by T. K. Leigh
Can I say with absolute certainty it was because of Nick, though? The mention of Greek mythology could have simply brought forward a painful memory. Couple that with being at a masked ball, and it’s no surprise she may have felt uneasy.
I’m doing everything I can to not jump to conclusions, to keep emotions out of this and think about everything objectively and rationally. But with every puzzle piece that snaps into place, it becomes more and more difficult to blame the similarities on something else.
“How do you spell that?” Diego’s voice grabs my attention. “And it was a GSW to the shoulder?” He pauses, then scribbles down more information. “Got it. Thanks, man. I appreciate this.”
Once he ends the call, he turns around, the notepad in hand. “There were a few gunshot calls today, but the latest one was to the Buckhead Village District.”
My breathing increases in time with my pulse, my face heating as a sinking feeling settles within me. Julia’s bakery is in the Buckhead Village District. It could just be a coincidence, but I’m starting to think nothing is a coincidence today.
“What happened?” I ask guardedly.
“It was a pretty big deal. Thought it was the start of a mass shooting, so the entire place went into lockdown.”
“And the people involved?”
“GSW to the shoulder. They were able to stabilize the victim and transport to Piedmont. Police made an arrest, but my buddy wasn’t able to get a name. They’re first responders, so they only worry themselves with the person in need of medical attention. But he did get the victim’s name.”
He pauses, glancing down at the notepad.
“Does the name Domenic Jaskulski ring a bell?”
Chapter Four
Weston
I’ve often heard people talk about feeling like their world has been ripped out from underneath them, but never truly understood what they meant.
Until now.
The second Diego says that name, I feel like I’ve lost my footing, that I’m slipping away with nothing to pull me back to reality. I didn’t want to believe it. Wanted to think it was simply a misunderstanding. I can’t anymore.
I blink once. Twice. Then spin around, swiping my wallet and keys off the coffee table.
“Where are you going?” Hazel steps toward me.
“The hospital.” I hurry toward the door and yank it open.
“It’s not like they’re going to let you in to see this guy, Wes,” Diego counters, close on my heels.
I pause just before stepping onto Londyn’s front stoop, bringing my eyes to meet his. “They will if he’s my brother-in-law.”
His dark eyes widen in shock as I turn, darting down the steps and into my car.
I barely register the miles as I speed toward the hospital, wracking my brain for any conceivable explanation for why Nick was shot that doesn’t involve Londyn. That it’s simply a coincidence Londyn called Hazel to say she shot Jay and that my brother-in-law just so happened to be shot at my sister’s bakery in an unrelated incident. Something, anything to make this excruciating ache in my chest go away.
I’ve never felt so torn. I don’t want to believe the man Julia’s devoted her life to, the father of my niece, could be responsible for Londyn’s pain and suffering.
At the same time, I can’t ignore the alarming similarities between my sister’s husband and the man Londyn described as Jay. They were both college professors at one point. They’re both passionate, obsessive about Greek mythology. Still, there’s one glaring inconsistency I keep coming back to.
Julia has never lived in Upstate New York, which was where Londyn went to undergrad.
And it’s this inconsistency I cling to as I walk from my car and into the hospital, praying my sister hasn’t spent the past several years of her life married to a rapist.
When I enter the frenzied, chaotic atmosphere of the emergency room waiting area, the smell of bleach and stale coffee surrounding me, I glance around. What am I supposed to do? Barge through the security door and hope to find Nick’s room so I can ask him if he attacked my girlfriend? It sounds so absurd. But for Londyn, I’ll do anything.
“Wes?”
I whirl around as Julia rushes to me, throwing her arms around my neck.
“What are you doing here? How did you hear? I was going to call, but I knew you were planning to propose tonight and didn’t want to interrupt.” The words tumble from her as she all but squeezes the life out of me. When I only weakly return her hug, she pulls back, meeting my confused eyes. “Is everything okay?”
I open my mouth. How can I even attempt to answer that? Things are so far from okay.
“We need to talk.”
Before she has a chance to protest, I grab her hand, tugging her away from prying ears and into the crisp, late afternoon air, the sun heading toward the horizon throwing a pink hue over everything.
“Has Nick ever lived in New York?” I demand, my gaze intense.
She blinks, taken aback. “I don’t see what that has to—”
“Answer the damn question, Julia!” I roar.
She stiffens, my outburst out of character for me. At least when talking to her. A few passersby glance in our direction, a nurse giving Julia a questioning look. She offers her a smile, wordlessly telling her she’s okay, before lifting her eyes back to mine.
“He did.”
I expel a long breath, my jaw tensing, processing this information I’d hoped wasn’t true. “When?”
“He left that job a little more than five years ago now,” she admits timidly. “He taught at a college upstate.”
“But you’ve never lived in New York,” I counter, unsure who I’m arguing for — me, Londyn, or Julia.
“I was supposed to, Wes. Don’t you remember?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t, Jules. I lived up in Boston at that time. We didn’t talk like we do now. The only thing I knew was you were pregnant, then had Imogene.”
“Don’t you remember all the complications I had in my pregnancy? How they found a hole in Imogene’s heart that would require surgery within the first few months of her birth?”
I nod.
“That’s why I didn’t go to New York with Nick. I was on bed rest, so my doctors advised me against traveling. When Imogene was born and needed to have surgery, we decided it was best if I stayed in Charleston so she’d be near her doctor. Nick wanted to stay, said he’d give up his teaching job to be with us, but that job gave us amazing health insurance. So he went back to New York for a second year.”
“What did students call him?”
“Wes, I don’t—”
“Just answer me,” I respond, defeat evident in my tone.
“Professor J. But I guess some of the students he advised or was closer with would call him Jay.”
“So it’s not short for Jason,” I mutter to myself.
“What?”
I snap my head up, having momentarily forgotten I’m not alone. “Has he ever hurt you?” I ask, bile rising in my throat.
“What?” She backs up, defensively crossing her arms over her stomach, shrinking into herself. “Why would you ask a question like that?”
“Just tell me, Jules.” I clutch her biceps, not allowing her to escape my questions. “Has he ever hurt you?”
“Of course not.” She pulls out of my grip, her eyes on fire. “I don’t know where this line of questioning is coming from, but it’s pretty shitty timing. My husband was shot during an attempted robbery at my bakery. The only reason he was there in the first place was because I wasn’t feeling well, so he offered to go get my paperwork. The last thing I need is my brother, my one source of support, asking questions about the man I’m married to. A man who’s currently undergoing surgery to repair damage from a gunshot wound.”
She walks to a nearby bench and collapses onto it, burying her head in her hands. “I need your support, Wes.” When she finally looks up at me, there’s a frailty about her that’s a complete one-eighty from the outg
oing party girl she was last night. “Not your accusations.”
“Who told you it was a robbery?” I ask, widening my stance.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
She peers into the distance, pushing out a labored breath. Her normally glimmering, vibrant eyes seem dull, exhausted. “The officer who called to inform me about what happened. Told me they thought Nick had foiled an attempted mass shooting at the shopping district, but on later investigation, it looked to be a robbery gone bad instead.”
“And you believed him?”
“Would a cop lie to me about the reason my husband is fighting for his life?”
I give her a knowing look. While our gampy taught us to respect the uniform, he also warned us that there are two sides to every story. To never take everything we’re told at face value. To always do our own research and learn all the facts.
Then again, I suppose I’m doing the same thing, believing the narrative Diego, Hazel, and I pieced together based on what little we knew. But Gampy also taught us to trust our instincts. If we’re told something is a duck but feel it’s a swan, we should go with our gut above all else. Especially when the person telling us it’s a duck isn’t all that reliable.
“Was anything stolen?” I press.
“I didn’t ask. I—”
“Want to know what’s a coincidence?” I interrupt, my voice quivering. “And, god, for the past half-hour, you have no idea how hard I’ve tried to convince myself that’s all it was. Just a coincidence. But fuck, Julia.” I dig my fingers through my hair, tugging at it. “Did you know Londyn did her undergrad in Upstate New York?”
She lifts her eyes to mine, blinking, remaining silent.
“And did you know she was raped a few weeks before graduating?”
She covers her mouth with her hand, tears falling down her cheeks.
“Do you want to know by whom?”
She shakes her head but doesn’t answer. She knows it’s pointless. Knows I’m going to tell her anyway.
“By a professor in the English department. A professor who had an affinity for Greek mythology. A professor who was also known as Professor J. Or Jay.”
She continues shaking her head, her tears falling more steadily.
“And do you want to know where Londyn is right now?” I step toward her, unable to stop my own tears from escaping.
She peers at me, silently pleading with me to stop. But I can’t. As much as it pains her, as much as it pains me, she needs to face this truth, too.
“You see, that’s the kicker. I don’t know where she is. Not for certain anyway. But I’m fairly certain she was arrested.”
She inhales a sharp breath, eyes wide. “Arrested?”
“Yes. Londyn called Hazel earlier. Told her that Jay found her…” I take another small step toward her, each of my words seeming to cause Julia physical pain. But not as much pain as Londyn has suffered. “And attacked her. So she did the only thing she could so as not to endure what she did all those years ago.” I stop mere inches away, leaning down so Julia can’t escape me. “She protected herself and shot him.” I linger there for a moment before pulling away.
“So tell me, Jules. Do you think this is all a coincidence? Because if you can think of some other explanation for all these fucking similarities, I would love to hear it. Trust me. I don’t want to believe it any more than you do. But if it’s true, if he is the same Jay who haunts Londyn’s dreams, causing her to wake up in a cold sweat screaming, I can’t stomach the idea that he’s done the same thing to you.”
I sit beside her, swiping her hands up and clutching them in mine. “So please, tell me the truth. Has. He. Hurt. You?”
Her lips part as she searches my eyes. There’s a vulnerability about her, at complete odds with the strong, confident woman I’ve known her to be these past several years. In this moment, I see the apprehensive, timid little girl who’d just lost her mother and was now supposed to live with a group of strangers. The girl who would do anything to feel accepted. To feel loved.
Even if it meant covering up the truth.
“Ms. Prescott?” a voice cuts through.
Julia and I simultaneously rise to our feet, shifting our attention to the petite blonde in pink scrubs standing in front of the sliding glass doors.
“I’ve been instructed to escort you to the waiting area in the surgical unit. It’ll be more…private.”
“Thank you.” She offers a trite smile. “I’ll be right in.”
“Certainly.”
Neither one of us moves as we watch the nurse retreat. Even when we’re alone, we remain silent and unmoving, an invisible wall between us now that I’m essentially asking her to choose me and Londyn over her own husband. How could she not, though, knowing what he’s done?
“You should go,” she finally says in a firm voice.
“Julia…” I approach her, but she whirls around, holding up a hand.
I stop in my tracks, silently pleading with her. I can’t imagine what must be going through her mind right now. If I’d devoted my life to someone only to learn they’re not who I thought they were, I’d be confused, too. But something tells me there’s more to it.
I rewind to the past few months and the handful of times I’ve seen her interactions with Nick. She always seemed on edge. She claimed it was because he’d been away on business trips for so long and needed to get used to him being around again. I’m not sure I buy it. If Londyn had been away from me for weeks on end, I wouldn’t flinch from her touch or appear inconvenienced by her surprise reappearance, as Julia did with Nick. I’d wrap my arms around her and never let go.
“You can tell me anything, Jules. I’ll support you. No matter what. You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll take care of you and Imogene. Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”
She closes her eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek. Indecision covers her expression, torn between stepping out of the shadows and maintaining the status quo because it’s a known quantity.
“It’s not that easy, Wes.”
“You remember what Gampy and Meemaw always said? ‘Sometimes the right path isn’t always the easiest.’” I place my hands on her biceps, an urgency in my voice. “Don’t take the easy way out. It’s okay to take a risk. To do the right thing.”
“I don’t—”
A loud chiming cuts through the tension. Julia uses the distraction to step out of my hold, nodding toward the pocket where my phone rings.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
I don’t move for a beat, then push out a breath, reaching into my pocket and retrieving my phone.
“Who’s Sophia?” Julia asks, glancing at my screen.
“Sophia Mercer.”
She gives me a questioning look. “The same Sophia Mercer who used to come around Gampy and Meemaw’s when we were kids?”
I nod. “She’s a lawyer now. I called her to help locate Londyn.”
“Then you should talk to her.”
“I know. I just…” I look between Julia and the phone, not wanting to leave things so strained.
“You need to be there for Londyn. Just like it’s important for me to be there for Nick right now.” She smiles sadly, then turns toward the building.
“Is that really what you want?” I call out just before she disappears inside.
She stops, not turning, her shoulders rising and falling with her defeated breath. “When have I ever done what I really want?”
She steps inside, the doors swallowing her, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Answers I desperately need.
Chapter Five
Weston
I pace the lobby of the imposing brick building in downtown Atlanta, every second that passes making my anxiety increase. Dozens of people from all walks of life sit in the rows of chairs set up, each of them waiting for news of their loved one. Just like me.
Every so often, I glance at the secured doors, gro
wing more frustrated with every stranger who exits. This has been the worst part of the past eighteen hours. The waiting. The not knowing. The lack of control and not being able to do anything.
When Sophia’s familiar silhouette finally slips through the security door, I stop pacing. Hazel and Diego jump up from a few nearby chairs and join me as she approaches.
She tried to tell us it was a waste of time to come down here this morning, since jailhouse bail hearings aren’t open to the public like normal criminal proceedings. I couldn’t stomach the idea of not being here, though. I needed to show my support, even if I couldn’t be in the courtroom. In my heart, I knew Londyn would be able to feel my presence. And hopefully that presence gives her the comfort she craves.
“How is she?” I ask urgently, my eyes wild with anticipation. My imagination has run crazy with every scenario about what Londyn could be going through, and it’s killing me. I need to know she’s okay. Or as okay as she can be, given the circumstances.
Sophia offers a sincere smile as she smooths a few strands of her brown hair behind her shoulder. Her smart pant suit and a few well-appointed pieces of jewelry make her appear somewhat formidable. Not the toothy little girl whose face was always covered in mud I remember from my childhood.
“She’s scared, Wes. Lifeless, really. I was able to talk to her for ten minutes before the hearing to get her side of things, and she was…empty. Like simply reporting a summary of events as a detached observer, not someone who’d endured something no person should.”
“She shut down,” Hazel offers in understanding.
Sophia shifts her eyes to her. “Yes.”
“That’s how she was when I met her. Depressed, hollow.”
“She’s not the first client I’ve had who’s reacted this way to such an invasive event,” Sophia says. “It’ll take some time for the initial shock to wear off, especially considering their history. In my experience, a repeat assault can be even more traumatic. Make the victim feel even more helpless. Trapped.”
I nod, crossing my arms in front of my chest, doing my best not to think of Londyn spending the past eighteen hours scared and alone, wondering what was going to happen to her. Wondering if anyone cared what happened to her.
