I grind my molars together to prevent the irresistible urge to push him and sob and send him off this stoop and onto the ground.
“How the hell else did you manage your self-proclaimed single motherhood? Get through law school? Create a P.O. Box so presumably, I couldn’t find you, but you could keep claiming my checks?” He continues. “Does fuckwit up there know you have a monthly cashflow unrelated to your independence?”
“I did what I had to to survive!”
“Uh-huh,” Bryan continues, unperturbed by my snarl. “Just as I was biding my time. Waiting for you to come back to your senses and to Ohio, where you can be a good, well-kept Senator’s wife, and Jamie can be the rising star who’s overcome his disabilities and follows in his father’s footsteps.”
My lips twist in disgust. “How delusional are you to think Jamie wants anything to do with a father who nearly destroyed him? I don’t need your money anymore, asshole. I haven’t cashed your checks in six months—”
“Oooooh! Six whole months!”
This was a mistake. A complete failure on my part. I shouldn’t have texted Bryan, brought him here, and thought I’d make any headway in keeping him out of our lives.
“I’m taking this to court,” I say, seething. “I’m divorcing you, Bryan O’Neil, and keeping full custody of my son, and changing his goddamned last name. You are so undeserving of Jamie’s namesake, I’ll be doing him a favor. Get off my property and—”
I don’t anticipate the punch.
I should’ve … heaven knows I should’ve, since history repeats itself so often. But passionate, tunneling anger shaded my blindspot further, and I crash into the sidewall behind me and slide to the ground before it even registers that my cheek rings with pain.
“You think you’re better than me, bitch? You think you’re gonna take away my family, my seat on the Senate? You think you can influence one single vote from the public with your pitiful, pathetic self? Fuck you, Teddy. Fuck you, Taryn!”
Smack.
Kick.
I thought I was better than Bryan. Stronger, now that I became smarter. Fearless from self-defense classes. Confident that I could protect my son.
Yet, here I am.
I throw a hand up while splayed on the ground. “Bryan—”
He picks me up under the arms, dragging me into the entrance vestibule of the apartment building.
“Easton!” I scream out.
When the front door slams shut behind him, Bryan uses the noise to cover the kick to my jaw.
33
Easton
I’m rattled awake by brutal shakes.
Blinking, squinting, rubbing away the sleep in my eyes, I find Jamie hovering above me, his eyes blindingly white in the darkness.
Help, he signs frantically. HELP HER!
“Who?” I say, sitting up.
But … I don’t say anything. When I form the word Who, it doesn’t register. I hear nothing when my mouth forms the word, only feel a vibration deep in my throat.
Panicked, I repeat, “Who?”
The clogged black hole of sound continues. I don’t hear anything. Not my feet hitting the floor, not Jamie scampering around in panic, pulling at my arm and dragging me into a standing position.
Oh, fuck.
Ohfuckohfuckohfuck
I can’t hear.
Mom’s in trouble! Someone’s hurting her, and I don’t know what to do! I called 9-1-1 but can only leave the line open—you have to do something—I can’t talk to anyone! I’m so scared!
“Jesus.” But nothing sounds outside my head.
Doesn’t matter. Taryn’s in some kind of trouble—she’s not here, I don’t see her anywhere—and I’m off-balance, stumbling, swimming through a world thick with silence, a vulnerable fucking kitten in a jungle. I stumble around the apartment, unseeing of Jamie’s hands, moving so fast they’re blurring, knocking shit over and blinding the fuck out of myself when I turn on lights.
But I don’t see Taryn.
At Jamie’s agitated pointing, I throw the apartment door open and storm from behind the stairs, trying to find her.
My heart’s lodged in my throat. Maybe that’s why I can’t find my voice. I’m so thick with fear that there’s no rational—
I find her.
My dead run nearly topples me when I see her in between the entrance doors, the glass acting like a movie screen framing the violence raining down upon her.
I bolt forward without any thought to safety or danger—only to get to Taryn.
Taryn’s normally warm brown eyes train on mine, now cooled by saltwater, the tears cascading down her swollen, bloody cheeks. She’s on her stomach, using every effort to rise on her elbows, but a demon in a suit kicks her in the gut to send her back down.
A silent roar escapes me but swirls its fury in my head as I rush forward, soundlessly crashing through the glass and catching this fucking mutant completely off-guard.
He flies into the front door as I careen into him, solid wood catching his soft, pudgy, cowardly form. It’s a whirlwind of throws and blows and blocks and punches, and while I’m not a fighter, the thought of Taryn hurt, bloody, and alone makes me want to travel into the depths of Hell for her.
Die for her, if it means this asshole can’t touch her again.
“I know who you are!” I roar as my fists rain down on him. The fucker tries to fight. He tries, but it’s hard to defend when someone has you curled up in a corner, protecting your dick of all things.
I don’t hear what I’m saying—garbling, sputtering, doesn’t matter—because I’m winning.
I’m fucking winning and this guy gets another boot to the neck, one more in the gut, and a pummeling fist to his eye socket—
Hands grip me. Drag me back. I spin sideways enough to see that it’s Taryn, standing, struggling, but pulling me back.
Her lips are moving, her eyes scrape side-to-side in a panic, but she’s dragging me away and I don’t know why.
“Let me kill him,” I growl, and I must look feral to her because she stumbles back. Yet, her grip on my arm doesn’t soften. “Let me fucking kill him!”
Sobbing, bleeding, she points through the broken glass.
Jamie stands near the foot of the stairs, clutching a tattered teddy bear, looking like he’s about five years old as he witnesses the carnage.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, but Taryn jolts beside me, so I don’t think I whispered it.
Red, white, and blue lights sweep over my vision, and while Taryn rushes to her son, I turn and look through the front door, now bursting open with officers swarming in.
One grabs my arm. Yells something, but I can’t understand. He thinks I’m being a confrontational smartass and throws me up against the wall, pressing the side of my face against the plaster until it aches, then yanking my hands behind me and cuffing them.
The officer’s hot breath coats my cheeks as he continues to yell, his spit prickling against my scruff.
Then, there’s a sudden loosening. The officer backs off and I feel Taryn beside me. I tell my eyes to look at her, to rein in the overwhelming rush of fear and panic that’s consumed me. My heart thunders in my useless, decorative ears. I can’t hear my own breaths. I can’t understand what’s going on.
He’s deaf, Taryn signs at the same time her mouth moves with the words. He can’t hear you!
Paramedics rush to her side, preventing her from signing further as they encourage her to sit against the wall so they can tend to her. I don’t understand what’s being said anymore. Two other emergency responders bend down and aid the asshole.
“Don’t help him!” I say—or, more like shout, since everyone’s looking at me like I’ve just cursed in a library—but I’m not deterred. “He hurt her! He was going to kill her! DON’T HELP HIM!”
Hands, sticky and warm with blood, cup my cheeks. I didn’t see Taryn stand, or limp toward me. There’s no cue to register her drawing near. But, once she’s in my face, Taryn forces my gaze to
hers.
“I’m okay,” she enunciates slowly, all for my benefit.
She’s not fucking okay.
“Help her,” I say to anyone who’s paying attention, my arms locked behind my back and emphasizing my struggle. “Somebody please help her, not that scum on the floor. Not—”
I’m pulled away from Taryn.
I’m dragged out of the building against my will, but my eyes stay locked on her, immobilized, as an officer has to use extra strength to wrestle me into the back of a cruiser.
Lights swirl and dance. The world stays silent, though everyone moves with such force and flurry that it’s overwhelmingly bright and stimulating.
So, I focus on her. Center on Taryn.
And I see nothing but tears clearing tracks through the blood on Taryn’s face as they take me away.
34
Taryn
I hate hospitals.
I’ve spent a lot of time in them. When Jamie was a baby and a ton of tests were being run on his little body, and, of course, those brief stints when my husband hurt me so harshly, my recovery had to be on a gurney.
Yet, I met Easton in one, an injured, disgruntled, hungover in-patient whose bruises spoke of so much more than a simple motorcycle accident.
I’ve lost count of the number of situations I’ve been inside sterile walls, and now, for the countless time, as Jamie’s thin, vulnerable body is curled up against mine and finally sleeping soundly, I realize there’s no hiding the truth from him now.
I’m not sure where the paramedics put Bryan, but it’s not on my floor, as many nurses have assured. Apparently, I’m asking a lot of the same questions, over and over again, because of a concussion. My memory’s fazed and fuzzy, but I’m catching the drift, because at this point, whenever a nurse enters the room, she says patiently and succinctly, “You’re safe, dear,” before I even think to voice my question on the whereabouts of my ex.
The thought of Bryan’s fists marking my body after I swore he’d never do it again won’t leave my mind. Maybe my increased heart rate wakes Jamie up, because he raises his head and blearily blinks up at me.
He sits up enough to sign, Are you feeling better, Mom?
I must look like an absolute sight to him. With the amount of stiffness in my face I feel, the swelling has to appear ten times worse. My lips move like they’re twice their size. I don’t think my eyelids are working properly, as they only seem to open half-mast. And my body … my bruised, battered torso, houses a few cracked ribs, lots of bruises, and definitely a wounded heart. Harper has just left the room.
After going berserk in the front lawn of our home, Harper demanded to get into the ambulance with Jamie and me. When she was thwarted, she stormed through the subway until she was at our side, and it was only after multiple rounds of convincing that I got her to get some sleep. In the waiting room outside.
Now, Jamie and I are alone for the first time.
I’m feeling a little better, honey, I lie, but my signing is droopy and limp, showcasing my lack of energy.
I was so scared, he says.
My heart cracks open even further, and I’m not sure it’ll ever piece together properly again. I’m so sorry you saw that. It’ll never happen again. You’re safe, and I’m safe, and I will make sure of it from now on.
Jamie doesn’t believe me. He says, with a deadened stare, The thumps against my bedroom wall are what woke me up.
I gulp back any tears threatening to flow over. He was a bad man. But he’s going away to be punished now, and he won’t hurt me again.
After a second’s hesitation, Jamie signs, He’s my dad, isn’t he?
My throat’s swollen in ways no beating could create. Pure emotion and devastation threaten to choke my breathing.
I’m not stupid, Mom. I know he’s been around, lately. Jamie continues, He’s being terrible to you. He doesn’t love us. Dad’s the same as I remember.
Jamie reluctantly gives the sign for ‘Dad,’ but it’s unsure and unfamiliar.
I sign back, very carefully, What do you remember about him?
Jamie and I never spoke of his father after I took Jamie and left. If anything, Jamie seemed to thrive once he was out from under the shadow of Bryan O’Neil. He smiled again. Grinned more. Engaged in sign language with more enthusiasm, especially when I found a school that specialized in deaf and hard of hearing students and he realized he wasn’t alone.
There was no need to sit Jamie down and ask him if he missed his dad. Jamie was safe and happy. Bryan had become a terrible version of the Prince Charming I’d fallen in love with. What did it matter that he wasn’t around anymore?
Studying Jamie now, I’m realizing it might’ve mattered a lot.
I remember he was angry most of the time, Jamie says. And that he wasn’t very good to me. He yelled more than he said nice things. I remember…
Go on, I encourage him.
Jamie sucks in a breath. I remember the night we left him. It was scary, but then it wasn’t anymore. Your friend we stayed with told me it was going to be okay, but I already knew that. As soon as you came into my room and said it was time to go, I knew I wasn’t coming back.
And you were … okay with that? I venture to ask.
Wherever we were going, it was going to be better than where we were. He was mean to you, Mom. Really mean.
My stomach flutters at the thought that my son might’ve known what was going on, despite my continuous efforts to shield him.
He was mean to me, too, Jamie says.
I sign frantically, Did he ever hurt you?
How could I have missed it if he did? What kind of mother was I—
Jamie fervently shakes his head. No. He didn’t. But there was one time…
What, Jamie? Tell me.
He almost did. I went into his office one day because I was curious about his job. I opened a file cabinet and pulled out some papers, and I didn’t know he was behind me until he grabbed me by the shirt and—
Oh, God. I crush Jamie against me even though it hurts. Even though he’s still trying to sign, and I hold him close. My heartbeats create new fractures to my ribcage as I bury my face in his hair and let my heart crumble. To think Bryan was that close to hitting this child. To think what he could’ve done had we stayed, had I convinced myself this was our lot in life—as the surface wife of a Senator … what would’ve become of Jamie?
Jamie pushes out of my hold, but not harshly. He wants me to see him when he says, I was scared then, but not as much as I am now. You kept me safe, but there was no one to keep you safe. Now I’m older and stronger. I want to protect you, Mom. And I didn’t tonight. I’m ashamed.
Oh, dear boy. Lips trembling, I pull him against me again. He nestles against my side, so he can see me sign, That is not your job. You are a fantastic, smart kid who deserves to grow up with video games and bicycles, not worry about his mom.
I’m ready to fight. Dad was really hurting you, Jamie signs. If it weren’t for Easton.
Easton. The mention of his name and the way Jamie uses Easton’s name sign, “Awesome,” makes me quake, and I’m so tired of shaking.
But I’m worried about my son. I’m worried about Easton, and I don’t know if anything concrete enough will happen to Bryan to keep him away from us for long.
These walls are sterile, but they’re also so confining.
Is Easton okay? Jamie asks me.
I think so, I lie.
He was acting so funny when I woke him up. I don’t think he knew what was happening until I made him open his eyes. Mom, I don’t think he can hear anymore.
I nod into my kid’s hair, brushing it back to expose his forehead and kissing his warm, child-soft skin. He smells of grass and sugar and laundry, but I can’t contain him within that safe, comforting fragrance much longer. Jamie’s seen too much. Been traumatized by too many, and it would be foolhardy for me to keep him blinded by the feathers of my protective wing.
It’s never over, no matter how much I
try to pretend it is. And my ultimate priority is to make sure Jamie is well taken care of. What he saw tonight cannot be repeated.
It cannot.
I don’t think Easton can hear anymore, either, I admit. And as soon as I’m able, I’m going to find him, and we’ll make sure he’s all right.
Then … I’ll say good-bye. I don’t want to tell Jamie, not right now, since it will upset him, but I think it’s time to go again.
And I hope, like last time, Jamie will innately understand and come to me without argument, without thought, to the man we’re leaving behind.
It’s better this way.
There’s only one man I will never leave, and he’s in my arms.
Jamie nods into my chest, his small breaths fluttering against my hospital gown. You’ve said that a few times now, Mom. You keep telling the nurses you’re going to find Easton.
Sighing, I close my eyes and tell my hands to stop betraying me. Damn concussion. Damn pain.
Damn Bryan.
I’m so tangled in my worries, I never get a moment to realize that I’ve fallen asleep.
35
Easton
My bail is posted the next night, a full twenty-four-hours later, and as I’m led out of the holding cell and down a hallway to a kiosk where I pick up the stuff that was on my person, I’m fighting against the silence.
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 99
