Faith (Stregth Series Book 2)

by T. L. Nicholas

“So, what does this mean? Are we going steady?” he jokes, and I know it, but a part of him, I can see in his eyes, the way he’s tilted his head, is serious.

  “I don’t think I can give it a name yet, Jace. I feel like the world has turned upside down and I’m hanging by a very tiny thread.” I smile, holding my fingers apart, so that they’re nearly touching.

  “I can handle that. We will just be. Together. Okay?” He smiles, and I lean down, touching my lips to his. I feel the shock go through him and wonder if I’ve made a mistake by initiating. I’ve never done that before. His arms come around me, with no hesitation at all, and I relax into him.

  The kiss is sweet and slow. Gentle and loving. No insistence, only reassurance. Need curls in my belly, but I force myself to ignore it. Not yet.

  He pulls away slightly. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks.

  “I’m so tired, Jace. I’m afraid I’d just fall asleep and I’d miss the whole thing. Can we watch tomorrow?”

  “Of course we can. You can go to bed. I’ll get the fire going and put all of these leftovers away, and then I’ll go to bed too.” He says. I slide off of him and stand up.

  As he stands up, I remember the movie thing with Mike earlier and I have to know. “What movies did you pick?”

  “Um… “Pretty Woman”, “Homeward Bound the Incredible Journey”, and “Dragon Heart”. Alex said they were some of your favorites. I should tell you, I’ve never seen any of them, but I’d love to watch them with you.”

  The look on my face, must be different than what I’m feeling, because he asks, “Did I get them wrong?”

  I hug him, “No, you did perfect. I wish I wasn’t so tired.”

  “Maybe we can watch them all tomorrow? Unless someone calls with an urgent job, I don’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

  “Really? That would be awesome. You would really do that?” I ask.

  “Anything you need. I’m here for you,” he says, and he winks at me. I nod, and start carrying food to the kitchen.

  “You don’t have to do that, Bay,” he says.

  “I know. I want to. If I do the food and you do the fire, you won’t have to stay up so long.”

  “Okay,” he says. He helps me carry all of the food to the kitchen before tending to the fire. I wrap everything up, put it all in the refrigerator, and load the dishwasher with all the dirty dishes. I run the dishwasher, then go into the dining room.

  “Almost got it,” he says. “I shouldn’t be up too much longer, but don’t worry about me. Go ahead to bed, Tiny. You need your sleep.”

  “Alright. Goodnight, Jace.”

  “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

  I crawl into bed, pulling the covers around me. It’s all so surreal, Jace pleading with me to let him to stay. There has to be some mistake.

  There is. He doesn’t know what happened at the appointment. Tears run down my cheeks, and I don’t even try to stop them. He says I’ll get better, but I’m never going to be all the way better. Never again.

  I wake up when his arm slides under my pillow, his other arm resting across my ribcage. The skin of his chest and stomach, pressing against my back, is welcome warmth. I relax into him. He moves his arm off of me, then reaches up, sweeping my hair up towards the headboard with his hand. He curls in closer, his breath tickling across my neck, then returns his arm to my ribcage.

  “Sorry I woke you up. I’m not very stealthy,” he snickers lightly, then pecks a kiss on the back of my neck.

  “S’okay,” I say, pulling his hand across in front of me the same way I did before.

  “Jace?”

  “Huh?”

  “How’s your dad? I keep forgetting to ask you. I’m sorry,” I feel awful. I know he talks to them every day, and I haven’t asked in two days.

  “He’s fine, almost completely healed, just like we knew he would be,” he answers, his voice rough with the need for sleep.

  “I’m so glad. So, Chance and Alex will be home soon?” I ask.

  He pulls me over, almost onto my back, so I can see his face, and he can see mine. “No, actually they’re planning on staying a while longer.”

  “A while? How much is a while?” I ask, not sure how I feel. I miss them.

  “April.”

  “April, the month? Like two months away?”

  “Yeah, Alex is loving the weather down there, and she’s helping mom with some stuff. I don’t know what, exactly, but they seem to be having a fantastic time.”

  “Doesn’t Chance have to be here to help with the business?”

  “Nah. I’ve got it. This time of year, it’s so slow, the employees are laid off, there isn’t much to do. The financial stuff is mostly his department, but he can do all that from there. I hired an answering service, and they’ll call me if there’s anything major. I check in a few times a day.”

  April? Two months of just me and Jace? “April? Really?” I ask aloud.

  “Yeah. Is that okay? Do you need Alex? I can drive you down, mom and dad would love to have you. You can stay with them too if you’d rather,” he says, his voice flat.

  “No. I’m comfortable here,” I say.

  His smile lights up the dark. “Good,” he says. “Anything else you need to ask?” he asks, yawning.

  “No, goodnight, Jace.”

  “Goodnight.” I go back to my side, pulling his arm in front of me again.

  He starts snoring almost immediately, and I realize just how long this day has been. It feels like last night was weeks ago, and I don’t know if it’s because I was so emotional or just because of everything else that has happened since. Today feels like weeks, and I can’t wrap my mind around it. I hope tomorrow is uneventful and slow. For both of us.

  Just the two of us. For two months. I don’t know how I feel about that, but there isn’t anything I can do about it anyway. I am happy for Alex. All she’s ever wanted was a family, and it’s clear she has one now. Cadan has one.

  Two months is a long time though. A really long time. I hope I don’t fuck this all up.

  CHAPTER 13

  It’s been three days since I went to the doctor. I still can’t talk about it, I don’t even want to think about it. I won’t think about it.

  Jace has been… amazing. We’ve settled into a companionable existence. He hugs me often, kisses me on the forehead or the tip of my nose, and generally makes me feel loved. I have to push that word away too. He’s never said it, and I refuse to acknowledge my own feelings. I can’t.

  He curls up around me every night, and his body, warm against mine, has me sleeping better than I ever have. That’s how it feels anyway. He doesn’t push me, he doesn’t ask for anything.

  He’s been teaching me to cook, and with the exception of me boiling cheese sauce over on the stove, I think it’s going well. I swear the smell of scorched milk, butter, cheese, and flour is still in the air, and I’m never trying to make that again. He was great about it, laughing while he choked on the smell, cleaning it up with a wet towel wrapped around a wooden spoon, scrubbing the glass top while it was still hot. Such a simple thing, but I never would have thought of it.

  He went to the store, and I’m watching television. It’s a ridiculous Court show, where one woman is suing another for breaking a supposedly priceless plate that looks like it came from the dollar store. A whole set of them would cost less than ten dollars and she’s suing for a thousand. It takes the Judge about a minute to realize that the man sitting next to the lady being sued used to be the plate lady’s boyfriend. Ah. Now it makes sense. I mean, not really, because if he wants to leave, why does she want him, but at least the motive is clear.

  The Judge asks, “If he came back to you, would you forget about the plate?” and the woman nods emphatically, presumably believing the Judge is going to rule that he has to go back. I laugh aloud when the Judge says, “Then the plate isn’t worth very much. I rule in favor of the defendant.” The woman with the plate screams a line of obscenities as the Judge leaves and
they bleep just enough that you know exactly what she’s saying.

  There’s an insistent knock on the front door, and I’m still laughing when I open it. The laugh dies in my throat, the man towering over me, his blue uniform blocking out the world. His hat shades his face, but the badge is as bright as the sun.

  “Bayleigh Richards?” he asks in a stern and booming voice.

  “Y-y-yes.” I stutter.

  “I’m Officer Thompson, and I have a complaint against you, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out here so we can discuss it, please.”

  I’m only wearing slippers, jeans, and a sweater, and it’s freezing out, but I’ll probably be okay for a minute.

  “A complaint about what?” I ask stepping out to the porch, pulling the door closed behind me. Wondering who on earth would have a complaint about me. “I don’t know anyone here,” I say. He takes my arm, and I let him, confused.

  “Bayleigh Richards, you’re under arrest for assault and battery. You have the right to remain silent…”

  I’m sitting in intake. Officer Thompson took my cuffs off and sat me here, between an old man in a holey Carhart jacket, who keeps falling asleep and smells like a brewery coated in vomit, and a greasy-haired girl who is so jittery her teeth rattle together as she asks everyone around us, “Do you have anything? Anything at all? I need to get well before they take me in. They won’t see it, I promise.” Her blue eyes are ringed by makeup that tried to run away a long time ago, creating the illusion of black holes in her pale face.

  Her loose sweatpants say “Rockstar” down the side, and her filthy blue tank top is loose, doing nothing to hide her lack of a bra. She has a tattoo on her wrist that says “Falen Angle” and I assume she was high when she got it. I feel a little sorry for her, her drug-addled brain not registering that we’ve all been searched, just like her. Anyone who did have ‘anything’, doesn’t have it anymore. She licks her lips suggestively at an extremely handsome giant of a man, his shoulders twice as wide as Jace’s, his arms covered in tattoos, “I’ll make it worth your while, baby. I only need a minute.” He looks at her, not bothering to veil his disgust, “Shut up. God, no one has anything. And what are you going to do? There’s cops everywhere. You’re not in the crack house anymore, Sweetheart.”

  “Oh, fuck you, man. You couldn’t afford me anyway.”

  He laughs, bright green eyes sparkling, “Right, cause a rock is so fucking expensive.”

  “Fuck you! Fuck you! I wouldn’t touch you for anything, you piece of shit!” she screams, spittle flying out of her mouth, and landing on my arm.

  I stare at it, my heart pounding in my chest, as cops come running to subdue her. I feel my chest closing, the panic I’ve been fighting to keep in check since I opened the front door, winning out. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

  I hit the floor, the old man startling awake when my head hits his foot. He jumps up, skittering away like a bug, my head slamming to the floor before I can stop it. The tattooed man runs over to me, his dirty work boots and jeans all I can see. They’re like Jace’s and I try to think of him, but the shards of glass are back, slicing my airway. I hear him yelling in a booming baritone voice, “Hey! She needs help! Somebody get the fuck over here and help her!”

  I open my eyes to fluorescent lights, and avocado green walls. I’m lying on a bed, well maybe not. It’s a dark blue mat of some sort. Not what I would call soft, but not hard like the chairs in intake. I try to sit up on my elbows, but I can’t, my wrists are cuffed to the metal rails of the bed. Well, that answers that. I’m still in jail.

  “Welcome back.” I turn my head, the tattooed man is two beds over, the one between us, and the rest of them, empty. He has a gash on his forehead, a black eye, and is cuffed to his bed as well.

  “What happened to you?” I ask.

  “They were busy with the crackhead, and I tried to help you. They thought I hurt you, so they roughed me up a little,” he laughs.

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling awful that I was the cause.

  He smiles, and I’m surprised to see that it reaches his green eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been beat way worse than this. I wouldn’t even call this a fight.” He laughs again. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, I’m okay I think. Thank you for trying to help.”

  “You’re just going to take my word for it? How do you know I’m not the one that hurt you?”

  His question catches me off guard. Did he? No. “I remember you yelling for someone to help me.”

  “Good. I wouldn’t hurt anybody,” he says, his voice sad. He’s a study of contrast, all hard lines, solid, strong jaw, the tattoos covering his arms and peeking out from under his collar onto his neck. Gentle green eyes, soft voice, and sweet smile. He looks like the kind of person you would avoid if you had any sense, but I like him.

  “So, what are you here for?” I ask, curious.

  “First timer. I knew it.”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Cause, you don’t ask people what they’re in for. It’s considered impolite.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” I am. I’m still curious, but I don’t want to offend anyone.

  “It’s okay. I’m in for petty theft. What about you?” he asks, smiling.

  “Assault and battery is what they said.”

  His eyes widen, “Seriously? Damn. You never can tell about people. Who’d you hit?”

  “No one. I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

  “So, who was it then? Why would they lie?” he asks.

  “I don’t know who said it, so I don’t know why they would lie.”

  “Didn’t they tell you who? They have to tell you.”

  I remember Officer Thompson reading me my rights, the silent ride to the station while I focused on not freaking out. Then the fingerprinting, the search that nearly made me vomit, and during which I barely held it together. “No, not that I remember.”

  He nods, thoughtful. “Make sure they tell you at your arraignment. If they don’t, ask.”

  I nod. “Okay.” Curiosity gets the best of me, “What’d you steal?” I ask.

  He laughs, “A toolbox. They’ll never give it back to me now. I should have just let it go.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “It was my Dad’s. He died while I was in, and my ex wouldn’t give it to me, so I took it back. They were his tools, and I wanted them back. I don’t have anything else.”

  “In where?” I ask.

  “Huh? Oh, while I was in prison. Before you ask, involuntary manslaughter.”

  Wow. I guess I’m not a very good judge of character after all. “What happened?”

  “I got in a fight with my ex, and I took off. I’d had more to drink than I thought I had, trying to cope with my dad being sick. No, that’s no excuse. I was drunk, I drove, I killed a lady. A nurse. She was driving home from work.” He stares at the cuff on his wrist, head down, face red with shame.

  “Oh.”

  “They gave me three years, but they should have given me more. I got off easy, and I’m not as happy about that as you might think. Now, with this, they’re going to throw the book at me. I deserve it.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair. It was your dad’s.”

  “They consider it abandoned when you go to prison. It’s legally hers. They won’t give it to me, but they won’t throw the book at me for that, I don’t think.”

  “But you just said they would?” I am so lost.

  “I mean for you. They added an assault charge because I tried to pick you up, and because they thought I hurt you.”

  I try to sit up again, “What?! They can’t do that! I’m not pressing charges, you didn’t do anything.”

  “It doesn’t matter, it happened in their facility. Whatever they say happened, happened. It’s alright. Karma and all that,” he says softly. He actually believes he deserves it. “I’m glad you’re okay though.”

  “Bayleigh. Bayleigh Richards.”

&n
bsp; “Nice to meet you, Bayleigh Richards,” he smiles. “Ben Cook. I’d offer to shake your hand, but…” he lifts his wrist, the cuff clanking on the rail. I lift mine as well, laughing.

  A harried-looking nurse comes in, followed by two officers. “Stop talking to her, you disgraceful jackass.” She yells at him and I think of a rabid dog.

  “Yes ma’am,” he says.

  “Don’t call him that, he didn’t do anything. You’re the disgraceful jackass.” All eyes on me, shock from the nurse, amusement from the officers, and horror from Ben.

  “Don’t argue with them, Bayleigh. Just keep your mouth shut— “

  “No talking!” she yells.

  “Okay, okay. Chill, Nurse Ratched,” he says, eyes pleading with me to listen.

  I don’t say anything as one of the officers uncuffs me, grabbing my arm, and yanking me up to standing. I yelp in surprise, and Ben bellows “Hey, asshole, take it easy! You want her to pass out again?” His bed shakes as he violently tries to get out of the bed, metal cuffs clanging.

  The other officer rushes him, slamming him down, and screaming in his face.

  I’m cuffed again, tears burning my eyes, but I know now that if I do anything he’ll get himself in more trouble. The officer drags me out, and the last thing I see is Ben, palms up, the officer screaming, and the nurse laughing. Crazy bitch.

  I’m walked through a series of hallways and doors. It’s like a giant maze and everything looks exactly the same. He opens a door and shoves me ahead of him. There’s a table, a chair on either side, and the table has a metal bar on the far side. He pushes me down into the chair furthest from the door, and uses another set of cuffs, looped through the chain on mine, to cuff me to the bar.

  “Stay. And be quiet,” he says, walking out and closing the door behind him.

  The walls are mud brown, and I don’t know if that’s the color they were painted or if they’re just that dirty. The floor is old, cracked linoleum, yellow with age and grime. There’s a fly buzzing around the door, and I feel bad for it. I don’t want to be here either.