The Right Side of Wrong

by Prescott Lane

  “Because I love you both.”

  “So you think love gives you certain rights?” she asks, grabbing her purse and diaper bag, preparing to flee.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re unbelievable!” she barks, trying to head for the door. I block her path. Staring me down, she asks, “We haven’t been together that long. You’re telling me I know every detail about you? There’s nothing that you’re hiding, leaving out?”

  Fuck, she’s stubborn. I’m sure she’s used to wearing people out with her defensiveness, but she’s met her match with me. I’m as stubborn as they come. “I’m sure you don’t know everything about me, but there’s nothing I’m intentionally not telling you.”

  “No lies?” she asks, leaning back slightly as though she knows I’m caught.

  I haven’t lied to her. Oh shit, I forgot about that one little white lie. I’m completely fucked here.

  My answer takes too long because she says, “That’s what I thought.” She opens the door, walking away then turns back. “I know about the cameras.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  PAIGE

  AGE 15

  “Please,” I hear my mom beg. “Please just give me a little.”

  Her bedroom door opens, her “boss” stomps toward me, my mom clinging to his shoulder. What I wouldn’t give for a pair of noise-canceling headphones to block out a whole slew of noises.

  “Washed-up whore,” he sneers, pushing her off him.

  He should know. He created her, paying her with drugs, using and abusing her. And me.

  Attempting to ignore them, I stare down at my books. Honors Chemistry is not going to learn itself. These books are my way out, my path to a different life.

  She tugs at his belt, saying, “Suck you off, right here.”

  I can feel the heat of his stare on me. “Paige, what do you think?” I don’t look up. “Should I let your mom suck my cock for a few Oxy?”

  My eyes land on my mother, so thin and small. She looks like she needs those pills more than she needs to breathe. And she probably does need them. To do the things she does, they are probably essential.

  “Let her study,” my mom whispers, and for the slightest second, I see something in her eyes. A glimmer of the woman she could’ve been. A speck of the mother I could’ve had.

  “No,” I say, getting out of my chair and walking over to the only parent I’ve ever known. Wrapping my arms around her, I say, “Mom, I can get a job on the weekends and after school. I’m old enough to help. We can get you help.”

  He grabs me by the elbow. “You’re right. You’re old enough to work.” I try to yank away, but he’s too strong. “For me.”

  “Never!” I scream, trying to tear myself away, but he punches me in the gut. I double over, all the air in the room gone. I’m coughing and choking on my own tears. Looking up at my mom, she just stands there. His fingers stroke my face. “Pretty girl like you. Your mother, she’s all washed up, but you . . . That sweet pussy of yours could make me a rich man.”

  “Mom,” I cry.

  He holds a pill out to her. Reaching for it, she looks at me and says, “Nothing less than five hundred.”

  My mouth falls open. “Mom, please,” I beg, but he’s dragging me toward my bedroom.

  I scream and start to kick and hit, my arms flailing around like a wild animal. He lands a hard backhand to the side of my face, then another and another. I fall to the floor, and he kicks my back, his boot sinking deeper and deeper with each contact.

  He leans down, pulling me up into his arms. “I can be rough if you want.”

  “Don’t, please.” Tears run down my face. “Please.”

  He exhales, and for half a second, I think maybe he has one decent bone in his body, but then he takes hold of my shoulders and tosses me down on the bed like a rag doll.

  My head starts to spin. His body is over mine. His fingers go through my hair, and my body shudders. “Open your mouth.” I shake my head, pursing my lips closed. He chuckles, holding up a pill. “This will help you relax.”

  Suddenly, I realize I’m about to become my mother. I don’t know how she became the woman she is, but it could have easily been just like this.

  “No,” I whisper, slipping my hand under my pillow.

  With one hand, he grabs my wrists, pinning me down. His other hand reaches under my shirt. I feel myself starting to slip away, drifting up out of my body, like I’m watching a horrible movie, like I’m not the star of this tragedy.

  He pulls me to his mouth, his tongue invading my mouth, rough and hard. I’m not going to win a fight. I can’t overpower him. But if there’s one thing my mother has taught me, it’s how to manipulate a man.

  Closing my eyes tightly, I move my tongue with his. Am I doing this right? He moans. Guess I am.

  He grinds into me, the length of him between my legs. My instinct is to fight, but instead, I moan, my hand slipping back under my pillow.

  “Horny little bitch, aren’t you?” he asks, smiling down at me.

  In one smooth motion, I push the button on the blade and hold it against his dick, that one little pierce causing it to deflate.

  His eyes flare, but he holds his hands up. We both know he could probably get this knife from me, but he’s not going to risk his balls over it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  PAIGE

  I take Finn’s little finger, tracing the raindrops rolling down the window of the trailer. Of all the crappy places I lived as a child, I never lived in a trailer park. Sometimes, I wish we did, envying those double-wides. They can be very nice.

  I used to love this game as a child. Never having many toys, I always loved it when it rained. Rain meant mud puddles, splashing, and hopefully, rainbows. I never did any sports teams, not that we could’ve afforded it, plus I was more of a loner, preferring the library to the baseball field. Now the rain means I’m stuck inside with Finn, who’s not yet old enough to play outside in the rain. So I share my favorite rainy-day indoor activity with him.

  Raindrop chase.

  Basically, you just trace the path of the raindrop as it twists and turns down the window. You can get really creative and use two fingers, racing to see which raindrop makes it to the bottom faster.

  Finn smiles up at me, and I kiss his little finger. My new office stinks. Basically, it’s a trailer with a desk, a chair, some file cabinets, and a playpen and play area for Finn. There’s a little bathroom, but that’s it. I shouldn’t complain because it’s actually not that bad. I’m just in a bad mood.

  My argument with Slade this morning set the tone for the whole day. He’s obviously still pissed, too, because I haven’t heard from him all day—not one email, text, or phone call. That’s not like him. Well, actually, it is kind of like him, but I thought boyfriend Slade would be different.

  It’s not him I’m even mad at. I’m mad at myself. I’m not even mad about the cameras in the house, yet I used that as ammunition against him, making him out to be a liar, scapegoating him to take the heat off myself. Deflection is one of my strengths. Some would call it a character flaw, but I call it a means of survival.

  I’m the real liar here. We both know it. How long before he gets sick of it and starts demanding answers?

  The thing is, I have answers. They differ from the truth, but I still have them prepared. Any good liar has to have a story, something plausible, believable, something you say with a smile to shut people up, to diminish suspicion. I have my story. I have the story of Finn’s birth, his father, my pregnancy. I have the whole thing, but when push came to shove, I didn’t want to look into Slade’s blue eyes and lie.

  I begged him not to make me.

  But he couldn’t let it go.

  The truth is not an option. I wish he could understand that.

  “Come on, Finn, let’s go home,” I say. No work is getting done on the house in this weather, no deliveries are being made. I can’t even walk to see the horses, so there’s no use in staying except to use t
he trailer as a hideout, and I’ve already been doing that most of the day.

  Gathering my stuff, I wait a few minutes for a break in the rain. I don’t even have an umbrella to shield us, so we just have to face the storm. Sometimes life is poetic like that. I fear the time is coming when I’m going to have to face my own personal storm, and this one is going to make the tornado look like a cakewalk.

  I open the door of the trailer, finding Jon pulling up in Slade’s SUV. Forgetting about the rain, I rush out to meet him. “Is Catrine alright?” I ask right as he opens his door.

  “She’s fine,” he says, motioning with his hand. “Get in. Get in.”

  Finn and I rush into the back seat, where a new car seat has been installed. My heart immediately melts. Slade bought his own car seat for his car. I’ve been transferring mine whenever we needed to. God, that man is the best. I don’t deserve him. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he keeps putting up with me. No one ever has before.

  “Slade sent me to pick you up,” Jon says, starting the car. “He was worried about you driving in the rain.”

  Of course he was.

  He doesn’t call me all day but sends a chaperone for me. Was he worried I wouldn’t come home if he didn’t? “What about my car?” I ask.

  “He’ll send someone to come get it.”

  “He shouldn’t have sent you,” I say. “What if Catrine goes into labor?”

  “She practically kicked me out of the house when he called. I think I’m getting on her nerves.”

  Laughing, I say, “I’ll come see her soon.” He smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “Pull over, please. I want to hop in the front seat. I hate sitting back here. Feels like you’re my chauffeur or something.”

  He pulls to the side, and I quickly make the transfer to the front seat, shivering from the rain. He points at a button for me to turn on the heated seats, and we start moving again.

  “Don’t you get sick of Slade making you do this kind of thing?” I ask. “What’s your job title, anyway?”

  Jon looks over at me, grinning. I can’t believe I ever thought of him as a goon. He’s more like a teddy bear. “Vice president.”

  “You’re VP of Slade’s company, but you drive me around?”

  “Yep,” he says. “There are certain things that Slade only trusts me to handle. Those things include you and Finn.” Lightly, he touches my arm. “You think he’d trust anyone to drive you? Could you imagine his reaction if he ever saw you in a taxi? The man would lose his shit. I’m the same way about Catrine. Slade and I understand each other.”

  “But Slade could do those things himself. He could’ve come and gotten me today.”

  Jon raises an eyebrow. “Would you have gotten in the car with him as easily as you did with me, or would you have argued with him about it?”

  My smile is all the answer he needs. I look back over my shoulder, seeing Finn’s little head resting to the side, a sign he’s fallen asleep. “How long have you and Slade known each other?” I ask, realizing it’s my chance to pick Jon’s brain. Catrine said Jon is the only person who really knows Slade.

  “Since we were teenagers. He’s like my brother.”

  I angle my legs to the side, facing him in the car.

  “Oh no!” he says. “I recognize that posture. That’s the girl talk pose. You’re settling in for a long talk.”

  I just raise my eyebrows at him, and in a sing-song voice, I say, “So tell me. How’d you meet?”

  He chuckles. “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a long drive.” It’s actually not that long, about an hour from the ranch to the city, but long enough to pry.

  He glances out the side window of the car like he’s traveling back in time to that moment. “Did Catrine ever tell you about my baby brother?”

  “No.”

  He looks back at Finn through the rearview mirror. “He died when he was six.”

  “Jon,” I say, instinctively reaching for his hand. He squeezes mine, not letting go. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “You asked how I met Slade,” he says. “Do you know the Natchez Trace Parkway Bridge?

  “Isn’t that out toward Franklin?” I ask. I actually heard about the bridge on the news a few months back. It’s long been known for suicides, so much so that they’ve recently installed two emergency phones there that are linked to 911 and the crisis hotline.

  “Kind of,” he says. “When I was sixteen, I was babysitting my little brother. My mom and dad were at some parents’ night for my high school. We were watching movies and eating trash Mom wouldn’t normally let us eat. Typical brother stuff.”

  “Sweet.”

  He tightens his hold on my hand. “We were laughing, and I don’t know what happened. He just started choking. One minute, he was fine, and the next, he couldn’t breathe.”

  “Oh God.” I know that fear well. Anyone who lives with a small child knows it.

  “I tried to help him. Call 911, but it was too late.”

  “Jon, that was a horrible accident. I’m sure you did everything you could.”

  “I’m okay,” he says, patting my hand. “It’s taken a long time and a lot of love from my parents, Catrine, and Slade.”

  “Slade?”

  He glances over at me, holding my eyes. “I met Slade at the top of that bridge.”

  He doesn’t say it, but I know why he was there.

  “What was Slade doing there?” I ask, although I already know. I can’t imagine Slade on that bridge. He’s such a big guy, strong, stubborn, and fills up a room like no man I’ve ever met. I know what drove him there. We might have grown up in different worlds, but we both had crappy childhoods. I don’t know if he was serious about his intentions that night. But I know his pain.

  “Good question,” he says, giving me a sad smile. “He never told me why he was there that night. We’ve never discussed it. I’m sure if I asked, he’d tell me he was just passing by and saw me.”

  I look down. I’d just assumed Jon knew about Slade’s mother. I’m the only person Slade’s ever talked to about all that, and I’m keeping so much from him.

  “How’d he convince you not to do it?” I ask quietly.

  Grinning, he shakes his head. “You have to remember, we were teenage boys.”

  “So what did he say?”

  “It’s what he didn’t say,” Jon says. “He didn’t ask why I was there. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t tell me it couldn’t be that bad or how much I’d be missed. All the things you think you’d say. Slade didn’t do any of that. Instead, he walked up, like seeing me on the ledge was absolutely normal, and asked me for directions.”

  “You’re kidding?” I say with a half chuckle.

  Jon laughs. “Nope. That was his big ice breaker.”

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  “I don’t even remember,” he says. “But we spent the rest of the night sitting in the middle of that bridge, just talking about my brother, about nothing, about everything.” He looks over at me. “I owe him my life—literally,” he says.

  “He’s a good man,” I say.

  “The best,” he says. “Saved my life that night. Became my best friend. Ultimately, became my boss. Hell, he’s even the one who introduced me to Catrine. Everything I have is because of Slade and what he did that night. So if he needs me to escort some woman out of a party or drive you somewhere, then I do it. No questions asked.”

  “I’m glad he was there that night,” I say, knowing Jon’s presence there that night probably saved Slade too.

  Jon releases my hand, looking over at me. “If you let him, he’ll pull you down off that ledge too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  SLADE

  Paige Hudson, Nashville is typed into my search engine.

  Nothing on my Paige.

  Paige Hudson, Tennessee.

  More empty results.

  Paige Hudson, Facebook.

  Same resu
lts.

  The more I try, the more I realize how little I actually know about her. I don’t know where she went to high school or where she briefly attended college. Her name and birthdate are the only two pieces of substantial information I have on her, other than her address, which is the same as mine.

  I have her former home address, and I’m sure I have her social security number on the employment and insurance forms I made her fill out, but nothing that tells me who she really is.

  Pushing my chair back from my desk, I stare out my office window, the lights of Nashville turning on for the evening. My offices sit on the thirtieth floor. From this chair, I can see the Cumberland River snaking its way along downtown Nashville with Nissan Stadium in the background. Not far from here, the bars and honky-tonks of Broadway are filled with college students from Vanderbilt, locals, and tourists ready for a good time. And the smell of Tennessee barbecue fills the streets. Somewhere on those streets below, people are hooking up, breaking up, and falling in love. I wonder how many of them have Googled their partners?

  You don’t own your own business these days without having the ability to run a background check on your employees. It’s a pretty common practice, although I never did one on Paige. Considering what I thought was her profession when we met, I probably should have. But seeing her with Finn, how much she loved him, and the conditions they were living in, I knew she was a good person.

  One email to the right person, and I could have all the information on her I want. It’s tempting, but I won’t do it. Searching for someone on social media is far different than doing a full-scale background check. I know Paige would never forgive me for something like that.

  Even if Paige never found out, I don’t want to learn things about her that way. I want her to tell me. I’ll be damned if my imagination isn’t getting the better of me. I keep thinking Finn’s father abused her or raped her, and she’s on the run from him.