described. Inside was a queen-sized bed, with a cheap, particleboard headboard, and garage sale, mismatched furnishings. The room, however, smelled pretty. A far cry from the rest of the house. Joelle made every attempt to form their room into something livable. There were unburned candles, a glass vase, and pictures of Rob and her that she’d framed. The bed was destroyed, but Nick bet Joelle usually pulled up the patterned bedspread. The entire room felt like it had been transported out of the shithole house and could have passed as any master bedroom in any pretty, little starter home, in any pretty, little neighborhood. Despite Joelle’s exertion and obvious attempts, to make things a little bit better for herself, she had very little to work with.

  It made her small efforts at normalcy almost heartbreaking. Tenderness for Joelle filled Nick up, and he felt like a voyeur going through her drawers, and handling her underpants, her bras and socks, her pants, her shirts, and her sweatshirts. What choice did he have? He had to pack her stuff and underwear was necessary. He found a jewelry box, and dumped all of its contents into her purse.

  He carried her stuff with him and shut the door behind him. Down the stairs, he found Rob still sitting there, looking utterly deflated on the floor. His shoulders slumped, and his body appeared almost boneless. Nick came down, and had to avoid Rob’s legs.

  “Just tell me if she’s okay, man. Just tell me that much.”

  Nick paused at hearing Rob’s voice. “You saw her. How can you think she could be okay?”

  “I was high. I was out of my head when I got home. I didn’t mean to do what I did.”

  “But you still did it.”

  “She’s not coming back, is she?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Are you fucking her?” Rob asked, his voice devoid of emotion. His gaze locked on Nick.


  “Does it matter after what you did to her? What you’ve done to her? She hasn’t done anything, but try to make it work with you, and defended you, at the cost of everything to her. Let her go. Let her have a chance. Because you know you’re nothing and you never will be.”

  Rob didn’t get up or try to move. “I know I’m shit. She’s all I ever loved.”

  “Bullshit. I’m not a little, vulnerable, naive girl you can con with your ‘poor me’ bullshit. If I have any influence, you won’t be able to con her again either.”

  Nick slammed the door and threw Joelle’s stuff in his car. He drove out of there as fast as he could. That place, and Joelle’s life were more depressing than anything he’d ever witnessed.

  ****

  Joelle slept for days, but only on and off. She kept ice on her face, ate very little, and talked less as the days went by. She was constantly aching, and barely could move. She stayed on the couch, or in bed. Erica came and stayed there too; she was a godsend to Nick. When Joelle shied away from his touch, she had no problem letting Erica help her move about. She let Erica take her hand and guide her to bed, and allowed her to wait on her, whereas she couldn’t even look Nick straight in the eye.

  He told Joelle a shortened version of what happened when he went to her house. She listened to what he said and Rob’s responses quietly, saying little. Only her eyes showed her confusion.

  Nick ached for Joelle. He hated seeing her in physical and emotional pain. She had yet to get angry, or terribly sad. She just slept. And slept. She was so quiet most of the time, Nick and Erica almost didn’t remember she was in the house. She didn’t cry. She didn’t rage. She just accepted things without question. She accepted Erica’s help and pampering. She accepted Nick’s questions, but answered them only in monosyllables. She accepted the conclusion that despite how beat up she was, no one would pay for it. And she accepted that no one but Nick and Erica really cared.

  Nick returned to work after Joelle wouldn’t talk to him or let him in. He was useless around her, so he went to work and poured out his frustration, his annoyance, and his own pain over her, at work. At least there, he could control his life and cause reactions. And get his way.