Isaac
Martin, Brenda and I drove up to the Braxton Renaissance Hotel, and Marty pulled his old Lexus into a free spot at the back of the lot. We were only fifteen minutes behind everyone else, but it looked as if half of Harmony was already there.
Marty killed the engine but I didn’t move to get out.
“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I said. “She’s having a party. She’s having a good time. Then I show up and…”
“And make it better,” Marty finished.
“How do you know?” I asked. “She has every right to hate me.”
“But she doesn’t.”
“She misses you,” Brenda said, turning from the front seat to smile at me.
I gnawed my lip. This was worse than any audition. This was an audition. The greatest most important audition of my life, and if I blew it…
“So what do I do?”
“You go in,” Marty said quietly.
“Just walk in, in front of her parents and God and everybody?”
“Yes. And ask her to dance.”
I swallowed a sudden lump of pain in my throat. Until now, the idea of touching Willow again, holding her, kissing her, or even just looking at her up close was like a dream that always faded upon waking. I’d been able to shut off some part of me in order to keep going without her. But now that she was here…
“I can’t,” I said. “It’s been too long. I don’t want her to feel pressured.”
“Maybe it’s as simple as watching her from across a crowded room,” Brenda said. “Go inside, let her see you, and take it from there.”
“Yeah, okay.” I nodded. “That sounds good.”
I threw the car door open. The time for talk was over. It was time to get my ass in there and find my girl.
My nerves disappeared the second I reached the ballroom and found Willow. She sat in a group—her parents, another older couple, Angie McKenzie with a woman who must’ve been her mother. Willow sat while they all stood around her chatting, looking pale and stiff, hardly moving at all.
Something’s wrong.
The urge to run to her was strong but my heart was pounding in my chest, my nerves jumpy. I needed to calm the fuck down, take a breath, and get this right.
“She’s surrounded,” I told Marty. “I’m going to restroom. Splash some cold water on my face.”
Or dunk my head in the goddamn sink.
I took a long, circuitous route to the men’s room at one end of the ballroom. The restroom was grey and chrome, and smelled like Old Spice. A dark-haired guy in a suit was at a urinal taking a piss, and whistling.
I went to one of the basins at the sink and ran cold water. The guy turned around, zipping up, and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He had a narrow, weasel-like face, and dark eyes. He glanced at me once, then twice.
“Hey,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “I know you, right? You were in that movie? All the Way Down?”
“Long Way Down,” I said, dabbing my face dry.
“Yeah, that’s right. Great movie. You kicked ass in that.”
“Thanks.”
“Isaac…something, right? I’m bad with names.”
“Pearce,” I said, balling up the paper and wishing this guy would shut up already and let me have a minute to myself.
“Isaac Pearce, right,” he said, frowning. “I feel like I know you from somewhere else. Your name is familiar… Wait, you’re from around here, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
His eyes widened and he smiled with dawning realization. “Oh, shit, I remember! You’re the guy my dad told me about a few years ago. The actor. But your family had one of our stations in Harmony, right? The one that exploded?” He shook his head, laughing. “Crazy.”
Every muscle in my body tightened and my head creaked on my neck to look at him. “One of your stations?”
“Wexx Oil & Gas? My father is Ross Wilkinson, CEO.” he said, and offered his hand. “I’m Xavier.”
I stared.
Xavier. X. Him. The rapist. Standing right in front of me. Smiling. Whistling. Walking around free as if nothing had happened while Willow suffered for years…
He dropped his hand. “Hey, no hard feelings,” he said. “It’s not like losing one station is going to break us—”
I flew at him, gripped him by the lapels of his jacket, yanked him to me.
“You…” I seethed between clenched teeth, the blood pounding in my temples. “It was you…”
Xavier’s eyes were wide with fear, inches from mine. “What the fuck…?”
I fought for calm, remembering what Willow had said. That hurting him wouldn’t help her, though every sinew in my body screamed to fight, to make him hurt, to make him pay for what he did…
I released him with a rough shove. He fell back against the sink and I turned a small circle, raking my hands through my hair, breathing hard.
“What the fuck is your problem, man?” Xavier said, jerking his jacket back into place.
“I know you,” I said, jabbing my finger at him. “I fucking know you…I know what you did. To her.”
“To who? I don’t know what you’re—”
“To Willow,” I snarled. “What you did to Willow Holloway.”
Xavier’s eyes widened and his glanced darted to the door behind me. “Look, man,” he said, holding his hands up. “I don’t know what she told you but—”
“Everything. She told me everything.”
Xavier’s fake, smile vanished, but his voice was tinged with nervousness. “She told you everything? Did she tell you she sent me a picture of her tits? I still have it on my phone. I haven’t uploaded it online for the entire fucking world to jerk off to, but I will. I fucking will, so why don’t you get the fuck out of my way.”
He started to push past me. I calmly put my hand on his chest and shoved him back. I didn’t have a plan; my thoughts were in a tangle of raw emotion. But letting him out of this bathroom to stand in the same room as Willow was out of the fucking question.
“You belong in jail.”
“Fuck you,” he spat, his voice rough at the edges with fear now. “You better watch yourself, man. I’ll sue you for every penny you have.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Xavier scoffed casually and then struck with a sudden right fist to my jaw. I took the hit, my head whipping to the side, and the pain was like a fire under a fuse. Control fled. All I could see was this fucker on her, choking her, his mouth and body on hers…
Willow…
I drove my right fist into his face. My knuckles smacked the hard bone of his cheek, sending him reeling. Pain from my split skin rocketed up to my elbow.
Xavier staggered back, touched his fingers to his cheekbone and examined the blood on his fingertips. “This right here,” he said, “is a lawsuit. This is jail time. For you.”
“You keep saying that,” I said over hard breaths, “And I keep telling you, I don’t give a fuck. I could kill you for what you did to her…”
“Aw, come on,” Xavier spat. “You know how chicks are. They tease you until you’re hard as a rock and then send you on your way. Fuck that bullshit. She wanted it. They all do. You have to play their game. Take a little initiative.”
Initiative.
I charged at him, tackled him to the hard linoleum and we became a tangle of fists and jackets on the bathroom floor. His fist hit my right eye. Mine connected with his nose. Dimly I became aware of the door opening. Footsteps around us, shouting above us. I had Xavier on the ground. I pinned him down, my hands around his throat, squeezing.
“How does that feel?” I raged at him. “Can’t breathe? Imagine feeling like that for years, you fucking son of a bitch.”
Rough hands jerked me off him and hauled me back. Xavier scrambled to his feet, one hand to his throat, the other jabbing a finger at me. He appealed, wide-eyed, to the growing crowd in the bathroom.
“He tried to kill me. You saw it! Someone call the police.”
One of the spectators already had his phone out to call, another was taking photos.
Xavier whipped his head to me. “You’re done. Done in Hollywood. You’re going to jail.”
His threats meant nothing. I’d had enough of him. I needed Willow. Nothing else mattered.
I shoved past the small crowd in the bathroom. Xavier screamed after me, but I kept going, out into the ballroom.
She sat in a chair, still silent and motionless, like a beautiful statue, Angie and her mother flanking her. Everyone looked worried now, uncertain about what to do, asking her questions and getting no answers.
When I was ten yards away, I slowed and did what Brenda had advised. Let her see me. Let her decide.
Willow looked over slowly and our eyes met, our gazes locked. I froze. The weight of three years suddenly felt impossible to carry any longer. So heavy. Everything fell away as she stood up and left the protective circle of Angie and her mom.
I walked toward her and she walked toward me, until we were face-to-face.
Her eyes swept over me, her fingers tentatively reached up to touch one bleeding cut at my lip, another at the corner of my eye.
“Isaac,” she whispered.
“Hey, baby.”
She looked so beautiful. Pale but composed. I could’ve cried because her eyes weren’t full of anger or hate, but full of love. She still loved me.
“You’re here?” she whispered.
I swallowed hard. “I’m here.”
Her eyes fell shut for a moment, and her lips parted with a little sigh of relief only I could hear, even as her brows came together. I could feel the questions and the hurt rising in her. She still loved me, but this moment was only the beginning of whatever was left of us.
Xavier tore out of the bathroom door as the police came in from the front. He waved them over, shouting and clutching his throat and gesturing frantically at me. Everyone turned to stare.
“Arrest that guy. He attacked me in the bathroom. He tried to fucking kill me.”
Calmly, Willow left me and walked over to Xavier. I itched to grab her hand, pull her back to safety but I let her go. Watched as she moved to stand in front of him. She tilted her chin, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face. Hard.
The sound was like a gunshot, reverberating through the crowd, sending ripples of gasps and murmured exclamations.
Xavier’s head whipped at the force of it and a red handprint inflamed his cheek immediately
“You fucking bitch,” he seethed, eliciting more gasps. “It’s over. Your precious theater? Gone. I—”
“Yes, it’s over,” Willow said, her voice impossibly calm. “At long last. It’s over.”
She turned her back on him and walked to me, took my hand, and led me back to her parents and friends. Marty and Brenda were at the table now too, everyone gaping.
“Isaac, these are my parents, Dan and Regina. Mom and Dad, this is Isaac Pearce. Three years ago, he helped save my life. I got drunk and told him a story. Then I told Angie that story, and I told Bonnie that story. Now I’m going to tell you. Isaac never hurt me. Never. You caught him sleeping in my bed with me and threatened to have him arrested. You had the wrong boy. It was Xavier. The summer before my senior year, I threw a party when you two were away. And at that party, Xavier Wilkinson raped me.”
I watched the truth spread from her lips. A poisonous vapor she’d had to keep inside for three years, afraid of how it would affect everyone she loved. Her dad’s hard expression crumbled to shock and horror. Her mother’s pale face went white. Regina squeezed her eyes shut, then gave a soft, agonized cry as she rushed at Willow and held her.
“Oh, baby. Oh my baby. My sweet girl, I’m so sorry…”
She hugged her, stroked her hair, released her, crying, her hand pressed to her mouth, shaking her head over and over again. Angie and Bonnie closed in on either side of Willow as Xavier, who’d been huddled with his parents, crossed over, bringing the police with him.
“That’s the one,” he said, pointing at me. “Arrest him.”
“Did you do this?” one of the officers asked me, gesturing at the finger marks stark on Xavier’s throat.
“He did,” Xavier said. He turned to another guy who I recognized from the bathroom. “You saw it, right?”
The guy nodded. “Had him pinned to the ground.”
The officer took in my bruised and bloody face, my swollen knuckles, and nodded at his partner. They turned me around and tugged my arms behind my back, readied the handcuffs.
Chaotic shouting rose up from all sides.
“What are you doing?” Angie cried. “Isaac was defending Willow. He isn’t the one—”
Marty held out his hands for calm. “Now, hold on one second, officers…”
Ross Wilkinson’s voice rose above them. “Daniel, what in God’s name is going on here?”
Dan Holloway didn’t answer, but turned slowly to stare at Xavier.
Xavier, who stood with Willow’s handprint like a sunburn over half his face. A mark on his skin, stark and red for all to see.
In a flash of movement Dan broke out of his stasis and tackled Xavier to the ground, taking two chairs down with him, and sending a table teetering, its centerpiece toppling over.
One of the officers sprinted into the fray, yanking Willow’s father off of Xavier. Ross stepped in to defend his son. Mrs. Wilkinson shrieked for someone to ‘save her boy’. Regina cried. Bonnie and Angie stared, a protective barricade in front of Willow. More police arrived, pulling people apart, barking orders to break it up and threatening to haul us all down to the station. It was something out of a movie scene. Except for Willow, who stood dead center in the storm. Her eyes finally reaching me as a cop grabbed my arm to take me out.
“It’s okay,” she said, pushing through her friends to come to my side. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
And I believed her.
Once at the station, I was directed to sit at the booking officer’s desk. I sat for ten minutes, still cuffed, watching the hum of precinct business, but none of it directed at me. Not until the Wilkinsons arrived, Ross cursing, his wife clinging to her son.
Xavier was pale beneath Willow’s red handprint on his cheek. It had faded from blistering red to pink but still visible.
My imagination told me it resembled a W made from her palm and fingers.
No smug smile, blustering threats or pointing fingers. He stood still and quiet as his father shouted at anyone who would listen that this nothing town would pay for this outrage.
Willow and Regina came into the precinct, followed by Angie and her mother. A female officer led them down a hallway of interrogation rooms. Willow walked with her head high. Our eyes met as she passed me, and the barest of smiles curved her lips.
I sank in the chair, the handcuffs tight around my wrists. Xavier had no handcuffs, but as he was marched past me with his family, he met my eyes too. In them I saw only defeat. He looked like a man on his way to the gas chamber.
A bookings officer finally sat down at his desk and shuffled through some paper. “Turned out to be one hell of a party,” he said. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Four years ago,” I said with cold calmness, “Xavier Wilkinson hurt the woman I love. I felt he needed to know that was un-fucking-acceptable.”
The officer nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, she’s telling her story right now.” He took his face out of his hands and smirked. “Four years ago?”
“If you caught a murderer four years after he committed the crime, would you want to let them go?” I spat. “Go easy on him? Or would you be fucking glad a criminal was caught so he couldn’t do it again?”
The officer gave me a dry look. I knew the system wasn’t going to be fixed overnight with a few choice words. Still, I was shocked when twenty minutes later, the officer unlocked my handcuffs and told me I was free to go.
“They’re not pressing charges?” I asked
The cop gave me another look. “You want them to? No, your boxing partner refused to make a statement. He’s clammed up. You’re free to go.”
I went to the front of the station, rubbing my wrists. Brenda sat in a chair while Marty paced around, running hands through his hair. He stopped when he saw me.
“Jesus, Isaac, what happened? What’s going on?”
Before I could answer, Angie emerged. Eyes bloodshot and swollen, leaning heavily against her mother.
“Where’s Willow?” I asked.
“She’s going home,” Angie said. “She’s dead tired and wants to be alone. Her parents are driving her. They left out the back.”
She took a step toward me. “She told them everything. I don’t know what good it’ll do. The fucker and his parents promised to fight with every weapon they have. But she did it.”
I nodded. I wanted to say I was glad, but the battle wasn’t over yet. It had likely just started.
“Willow told me to tell you something,” Angie said. “I’m supposed to say ‘Act Two, Scene Two.’” She cocked her head. “You know what it means?”
I nodded, relief surging through me. “Yeah, I know exactly what it means.”
It means we still have a chance.