“Hey, little guy,” Jami cooed, scratching under the dog’s chin and tilting his head back as the little mongrel bathed his chin in slobbery kisses. It was the cutest damn scene Alyson had ever laid eyes on.
“You lost your key or somethin’?”
“Nope, just wanted to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”
The older man’s steel gaze rested briefly on Alyson before he gave her a small nod of acknowledgment and stepped back out of the way, holding the door open for them to pass.
Alyson repressed a shiver as Jami’s fingertips pressed into her lower back, urging her forward. She smiled at the man she assumed to be his coach as she crossed the threshold.
Behind her, Jami and his coach were bantering back and forth over old age and memory loss, but Alyson was too busy taking in her surroundings. The age of the house on the outside was not indicative of what she found inside. While the structure had clearly seen better days—a subject of years of neglect—the interior was fresh and clean, outfitted with modern furniture and décor that suggested the people living here weren’t hurting for money.
Before she could ask herself the obvious question, it was answered for her.
“Neighborhood’s for shit, so we keep the good stuff on the inside. People don’t bother messin’ with shit if it isn’t worth shit.” He winked at her. “You thirsty?”
Alyson was too busy processing his words to respond, so Jami did it for her. “We missed lunch, so I brought her by for a quick bite to eat, and then we’re heading out.” Taking her by the hand, he pulled her through the living room and into a kitchen straight out of the fifties.
“Suit yourselves,” his coach called after them. “I’m heading up to take a nap.”
Jami ignored his words and began rummaging through the rounded, silver refrigerator. Pulling out the ingredients for a sandwich, he dropped them on top of a well-used butcher block and looked up to find her still standing in the doorway watching him. Pointing at a small table and chairs, he said sternly, “Sit.”
Filled with a strange mix of discomfort from being in an unfamiliar setting, yet one that afforded a curious air of comfort that gave her the sense of what it must be like for children when they go to visit their grandparents—full of love and warmth—she crossed the room and dropped into an ultra-modern glossy red plastic chair. She studied Jami as he loomed over an island, stacking lettuce, and different meats onto slices of bread, and wondered what it was that had sparked the shift in his mood this time.
On the surface, he appeared perfectly at ease, making himself at home while performing an average, mundane task of making lunch. But she knew him once, and if he was anything like he was when they were kids, the way his brows pinched ever so slightly as he concentrated on his task, and the tension she saw pulling his shoulders just a little higher, tipped her off that he had something on his mind.
“Was that your coach?” she asked him, easing him into conversation.
He grunted. “Yep. His name is Don, but everyone calls him Coach.”
She wanted to ask why, but the answer seemed like an obvious one. “Is he married?” Her eyes roamed the room, seeing touches of a feminine hand in the delicate lace curtains framing the one window, a hutch filled with pink floral patterned china, and a vase of dusty artificial flowers in a forgotten corner.
Glancing up at her, Jami’s eyes appeared hard, but Alyson caught a teasing gleam just before he returned his attention to assembling their plates. “Why, are you offering?”
“No,” she said quickly, and then sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes strayed again, searching for something more, something that would reveal the type of people who lived here, but the closer she examined the space, the more staged it began to feel.
Walking toward her, Jami’s tall, sturdy frame demanded all of her attention. Setting their plates out on the table, he took the seat next to hers. “Her name was Milly, and she died of cancer five years ago.” Jami tucked into his lunch while Alyson sat there, too stunned to respond. All she knew was that she really wanted to make good on her promise to hug that man the next time she saw him.
SEVEN
“Does it hurt?” Alyson stared at her mother’s swollen face, nausea making her stomach roll. It was so much worse this time—worse than she remembered it ever being. Her nose and upper lip were crusted with dried blood. Both of her eyes were swollen to the point that she wondered if her mother could even see out of them, and her skin was so purple she barely looked human.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” her mother whispered, cradling her arm against her chest.
Alyson didn’t say another word, but she worried about her arm. What if he’d broken it again? It would need to be set, and her father hated it when her mother needed to go to the doctor—too many questions. So she’d stopped asking. Suffering in silence was preferable to risking another beating. It can’t last forever, her mother always said, referring to the physical pain. The other kind, however, left scars so deep that they were guaranteed to ache long after the wounds healed over.
As soon as the soup began to bubble in the pan, Alyson twisted the burner until the fire disappeared and poured some into a bowl. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, she set the bowl on a plate and laid a spoon down beside it. Even though her father had passed out cold after the fight, she was hyper aware of his presence resting only a few feet away.
“Ready?” she asked her mother, pausing beside her to help her down from the barstool. The metal feet dragged loudly on the floor, and they both paused to look at her father. When he was like this, not even an earthquake could rouse him, but they were still vigilant.
Moving at a snail’s pace, Alyson carried the soup in one hand while using the other to help her mother to her bed. After tucking her in and making sure she had everything she needed, she quietly closed the door and returned to her room, shutting herself inside.
Only to find that she wasn’t alone.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, going to Jami where he stood in front of her window with his back to her.
“Is he out?” he asked, peeking through the curtains.
Nodding, she took in Jami’s appearance. His hair was a mess, his clothes looked rumpled and dirty, and he had a small cut on his forearm. “Yeah, he passed out a little while ago.” Curious what he was looking at, she dipped under his arm and parted the curtains a little wider. “What are you looking at?”
His reply came quick as he dropped the curtains and moved away from her to sit on the bed. “Nothing.”
Just then, Alyson glimpsed the patrol car cruising slowly down the street, shining a spotlight into each yard. As it swung her way, she yanked the curtains closed. Nothing was definitely something, but she wasn’t about to call him on it. Jami had told her before that he was into some things that she didn’t need or want to know about. Sensing that he needed a friend, and wanting to be that for him, she had agreed never to bring it up. Jami was good to her, and that was all that mattered.
Glad that he was there, she crossed the room and sat down beside him. “He hit her again.”
Dark eyes full of sympathy and caring rested on her. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Jami said, “I know. It’s why you’re being so quiet.”
“It was bad this time,” she confessed, her voice trembling.
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t his fault that her father did what he did, but he always apologized for it. It was the only thing he apologized for. Alyson never understood that about him.
Lying back on the bed, she turned on her side and waited for Jami to join her. “When I’m eighteen,” she said fiercely once he was facing her, “I’m going to move away. I’m going to help women like my mom get away from men like him.”
“I know you will.”
“I’m never going to be like her.”
Reaching out, Jami’s finger stroked the back of her hand that rested on the bed, closing the small distance between them. “No, you won’t. You�
�re stronger than she is. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”
Alyson frowned at his words, because he was the strongest person she knew. She, on the other hand, was weak. “What about you? What are you going to do when you’re old enough to get out of here?”
His fingers stilling against hers, Jami’s gaze turned distant. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought much about the future.”
“Never?” she asked incredulously. “How come?”
When his eyes lifted to hers, their dark intensity was startling. “Because I don’t have one.”
Alyson wanted to cry for him, for this boy who was so important to her, and who placed no value in himself. She wanted to rail at him, to call him on all of his reckless behavior and make him face his actions. Most of all, she wanted him to stop hurting himself. His father wasn’t any better than hers, but Jami didn’t have to follow down his path. He still had a future, he just needed to stop screwing it up.
“Jami—” A thud sounded nearby, and Alyson froze. Her heart kicked in her chest, her blood running cold as she listened for more noise to indicate that her father was up and about. Terror held her immobile, but Jami’s warm touch soothed her.
“Don’t worry, Ally,” he whispered, touching the pads of his fingers to her lips. “I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. With me, you’ll always be safe.” Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Her alarm clock was beeping incessantly. Thoughts still swimming with the memory of her very first kiss, it took Alyson several heartbeats to realize what it was that woke her up.
She dreamed of Jami all the time, but she couldn’t recall the last time it had been a good one. Spending so much time with him over the last couple of days must have triggered it. She’d always had a crush on him, ever since the first time she laid eyes on him, but after he left she thought that it was all in her past. Now that he was back, it was as if someone had hit rewind on her life. She felt like a little girl again, infatuated with the boy next door.
Touching her fingers to her lips, Alyson could still feel the phantom kiss as sure as the day Jami had given it to her. Her body tingled all over as she thought about what it might be like to kiss him again, as an adult. He’d always had the power to steal her breath before, but now he had the power to do so much more.
Alyson wanted to taste that power. She wanted to get up close and personal with it, but how would Jami receive her if she threw herself at him? Would he push her away? Would he stay true to the “‘just friends”’ deal he’d been spouting to everyone else, or would he embrace her?
As much as she wanted to march to his house right then and there and see how it might play out, Alyson resigned herself to the day ahead. Rolling over with a grunt, she flicked off the alarm clock and forced herself to get ready for work.
***
By early afternoon, Alyson was elbow deep in case files and follow-up calls. When she’d decided to get into this line of work, she wasn’t prepared for the sheer volume of cases that would be thrown at her. There was an abundance of abused and battered women, and a severe shortage of people like her to sort it all out. That very shortage meant that, more often than not, Alyson was one very busy worker bee.
At any given time, she was working a dozen cases. Still, she loved her job, despite its often macabre subject matter.
She’d just finished checking in with one of her clients when her supervisor entered her office. Her rotund body entered first, followed by her permanently grim expression. When she eased herself into one of the client chairs positioned across from her desk, her penciled in eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown, Alyson knew whatever Mallory had to say, it was important.
Setting the phone down, she sat back and pasted a friendly, easy smile on her face. “Hey, Mallory, what brings you by?”
Mallory handed off a manila folder nearly an inch thick. “Got another one this morning.” As Alyson flipped the folder open and began reviewing the file and the graphic pictures included, Mallory explained the situation. “Female, aged thirty-four. Mother of one. Boy. Aged thirteen. Mother was released from County this morning. They treated her for a sprained wrist, two bruised ribs, and multiple contusions. From what the reporting officer said, this wasn’t the first time.”
It never was. “What about the husband?”
Settling back in the chair, Mallory crossed her ankles and folded her chubby hands over her stomach. “Gone when the cops got there. She refuses to press charges, but since the kid is involved…”
Social Services had stepped in. “What made her finally leave?” Alyson asked, a frown creasing her forehead as she paused on a photo of the woman that called up more than a few painful memories. In it, her left eye was completely swollen shut, the tissue surrounding it sagging in such a way that she could tell without reviewing the notes that the socket had been shattered. That dirty bastard.
“Not that she had much of a choice, but I guess he got tired of beating on her. He went after the son this time.”
Alyson grit her teeth. These were the cases she longed for most, because they were the very ones she had personal experience with and felt that she could make the most difference in. Although she couldn’t erase the past, this was as good a place as any to start. At least the future would be a little brighter. Anything that she could do to prevent another life from being destroyed was a task she was more than willing to take on.
“Well, at least she opened her eyes,” Alyson muttered as she closed the file. “Better late than never, as I always say.”
“Well, hopefully she won’t throw this chance away,” Mallory said, just as disgusted with the things she witnessed every day as Alyson was.
If she had to guess, more than half of the women they saw ended up the same—with the woman going back to her husband or boyfriend. They almost never ended well. The worst thing about it was that no matter how much counseling she offered, no matter how much friendship or resources she provided, the choice was ultimately left up to the women, and they usually went back into the lion’s den thinking that this time would be different. If only she could make them see that it was never going to be different, that these men had no heart, no soul, but she couldn’t protect them all. The only thing she could do, the only thing any of them could do, was offer a soft place to fall, and hopefully, spend enough time with them to make a difference. In the end, it was out of their hands.
“Is she here?” Alyson asked, experiencing a strange mix of weariness and excitement over taking on a fresh case. Maybe this time would be different.
“Yep, they’re waiting in the hall. I’ll send them in,” Mallory said, lifting from the chair. Alyson watched her lumber away. Pausing in the doorway, Mallory turned back to look at Alyson. “It’s not pretty, so brace yourself.”
Alyson nodded, but she didn’t bother to remind Mallory that she had already seen it all. The cases that came through her door were a cake walk compared to what she had lived through as a kid. But even with that thought in her mind, her breath still caught in her throat at seeing what walked through her door moments later.
The mother’s injuries were typical of a woman in her position and were in line with what Mallory had described. She wore a brace on the damaged wrist and the bruising to her face was extensive. She eased into the room, taking care with each step, reminding Alyson that she also had injuries beneath her clothing, but what really stuck in her craw was the obvious handprint ringing her throat where her husband must have choked her.
Probably while she was trying to protect her son.
Speaking of…the boy in question followed behind his mother. At the age of thirteen, he already towered over the woman. With more care than she bet his father would have shown, he held his mother’s bicep and helped her into one of the two chairs reserved for her clients before seating himself in the other.
Chocolate brown eyes that were older than the face they were set in peered back at her. Alyson smiled softly back, and he looked away, shamefaced.
That j
ust pissed her off more, because it was plainly obvious to her the kind of impact his father had already had on him, and at so ripe an age. Alyson introduced herself and began going over the facts that were given to her, and filling in the gaps with information provided by the mother, Victoria. She learned that the husband was a professional fighter, just like Jami, and just like Jami, he had a bit of a temper.
“He can be a good man,” Victoria explained, desperate for Alyson to believe her. “Sometimes he just gets angry and I say the wrong thing. He doesn’t mean to hit me.”
“Mrs. Michael,” Alyson sighed, barely withholding an eye roll. “Let me give it to you plain and simple, because it’s time that you face the reality of your situation. He hits you because he can. He gets off on it, on the power, the control. It makes him feel like a big man. It’s probably the reason he chose to be a fighter. It allows him to do what he does and gives him an excuse to do it. There is no excuse for him hitting you, or him,” she said, casting a hard, no-nonsense look at her son. She wanted the woman to remember why she was here. The worst thing she could do now was lose sight of the facts, because that would only lead her back into the hands of the very person who’d sent her here in the first place.
Making eye contact with the two of them, she tried to reassure them. “You are not to blame here. Your husband is. You are the victims in all of this, and if you will let me, I am here to help.” At this, she looked directly at Victoria and waited for her confirmation.
Tilting her head, Victoria said, “Yes, we want your help.”
Knockout Page 6
