Chapter 13 – Never Again
The week was almost up, and I could barely breathe waiting for the day to arrive. I was like a convict waiting for my pardon. Every day, I snatched the mail the instant it was delivered, rapidly flipping through the envelopes, straining for my name.
The strip mall had paid their bill, which allowed me to put a large down-payment on a one-bedroom condo near the coast that would be my home. I’d lucked into an amazing deal and jumped on it. I was almost giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to be there, but the remainder of my money was eaten up in deposits for turning on services and in rent for a mini storage facility for my things. I needed Aunt Bea’s outstanding check to carry me through the transition.
Every day I waited, hoping for that envelope bearing my name, but every day I was disappointed. It never appeared. It was too late to go back and set up direct deposit for her payment—not that my elderly client would’ve even understood the concept. But I’d learned my lesson going forward. All future accounts would have a direct pay mandate.
The added tension of waiting for Sloan’s backlash only increased my anxiety. At least no one back home knew about my pending return. I wasn’t sure I could handle nonstop questions of when I’d be in town. My former landlord knew I was returning, as he’d helped me compile the information needed to purchase my new condo. Elaine would’ve been tripping over herself to help, of course, but for most people, returning after a divorce wasn’t cause for celebration. I was happy to be free, but despite it all, I wanted to leave my past in the past. I would tell my friends as little as I could to satisfy their concerned curiosity.
Another day of waiting was another day of taking boxes to the delivery service. I had all my things sent to a mini storage facility in Wilmington that agreed to hold them until I arrived. I did it partly to keep Sloan from knowing my business—if he were investigating—and partly because it was easier than trying to hire a truck. I’d handle an in-town move once I was back home, but I was doing my best to keep all my plans under wraps.
So my delay had an unanticipated upside. My existence here was almost completely packed and moved. It was amazing how little a human being actually needed when possessions were stripped down to the essentials.
Stepping into the library that evening, I replaced the hardback I’d never read. I turned slowly, inhaling the scent of books and studying the shelves. My dreams of living in this place had been so different from my reality.
Shaking my head, I left the room. No sense going back down that path. I was moving forward now. And I was ready to curl into bed for my nighttime ritual.
I did not expect to see Sloan standing in my doorway. “I see you’re determined to go through with this,” he said, a stern line piercing the skin between his brows.
He wore grey slacks, and his top button was open. His hair was disheveled, and I saw his chest rise and fall. His agitated expression was too familiar, and quickly my mind counted the days. How long had it been since he’d traveled? Why was he here now? My throat went dry.
“I am,” I managed to say.
He stepped forward, and I stepped to the side, anticipating the need to move quickly.
“Why are you doing this, Melissa? What could you possibly want that you don’t have here?”
My eyes widened. “Is that a joke?”
“Not at all. You live like a queen.”
I shook my head not knowing where to begin answering his question. As if he even deserved an answer. “We really don’t know each other at all, do we?”
“Apparently not,” he said, entering my room. I followed trying to get around him to my dresser drawer, but he stayed between me and my one small protection.
“If we did,” he continued, “you’d know how much I detest divorce.”
I flashed at his attempt to take some moral high ground. “I don’t believe in husbands raping their wives.”
He rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “I didn’t rape you.”
“You tried,” I snapped.
“It was a misunderstanding. And anyway, some women like it rough.”
The rage I’d held inside for over three months roared in my chest, choking me with its ferocity. I cleared my throat, shaking my head, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying some women like being beaten?”
He leveled his brown eyes on mine. “You threw the first punch.”
Shudders kept moving through my body. We’d never discussed that night since it happened, and my resistance to talking about it had left me unprepared for how it would affect me if I did. I wasn’t sure I could do this alone.
“You tried to rape me,” I said, my voice small, my throat painfully tight. “I was only defending myself.”
“Regardless,” he continued, as if enjoying my discomfort. “You started it. I finished it. And I bet you never hit me again.”
I turned to face my open door, ready to run and not caring if I took anything with me. I wanted to leave this place for good. Tonight.
As if reading my mind, Sloan quickly moved from my dresser to catch my upper arm, jerking me against his body. “You’re my wife,” he hissed in my ear. “You belong to me. No matter what you think you’re going to do, that fact will always remain.”
Tears spilled onto my cheeks. I couldn’t catch my breath, and a hiccup jerked my shoulders. “Please let me go,” I whimpered.
His grip remained tight on my arm. “I’ll never let you go. And even when you’re gone, I’ll know every step you take. You are never out of my reach.”
My heart hammered, and I tried to keep my shoulders straight. I refused to cower to him. Still, my body instinctively shrank from his touch. I hadn’t wanted to believe he might hurt me again. But now I knew he would.
He loosened his hold and shoved me back before stalking out of my room, slamming the door behind him. I dashed to it, quickly turning the lock, knowing it wouldn’t keep him out if he wanted back in.
I ran to my closet and pulled out a suitcase, throwing every outfit I could get my hands on into it as sobs gasped from my throat, fear strangling my voice. The check might be in the mail, but I wasn’t waiting anymore.
I slept with my door locked and the pepper spray clutched in my hand all night. I didn’t want to take my car—I didn’t want to take anything that might be considered community property. Late in the night, once I’d calmed down, I called Elaine and asked if she could come and get me now. I didn’t want to tell her why or scare her, but she knew something was wrong. She said she’d be on the road first thing in the morning. I only had to survive six more hours before we’d be gone. Six hours of acting like nothing was coming. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off.
All night my mind kept running to Derek as I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. One thing Sloan had said troubled me—that even when I was gone he knew every step I took, that I was never out of his reach. When Hal was waiting for me at the airport, I’d mistakenly assumed Sloan had figured out where I went. I thought he’d weaseled the information from my mom or found a stray email on my Macbook. Now I knew the truth. He hadn’t figured it out. Clearly, he was having me watched.
The perfect person who could help me with this was Derek. If Sloan had hired a private investigator to track me, Derek would know exactly how to handle the situation. It was possible he might even know the person or be able to find him or her easily. The only problem was I didn’t want to involve Derek in my disgusting backstory. With everything in me, I didn’t want him to know what Sloan had done. Partly because I was afraid if he knew, he wouldn’t want me anymore. He’d think I was too damaged, or maybe he’d believe Sloan. He’d think I started it and what happened was my fault. I shuddered at the thought.
But if Sloan was having me watched, and I tried to see Derek, it would all come out anyway. I cringed at the prospect. My story was so humiliating and awful. I wouldn’t blame Derek if he wanted to walk, knowing I had a psycho ex-husband lurking around. The pain of these thoughts kept me troubled all night.
By morning, I’d formulated a plan. What if there was a way I could find out who was working with Sloan on my own? What if I could talk to the person, reason with him or her, or even pay the person off somehow? Maybe I could solve my problem without Derek ever having to know…
Bolstered by the idea, I crept to my door and unlocked it. It was ten. Elaine would be two hours into her drive if she’d gotten on the road by eight like she’d said she would. It gave me just enough time to try and investigate. I waited, listening. My end of the giant mansion was completely quiet.
I crept down the hallway to the main staircase, but a voice made me jump straight up. A little squeal leaped from my throat before I could stop it.
“Are you ready for breakfast, ma’am?” Mrs. Widlow.
“N-no,” I said, my heart hammering in my chest. “I mean… Thank you. Is Mr. Reynolds at breakfast?”
Her stern face didn’t even acknowledge my fright. Her grey hair was coiffed in its usual helmet, and today she wore olive green. “Mr. Reynolds has already left for the office.”
“Of course,” I said, pushing my long dark curls back. “It’s ten.”
I could breathe easily. And I’d be gone before he even returned home. Even better, his personal computer would be sitting in his office unguarded.
“I am hungry,” I said quickly. “Would you please see if I could get eggs benedict?” I hoped a complicated breakfast order would buy me some time.
“Of course,” the woman said, turning on her heel.
I watched her walk away a moment before quietly dashing down the main stairs and sneaking to the small room behind them at the bottom.
The door to Sloan’s private office was unlocked, and I hurried around his large desk, opening his notebook computer. The chances of him leaving anything where I might find it were slim to none. He would expect me to search—especially after last night. He would anticipate me going through his things, trying to find out what he was doing. Still, I opened his inbox, quickly scrolling through all the messages, looking for anything, any kind of lead.
Nothing seemed suspicious. It was all travel arrangements, appointments, luncheons, and follow up messages. My heart beat painfully hard. I was running out of time. Mrs. Widlow would be looking for me for breakfast, and this might be my only chance to access this room alone before Elaine arrived. Not only that, I had to make sure I had everything I needed before Elaine did appear. I was never returning to this house again once I left it.
I sat and stared at the computer several minutes trying to think like my soon-to-be ex-husband. He probably had it all on his phone. My shoulders dropped in defeat. But wait! I realized if it was on his smart phone, there ought to be a corresponding email address. And it was possible it might be an online mail provider…
Opening his browser again, I went to the history file and looked for recent mail programs. Hal had picked me up at the airport, so whoever he’d used had been tracking me as recently as that date. I found a link to an Internet mail site and clicked on it, opening a window filled with messages.
My throat closed when I saw the list of names, the numbers, the dates. It was all here—the escort services, the hotel rooms, all over the country… All of it.
For a moment, I only stared stupidly as the tears flooded my eyes. The enormity of his betrayal left me weak and wounded. There were so many.
How had I been so trusting? How had I been such a fool? Years of lies, and I’d never suspected.
With a deep breath, I touched my tears away. This was my past. I didn’t have to carry this with me, and Derek had shown me love was waiting in my future. Taking another cleansing breath, I realized this was also a gift in disguise. It was the insurance I needed, the backup that transformed what happened from being his word against mine into cold, hard facts. Now I had evidence.
I slid the mouse and clicked the printer icon. Twenty verified transactions later, I didn’t want to know any more. It was enough. With these and the other items in my possession, I was sure my case was solid. I had enough to make my soon-to-be ex-husband cooperate. Now all I needed was the name of Sloan’s helper. Whoever it was would have to be moved by the physical evidence of my husband’s abuse and betrayal. And if he wasn’t, well, maybe it didn’t even matter anymore.
I was still scrolling when my eyes landed on the name, and I felt all the blood drain from my face. My hand slid from the mouse, taking my strength with it. I couldn’t breathe.
There it was, the name of the person tracking me for my husband, [email protected]