CHAPTER ONE
Violet
“Mrs. Miller, is there someone who can come get you?”
The voice speaking to me is careful. Almost as if she’s scared to use her normal tone. Everyone who’s walked through the door since I got here, has treated me as if I’m about to break. Truthfully, I think I am.
My eyes travel along my blanket covered legs, past the IV in my arm, over the identification bracelet on my wrist, and then up to the face of the nurse asking me the question. She’s been the one taking care of me for the last few days. Everyday she’s looked at me with pity in her eyes, and I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to getting away from her knowing gaze. All I want right now is to go home, lick my wounds, and try to gather the pieces of my tattered pride. Try to make a life out of the smoldering wreckage left behind after the beating. I realize with great clarity my life has now been split into two parts – before the beating and after the beating.
The beeping of the monitors have been comforting while I’ve laid here; a part of me has focused on their beeping, proving I’m alive. They were the first indication that I’d made it when I came out of the darkness that’d encompassed me after Brent had attacked me.
“You’re going to be released as soon as the paperwork is signed, and you’ll need someone to drive you home, honey. With the amount of pain medication you’ve been given, you can’t drive yourself.”
I nod to show my understanding, strengthen my reserves, and manage to push out the word “cab” on a whisper. Pain radiates through my jaw with that one little word, and I wonder how I’m going to survive the next couple of days – forget the next few weeks, months, or even years.
The disapproval is in her eyes, but honestly there’s nothing else I can do. They took my husband to jail for doing this to me, and I’m not willing to involve any of the friends I’ve made since I came to Laurel Springs in this mess. She doesn’t want to call a cab, but I have no choice. Story of my damn life.
She opens her mouth to speak to me again, when I hear a voice at the doorway of my room. Since the first day I heard it – the deep timbre, the accent – it’s always been the voice of an angel. The one thing I could cling to in the darkness of the life I was living.
“I’ll be taking her home.”
Surprise grips my stomach, but it really shouldn’t. Anthony “Ace” Bailey has been around since the first day I hit town. From the moment he walked into The Café, he’s had my attention, and I know I’ve had his. Every day he’s always had a gorgeous smile for me, a kind word, and a little bit of hope that life will change. Never did I expect the life-changing moment would be me getting the holy hell beat out of me and him arresting my husband.
While I’ve been here in the hospital, I know he’s visited me – I’ve felt him, but it’s always been when I was deeply sedated, or just too weary to pry my eyes open. A couple of times I even had dreams about him. What would happen if I’d let him sweep me away like he’d joked about once or twice. But not once when he came did I acknowledge his presence. Luckily he doesn’t seem to have taken offense to it.
Today? I gobble up the sight of him, and my heart pounds as I see him standing there, a bag in his hand. He wears a bruise across his nose and slightly under his eyes. My memory vaguely unlocks a moment during the struggle, where I heard Anthony cry out. Brent must have gotten him with an elbow as they fought over control of my body, which at the moment had been flung around like a ragdoll. I flex my fingers against the blanket covering my body. I want to reach out, grab his hand, feel the warmth of his touch. Looking back down at the bag he’s carrying, I notice it’s from a department store in the mall that I like. Leighton and I have gone shopping there for her, but I’ve never bought myself anything, because Brent kept such a tight rein on the finances. He lifts the bag up. “Brought you some new clothes.”
The clothes I’d been wearing at The Café had been smeared with blood and cut off of me. Since they were my regular work clothes, chances are they smelled like grease too. No way I’d be wearing them home. I’m not even sure I can handle that smell anymore. I feel as if the first time the stench hits me, I might be sent back to that day when I was minding my own business, my head down and unaware. Shaking my head, I go back to thinking about the clothes. Those are safer, and there’s no emotional attachment in them. Honestly, I’d figured they’d give me some scrubs, at least that’s what I’ve seen on TV shows.
“Please let me take you home, make sure you’re good. You’ve been through hell, Vi, and you need someone to take care of you. Doesn’t make you weak.” He winks as he enters the room and has a seat on the chair. He looks like he always does, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But as his green eyes rake over my body, I get the feeling he does have a care, and that care is me.
“You realize it’ll be up to her, if she goes home with you.” The nurse is oddly protective of me. It’s obvious she’s not going to let me go if I don’t want to go. I have a feeling if I can’t figure out how to get home, she’ll drive me herself; rules be damned.
“I respect your protectiveness of her, but I’m a cop, I’ll keep her safe. There’s absolutely no pressure. If she doesn’t want me, I’ll call our friend, Leighton to come get her,” he turns back to me, an expression on his face indicating not to argue with him. “It’s not a big deal for any of us, but I’ll be damned if you take a cab home after the ordeal you’ve been through. Not when you’ve got people who care about you.”
I weigh my options. I don’t want to bother Leighton, but I don’t want to be a burden on Anthony either. That’s my damage, no one else’s. I realize quickly they’re waiting for me to respond.
“Go with you,” I whisper out, letting my jaw open as much as I can. The pain is still excruciating, and I’m mentally calculating how long it is until they’ll let me have another pain pill.
The pleased smile on his face hits me in the gut. He’s genuinely happy to help me, and I can honestly say a few things about this man. He’s my hero, a savior, I really don’t think he set out to be. In all the time I’ve been dealing with my husband and his fists, no one’s ever saved me, they’ve never made me feel safe, and none have ever made me wonder what it would be like to have a different man in my life.
Anthony Bailey, in the small amount of time I’ve known him, has saved me, made me feel safe, and kept me awake at night wondering what it would be like to be his.
And honestly – after the way I’ve been treated – I can’t even feel guilty about it.
* * *
“C’mon honey, let me help you put these leggings on.” The nice nurse takes them out of the bag, and holds them open for me.
“Wish I could do it myself.” Tears are pooled behind my eyes. This is a new kind of humiliation, one I’d never imagined myself having to deal with. I’m sure the embarrassment is written across my face.
“My sister had a husband like yours and was killed a few years ago.” She smiles sadly. “She didn’t get a chance to be embarrassed. I would give years of my life to be able to help her put her leggings on if it meant she were still here.”
I can’t meet her gaze as I pull them up over my stomach and slowly pull the shirt over my head. Lucky isn’t something I would have described myself as until I listened to this woman’s story. “Sorry for you.” I lick my dry, cracked lips.
“It’s why I take care of the domestic violence victims. The next weeks, months, and years will be hard on you, Violet. You might remember things that give you pause, have nightmares, and wonder where you go from here. Just remember you’re alive, you’ve got friends, you’ve got a man who seems to care about you, and you’re strong enough to come out on the other side of this.”
“I know.” My voice is quiet as I let some of the tears fall.
“Now, get out of here and take care of yourself.”
As I have a seat in the wheelchair so that I can exit the hospital, I can’t help but wonder where exactly life is going to take me. I can’t say I’m excited at this moment, but I’m resigned, and that’s better than I have been.
Ace
She’s not speaking, and while I know her jaw was this close to being wired shut, it’s still worrying me. I’m not sure if the silence is because of the physical or the emotional pain she’s been through. Being stuck in your head, after a situation like what’s she’s been through is the most dangerous detriment to her recovery.
“The clothes fit okay?” I question as I turn my truck onto the main road.
A noise in her throat is the only answer I get, but I can tell it’s affirmative. Hell, anyone with two eyes can see that they fit, but I still feel the need to ask her, to make sure I haven’t overstepped my boundaries. Her eyes roam the passing scenery as I drive away from the hospital and toward the area we both live in. I’m undecided about where I want to take her. She wants to be alone, that much is obvious from the way she’s tucked into herself on her side of the truck, not looking at me, not paying attention to what I’m doing, or even really acknowledging my presence. However, the public servant, the man who cares for her, and the person who has a little bit of first-aid training thanks to the military wants to keep her as close as possible. When I come to the intersection that will lead to either my duplex or the trailer she lives in, I come to a stop and don’t indicate which way I’m going to go.
“It’s up to you, Violet. Which way am I going?”
I wait for her to answer.
“Why do you have a truck now? You used to have a sports car.”
The question catches me off-guard, as well as the change of subject. She paid attention to me, and I never even knew it. “I have a boat, I got sick of asking others to help me transport it, and after Tank’s wreck, I decided to slow down. I don’t do a lot of the crazy stuff I used to. I realized with great clarity you have one life, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. Now, which way am I going? You coming home with me, or am I taking you to your place?”
Her head whips around to me. Struggling, she pushes out. “What? Take me home.”
“I’d rather take you to my home,” I argue, softly. Maybe this was something I should have discussed with her before we’d gotten into the truck. “You don’t need to be by yourself. What if you need help during the night? What if something frightens you?”
“He’s in jail.” She puts her hands between her legs, squeezing them between her thighs. Almost as if she’s trying to ground herself in what must be a twinge of pain.
It doesn’t escape me that she’s gotten right to the heart of the matter. I didn’t mention him, didn’t say she might be frightened of him. But something tells me she’s lived her whole life trying to figure out how much to tell people and how much to keep to herself.
“Doesn’t mean you’re not going to need help. You’ve been through a lot.” I try to reason with her. “Getting scared will be normal. You’ve been through a trauma, lived through something a lot of people have never had to live through. Most don’t ever think about it. There’s nothing wrong if you do get scared.”
Her dark eyes cut over to mine, no longer warm and thankful that I came to get her. Now the brown pools are hard, tough, and unrelenting. “I don’t ever get scared, Anthony,” she stops, and by the way she grabs her jaw, a pain must shoot through the bone. Angry tears threaten to spill over her lids, as she fights to open her mouth again. I wish we could communicate easier, but she keeps the bravado up as she pushes out the final words. “It’s never done me any good to get scared.”
Which I know is a lie, but if she needs to believe this about herself, I’ll let her. Encourage her, even. Show her that I trust her. Doesn’t mean I’m not scared for her. And not only physically, but emotionally too. There’s many pieces that will reveal themselves as she begins the recovery process to put herself back together again.
I want to be there for her, to be the person she turns to when she’s dealing with things that might break the façade she’s maintaining. There will be a chance for me, I’m optimistic about it, but I know I can’t pressure her. Letting her come to me or meeting in the middle will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s a must in this situation.
Many would ask me what makes her different. Truth is I can’t put my finger on any one thing. It’s a combination of everything about her. Her stoic strength, the vulnerability that lingers just below the surface, the passion I’ve seen spark in her eyes once or twice. When Violet unleashes all of this, and allows the world to see what she’s hiding under the exterior, everyone will realize exactly why I want this woman.
One thing I do know is the decision is hers, and if I try to talk her out of it or assert any kind of authority over her, I’ll be met with rebellion. I’m better than her husband, and I have to prove to her I am. Taking care of her won’t be easy, but I’ll do it in a way that’s non-threatening to her. Against my better judgement, I turn the truck in the direction to her trailer.
“Then home is where you’ll go.”