CHAPTER THREE
Unpacking keeps my mind off of being alone, but how will I survive night after night here by myself until my brother returns?
I’m too restless to check out the television. Too nervous to scavenge for food in Vince’s cupboards.
All my boxes cluttering up the entranceway make me feel like an intruder in the house I grew up in. Except for a few bags of clothes and personal items, I shove everything into the hall closet. Something heavy clatters on the floor, and I lean in to pick up my brother’s old shotgun.
Knowing my brother, the shotgun’s probably loaded, so I carefully place it in the corner and back away. Vince always wanted to teach me to shoot and I’d always said no thanks. I wanted to be an educated city girl who didn’t need to keep a shotgun in the closet to feel safe.
Joke’s on me, isn’t it? Because right about now, if Chad came at me again, I don’t think I’d hesitate to blow a hole in him.
Shaking off the morbid thoughts, I head to Vince’s room to unpack. My anger isn’t as easy to shake off.
The feeling that I’m trespassing increases as I prowl around Vince’s tidy bedroom. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.
Eventually, I push my unease aside and search for an empty drawer to stash my clothes.
As I suspected, Vince keeps almost nothing in his dresser. Each item I stuff into a drawer gives me a silly feeling of accomplishment. I shake out shorts, tank tops, and other new clothes I bought on my way here. For far too long, I’ve been living in baggy, shapeless garments to appease Chad’s jealousy. It’ll be nice to look like something other than a homeless nun for a change.
“Fuck you, Chad,” I whisper as I close the drawer.
I reach for the very bottom drawer and stop myself. I shouldn’t get too comfortable. Vince will have a shit-fit when he comes home and finds my girly stuff all over his manly house.
“Really making yourself at home there, huh?” Liam’s amused voice startles me and I let out a sharp scream, throwing socks and underwear in the air.
He drops the bags in his hands and reaches for me.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, honey. I thought you heard me come in the house.”
Embarrassed for acting like a nutjob, I squat down and scoop up my scattered unmentionables, stuffing them into the bottom drawer. “I didn’t,” I mumble.
“I’m such a clumsy ox, I thought for sure you heard me thumping my way down the hall.”
Clumsy. That’s not a word I would use to ever describe Liam. “You’re not clumsy. You’re the most graceful big guy I know.”
“That sounded like a compliment, but I’m not sure if I like being described as graceful,” he says, teasing me with my sincere observation.
Laughter spills out of me. Liam’s probably the only person in the world who could make me laugh today.
“I tried calling you,” he says as I follow him down the hallway to the kitchen. “You had me worried.”
“Oh.” I pat my pockets, searching for my cell phone. “My phone must be in my purse.”
Liam’s face shifts from protective friend to hardened cop. It’s a look I’m not used to seeing on him and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
I sense I’m about to be on the receiving end of a lecture.
“I need you to keep your phone close. In case of an emergency.”
No reading between the lines needed. “Chad’s not coming here, Liam. I’ll be fine. He wouldn’t dare.”
His expression darkens. “I’m sure you thought he wouldn’t dare hit you either.”
The painful truth—that this wasn’t the first time Chad hit me—isn’t something I can share with Liam. Don’t think I can ever share it with anyone, but especially not Liam.
“The judge denied bail,” I say weakly.
“I know.” By his tone, I suspect he used the few hours away to do some investigating. I’m not sure if I’m relieved to have someone in my corner or embarrassed about whatever intimate details he might have learned.
“Come on.” He forces a smile and points to the grocery bags lined up on the counter. “I’ve got a big sack of potatoes with your name on them,” he encourages.
A mundane task like peeling five pounds of potatoes sounds perfect right about now.
Why the fuck didn’t I yell out a greeting or do something so I didn’t scare the shit out of Bree when I returned to the house?
Then I lectured her, when I’m sure that’s the last thing she wants.
I’m torn. Fucked-up because I don’t know how to handle this. If this were a case I’d been handed—easy. Follow protocol.
Bree? I don’t know how to handle myself around her. I’m burning with the urge to do something meaningful—kicking the shit out of Chad would be a nice start.
Logically, what’s best for Bree?
Be her friend. Keep her safe.
So that’s my plan. For now.
“Are you throwing a party?” she teases as she checks out the overflowing bags of groceries.
“Nah.” I force some enthusiasm into my voice. “Need to make sure you eat more than twigs, berries, and bunny food.” The words still came out way more somber than I intended. Turning, I give her a lopsided grin so she knows I’m teasing. “Vince said you still won’t eat red meat?”
She nods. “You talked to him again?”
I hesitate before answering. “We spoke.” After I tracked down information about the domestic disturbance that landed Bree in the hospital and Chad in jail. The most painful details I kept from my best friend. They’ve been churning in my mind all afternoon, though. Now that I know more of the story behind her bruises, I’m even more enraged, and struggling to keep myself calm. The last thing I want to do is embarrass Bree.
From my training and experience, I’m aware there’s a good chance she might return to Chad and I’ll be damned if I give her a reason to push me away.
So, I’ll keep what I learned to myself.
She rolls her eyes and reaches into one of the bags on the counter. “I don’t need a vivid imagination to guess how that conversation went,” she grumbles.
“Hey.” I place my hand on her arm, stopping her from opening the refrigerator. “What are you talking about?”
“‘Uh, how bad is she? She’s pretty messed up, bro,’” she mimics her version of my conversation with her brother in a ridiculously lousy impression of both of us.
“Your man-voice needs work.”
She snorts and pulls out of my grasp.
“You’re not messed up. That’s not what I said to him.”
“Why didn’t he call me and ask me how I was doing?”
“Maybe he did and you didn’t answer.”
I said it jokingly, but it is odd Vince hasn’t called to check on her. I know they spoke at some point—she called her brother from the hospital, and he called me.
“Nope,” she says, strolling back into the kitchen. She waves her phone at me. “Nothing from my brother.”
“I’m sure he’ll call later.” The look on her face makes me want to take her into my arms again.
“I can’t believe the kitchen,” she says after a few minutes of silence.
“It’s nice, right?”
“It’s certainly homey.” She runs her fingers over the countertop. “Not like when we were kids and used to heat up our own microwave dinners and ate on the floor in front of the television.”
Even though I’ve known both Vince and Bree since we were all kids, those little details aren’t things Vince and I would ever talk about. Bree stating it so plainly leaves me unsure of what to say to make it better.
She spins in a slow circle, taking in every detail. “It looks like something out of Martha Stewart Living.”
“Don’t tell him that. I think he was going for Country Farm Boy.”
She chuckles and runs her hand over the built-in window seat. “I always wanted one of these in my room.”
“Well, when you’re settled, let him know. He built it himself.”
She lets out a soft snort. “Settled. Yeah.”
“Bree, you’re—”
She cuts me off before I can offer any reassuring words. “I had no idea Vince was so handy.”
“Come on, stop trying to shirk potato duty.”
She huffs out a laugh and joins me by the sink. We work together for a while. When she’s done peeling and slicing potatoes, she curls up on the window seat and watches me work.
Her phone jingles, and I glance over. She frowns and squints at the screen. Her lips flatten into an angry line and she bangs out a reply.
“Everything okay?”
“What?” Her head snaps up, confusion all over her face.
Something’s off. Chad shouldn’t be able to contact her from jail, but after a few years with the department I’ve learned to expect just about anything. “Who was that?”
She won’t answer or meet my eyes right away.
“Bree,” I prompt.
“Why are you being so nosy—”
“I’m your friend,” I snap, cutting her off.
She glares at me for a second before relenting and answering me. “Chad’s brother. Harassing me to drop the charges.”
“Like fuck,” I say, striding over with my hand out. “Give me that.”
She tucks the phone in her pocket. “No.”
“Bree. I’m not fucking around. If he’s harassing you, we’ll get a restraining order.”
“I can handle it.”
Yeah, right.
“Why are you being so difficult?”
She lifts her chin toward the stove. “You’re doing enough for me. I don’t need to drag you into my mess.”
“Drag me…are you serious, Bree?”
A soft sigh leaves her lips. “His parents know a lot of people. I don’t want…I don’t want them to try to screw with your job or something.”
I let out a sharp bark of laughter, and she narrows her eyes. The investigator assigned to Bree’s case already warned me all about the deep pockets and connections Chad’s family has. Entitled pricks who beat up their girlfriends didn’t tend to earn a lot of respect with law enforcement.
Squatting down next to her, I take her hands in mine. “Listen to me, I know people too. I’m good at my job. There’s not a damn thing his family can do to me. And even if there was, it wouldn’t matter. You’re more important to me than any job.”
“This is all my fault,” she mumbles.
“No, it’s not.” I shift to sit next to her and pull her into my arms. When she quiets, I hold out my hand. She slides the phone into it and sighs.
“Good. Now where does the brother live? Empire?”
She nods.
“Okay. I’ll have someone I know down there talk to him. And I’m going to get a transcript of these texts in case we need to get a restraining order against him too.”
I work my fingers over her phone. “For now, I’m going to block his number.”
“Thank you, Liam,” she says softly.
“You don’t have to thank me, baby girl.”
Once that’s taken care of we don’t talk about anything to do with her ex. I’ve got plenty of questions, but I’m already a live wire of emotions. Bree’s going to have to repeat her story enough in the coming weeks. Right now, she needs to relax and feel safe, not be interrogated.
She sets the table and waits for me to finish making dinner.
“Do you remember the day we met?” she asks after heaping mashed potatoes on her plate and sitting at the table.
“How could I forget? You were the prettiest girl on the playground.”
Her fork stops moving through the potatoes and she meets my eyes. “That’s not true. I was picking myself up off the ground after Matty Cantwell knocked me down.”
“Yeah, and I was coming over to see if you were okay and then on my way to kick Matty’s ass. Little bastard needed a lesson on treating girls with respect.”
The corners of her mouth quirk up. “I told you not to bother because Vince would beat up Matty on the way home.”
I chuckle, remembering how fierce but vulnerable seven-year-old Bree was. How she matter-of-factly brushed the dirt off her skinned knees, then burst into tears when she realized her dress was ripped.
“Gee, here you are sixteen years later doing the same thing.” She sets her glass of milk on the table with a thump and sits back in her chair.
“What’s that?”
“Rescuing me.”
I grind my teeth, swallowing down my irritation. I’m far from rescuing her from anything. No, I’m picking up pieces after the fact because I didn’t know what was happening to her.
“You rescued yourself, Bree,” I say instead. My elbow bumps against hers. “Eat your chicken. You need the protein.”
She picks at the chicken. “I don’t have much of an appetite.” After a few more bites she sets her fork down. “Chad’s always telling me I’m too fat.”
My fists clench, but I manage not to explode. “He’s an asshole.”
“That was your first day at our school,” she says, sidestepping any more Chad talk. “Right?”
“Yup. We’d just moved here and I thought I’d be bored to death.”
“You and Vince were tight from day one.”
“Well, I wanted to stay close to his pretty sister, so…”
She glances up, disbelief in her eyes. Although I said it teasingly, there’s some truth to that. Vince and I were in the same grade and shared similar interests, but Bree’s the one I was drawn to. Even then she seemed older than most of the kids I knew.
“At least you two always let me hang around. Remember Lucy and Emma? They were always jealous of me because their brothers ignored them.”
Bree wasn’t like other kid sisters and Vince wasn’t like any of the boys in our class. He was fiercely protective of his sister and always included her in whatever he was up to.
“You were fun to be around.”
“And you were a good influence on my brother.”
“He was a hot-headed little shit,” I agree, making her laugh. As a kid, I’d helped Vince avoid plenty of fights. Got dragged into a bunch of brawls because of him too. Vince had a hell of a temper.
Dinner with Bree brings both bittersweet and pleasant memories. I’ve missed her. We haven’t spent time with each other in years. Not like this. Except for the occasional Christmas visit and her mother’s funeral, once Bree escaped our small town, she rarely came home. She sent me a few impersonal emails, texts, and the yearly birthday phone call, but not much more than that.
Despite the murderous rage welling up inside me every time I’m confronted with the bruises on her face, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.
I work hard to keep my expression blank. Deny the emotions warring inside me. A skill we’re trained to do in the academy and hone on the job. In no way do I want her to feel self-conscious around me, so I lock all of my emotions down.
Now that I know some of the reason she kept her distance was her controlling boyfriend and not one hundred percent my fault, it somehow makes me feel worse. I’d have to be an idiot not to know how much I hurt her feelings when I pushed her away after Vince caught us kissing the night of her high school graduation. Bree’s always been a brave and proud girl. Vince embarrassed the hell out of her and I, like an idiot, only made it worse. She left for college early in the summer. By the time I found my balls and went to see her, she was involved with Chad and blew me off.
Vince hated Chad, and I hadn’t been impressed with him either. But deep down where I refused to acknowledge it, I knew I didn’t like him because I was jealous. That, more than anything, pisses me off. Maybe if I’d been thinking with my brain instead of my dick and my ego, I would have seen what was happening and done something to protect Bree.
Maybe if I hadn’t made her feel like shit about herself, she would’ve come to me for help when Chad started hurting her.
The thought makes me sick.
And while I’m busy mentally flogging myself, why didn’t I tell Vince to back off that night? Was doing the honorable thing—respecting my best friend’s wishes—really worth throwing away my chance to be with Bree?
Seems pretty stupid in hindsight.
I’d been caught off guard that night. Mesmerized by the moonlight shining on Bree’s skin. Slightly embarrassed because she had more courage than I did to admit how she felt. Excited by the words she whispered in my ear. Lost in her drugging kisses and soft warm body.
Completely disoriented when Vince grabbed me by the back of my neck and yanked me away from Bree. She’d jumped in between us and they’d shared some ugly words. To keep the peace, I’d shrugged off our encounter as a lapse in judgment. Played down the kiss that meant everything.
Would I have ruined my friendship with Vince if I’d told him how I really felt? Would I have slipped a ring on Bree’s finger by now?
Glancing up, I find Bree staring at me. A pretty flush colors her cheeks, marred by the bruises trailing from her left eye.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“You.” It’s almost on the tip of my tongue to spill it all to her. How much I regret my cowardice that night.
But that’s not what she needs right now. Her being home isn’t some second chance for me. It’s not about me at all.
It’s about her. This time I’ll do what’s right for her.
She holds my gaze for a brief second before pushing out of her seat and grabbing the plates.
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take care of it after you go to bed.”
She pauses, then turns. “Are you planning to stay over?”
Well, this is awkward.
Maybe she wants her space and some time alone. But I’m not comfortable leaving her by herself. Staying together in this house probably isn’t my brightest idea, but I swore to Vince I’d take care of his sister and I’m not about to dodge that duty. Nothing could drag me away from her, even if this arrangement tests every single bit of my boundaries and willpower.
“Yeah, I promised Vince I’d look after you until he gets home.”
A flash of anger crosses her face. Brief, but I still catch it. Little Bree always had an independent streak too wide for her own good.
“Thanks.” Her jaw’s so tight, she doesn’t sound very thankful.
“Is that okay with you?”
“It’s fine.” She returns to the dishes. “It’ll be nice not to be alone,” she says so softly I almost don’t hear her over the rushing water.
I stand, unsure of what to do. Finally, I come up behind her and gently place my hands on her shoulders. “You’re not alone.”
She dips her head. “Thank you.”
“Go on. Find a movie or something for us to watch. I’ll finish the dishes.”
This time she doesn’t argue with me, she ghosts out of the kitchen and a few minutes later the television blares to life.
When we were kids, I relished teasing the hell out of her, riling her up, and watching her stomp off. Now? I want to comfort her and do anything to make her smile.
So far I’m not doing a very good job.