BOUGHT: A Standalone Romance (16 page)

After a moment, Kyle says, “Can we talk about the dog?”

I burst into laughter. “Smooth. Your mom and I are still discussing it.”

“Okay,” he says with a smile and a glint in his eyes. “One more question.”

“Go for it.”

“When do I get to meet your boyfriend?”

I shake my head sadly. “He’s not my boyfriend, and I think after today he’s probably pretty angry at me.”

Kyle shrugs. “So apologize. Mom always says that if you hurt someone’s feelings, you should tell them you’re sorry.”

“Your mom is a very wise woman.”

Kyle nods seriously. “That’s true.” He hops out of bed. “I’m feeling better now. I’m going to watch a move.” He hesitates for a moment longer. “Want to watch one with me?”

“Of course. Just give me a moment to take a shower and put on my PJs.”

His face lights up. “I’ll go find something cool!” he shouts, ready to dash out of the door.

“Hey, Kyle?”

He turns around, his hand poised on the doorknob. “I’m sorry.”

I swear my world trembles as he gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen a person wear. He doesn’t say a word as he races out of the door and down to his room. Shaking my head and wiping stray tears out of my eyes, I slide out of the bed. Leave it to a child to make someone’s heart grow lighter almost instantly.

Padding my way to the bathroom, I shower and slip into a big t-shirt and shorts. I wander into the kitchen and pop us a bag of popcorn. By the time I carry it into the room, Kyle has the movie set up and casts his handheld game aside. We sit on his bed together, our backs to the wall as we dig into the popcorn bowl.

A knock comes from the doorframe. Mary stands there, her oxygen tank beside her, but a soft smile on her lips. “Any more room for me?”

I pat the bed beside me, and she walks over and climbs in. We watch the screen in silence. Kyle seems thoroughly engrossed in the exploding cars and smooth spy on the screen. Marry leans over and whispers to me.

“I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “You were right. No hard feelings. In fact, thank you.”

Mary beams at me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she leans against me. I wrap my other arm around Kyle and sigh. Things are far from over with Nathan, but I won’t let him hurt my family.

I throw my phone. “He still won’t answer me!”

Zoey sighs. “Please, put the phone down. I’m trying to help you look for jobs and an attorney. You can’t keep obsessing.”

“I can’t help it.”

“He’ll call.”

“No, he won’t. He hates me.”

“Well, you did hurt his feelings, ego, and pride. I doubt he hates you though. Just give him some time. It has only been two days.”

“Maybe I should go see him,” I mumble.

“Focus!” Zoey says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “I thought you wanted a job? You’ve acquired quite a bit of money in your savings account, but it won’t last forever. Especially the way you live.”

“Hey, I’ve been living more modestly.”

She points to my bag. “Three thousand dollar bags are
not
the definition of living modestly. And I know it’s new, because that particular design just came out.”

“It’s Marc Jacobs,” I say with a pout.

“It’s out of your budget,” Zoey says, pointing at me with a pencil.

I sigh. “When the hell did you become so responsible and annoying?”

Zoey squirms in her seat. She bites her bottom lip, and her eyes won’t meet mine. My eyes grow wide as I put my finger on it.

“You met someone.”

Zoey shrugs. “It’s not serious.”

“Bullshit,” I say, so loudly that the people in the restaurant around us glare. “Bullshit,” I say more quietly. “You’ve met someone important enough that you’re being mature. Who is he?”

Zoey squirms again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I told my arms over my chest and shrug. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll just find out on my own.”

She rolls her eyes. “I swear I will tell you every single detail if you just look through this list of attorneys and jobs.”

Sighing, I take the paper from her hands. “Why can’t you represent me?”

“I don’t do family law, remember? Criminal only.”

“He is a criminal,” I mumble under my breath.

“That’s true, but we need to build a better case. You failed to report him right after he attacked you, and the judge will call that into question. You do however have photos of the bruises and Connor as a witness, so it’ll help. We have to convince the judge that you were too afraid to think about reporting him.”

I take a deep sip of my cherry soda. “I was.”

Zoey nods. “Yes, I know. However, they’re going to want to dig into your past, completely. You’ll have to relive every horrid detail. Produce medical records. Go to a psychologist for evaluation.”

“No! Nope, absolutely no way in hell.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Zoey says pointedly. “Besides,” she softens her voice, “I think that it could do you some good. I’m in no way a professional, but I think you might have PTSD. Don’t give me that look. I’m serious.”

“I thought only soldiers got that.”

She shakes her head. “Anyone can get it. Any traumatic event can trigger it. I think you’ll feel a lot better if you can go and have someone to talk to about it.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. I’ll take that for now. Here, let’s go through the list, and we’ll mark the most likely choices. I’ll call Connor later today and let him know what we’re doing. He’s going to have to testify.”

“Isn’t that a bad idea? Considering he hired me from an escort service?”

Zoey shakes her head. “He paid in cash. There’s no way to trace anything back between you too. You’ll just say you met him that night when you were out dancing with me.”

“Isn’t that lying?”

Zoey laughed. “Honey, it’s court.
Everyone
lies.”

“Aww, how I love the justice system.”

“Trust me. Work in a law for a few years and you’ll see exactly what’s wrong with the world.” She stands up, straightening out her black skirt and adjusting her black suit jacket. “I got to head back to work. See you tonight?”

“What’s tonight?” I mumble, still starting at the paper in front of me.

“It’s called ‘getting out of your house and having some fun’ night. I just made it up, and it is glorious.”

I chuckle. “Will your new love interest be there?”

Zoey stammers. “I… You… Shut. Up.”

Laughing, I wave to her as she leaves the restaurant in a hurry. She must really like this guy, because I’ve never seen her act like that. I pay for our lunch, leave a tip, and walk out onto the sidewalk.

I freeze. Across the street is a tall, leggy blonde in a red dress. She’s giggling, her arms wrapped around the arm of the man next to her. He’s chuckling heartily. I narrow my eyes, praying that they’re playing tricks on me.

“Connor?”

The words are barely a whisper as they slip out of my trembling lips. The woman points down the street, and he nods. I watch them from afar. Something in me screams ‘follow them.’

Giving us plenty of space, I follow. I don’t know what possesses me to do it. In fact, every sensible cell in my body is screaming just go home, but I have to know. Why hasn’t he called me? And why is he walking around with the beauty equivalent of Heidi Klum?

They disappear into a store together. I wait for a while before I follow them in. The store isn’t in, so I keep my distance. The Heidi Klum wannabe begins browsing dresses as Connor follows her. What is he doing? I shoo away an inquisitive shop girl.

It seems to take forever before they leave the shop. Connor holds several bags in his hands. They walk down the busy streets, entering store after store and leaving with more and more things.

I know an escort when I see one. What the hell is Connor thinking? Is he really that angry at me? I bite my bottom lip. Everything had been a lie. Of course it had. Was I really expecting anything to change in him? For anything to change between us?

The sound of their laughter is grating on my nerves. I want nothing more than to step out, shove a finger into his chest, and tell him in explicit detail exactly what I think about him. I’m on the verge of doing just that, when they disappear into a jewelry shop.

Together, they peer over the selections. The woman points to something, and Connor nods. When the man behind the counter pulls it up, I can see the huge diamond even from where I stood.

Connor has lost his mind. The woman in front of him claps her hands excitedly and plucks it from the man’s fingertips. She slides it on and holds it up for Connor to see. He grins.

“What do you think?” I hear her ask.

“I think it looks magnificent.”

“I thought so. I have perfect taste.”

“Thank god one of us does. I’m glad you like it. I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

“Don’t tell me,” she says with a grin. “Show me.”

Connor shakes his head. “Later. Not here.”

I’ve heard more than enough. Turning on my heel, I march away from the store. I can’t believe that he would do something so awful. Why am I even surprised? Every man I’ve ever met has been scum, so why did I think Connor was going to be any different?

I give up on being productive for the day and instead I go home. Mary and Kyle are gone, but there’s a note on the fridge saying that they were going to get things for the house. I open the fridge, find leftovers, and nuke them before I settle onto the couch.

Flipping on the TV to a daytime talk show, I scarf down the food. By the time my stomach is full, I shove the bowl away and moan. My stomach churns.

“Great, I probably have food poisoning now.”

I groan as I push myself off of the couch and run to the bathroom. My knees slam into the tile. I barely make it before I’m revisiting my lunch all over again. By the time I’m through, my body is shaking. I wipe my mouth with a towel, shed my clothes, and step into the shower.

Seeing Connor with someone else is bothering more than I thought it would. I can’t believe he would betray me. Despite all of my thinking earlier, I did trust Connor, and I believed him. It’s hard to do that with people for me, but he was one of the few that I had let in. I want him back.

I don’t get out of the shower until the water is ice cold and stinging my skin. Peering around the corner, I look and listen for signs of Kyle and Mary, but hear nothing. I move swiftly to the hallway closet to fetch a clean towel, which I promptly wrap around me.

My body feels weak and exhausted. I wash down some pain pills with water before I pad to my bedroom and shut the door. I move beneath the blankets, curling up on myself for warmth.  I need to rest. Before I can do or think about anything else, I have to rest.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of the unexplainable, the strange, and the random. Five minutes of peace and quiet to myself would work wonders on my aching mind and body. As I drift off, I wish that Connor were lying beside me, holding me again.

I wake up, but I’m not at home. I’m on a blue sofa. Wiping my eyes, I glance around. There’s a small TV in front of me playing a rerun of some movie I’ve probably seen a thousand times, but don’t know the name of it. Where am I?

Pushing myself up, I walk through the house. Touching the walls, touching every surface, I seem to remember bits and pieces, but it’s like looking through a camera and the screen is dusty. I walk into a kitchen, and I remember.

I’m not home. I’m at a place that I have never and will never consider home for as long as I live. The small refrigerator that barely runs, the two-person table that’s lean and bare and covered with a mismatched table cloth, the light blue decorations and meaningless scenery pictures are all from a distant time, a distant memory.

A door opens in the room I just left. I know it’s the front door, and I know who’s walking through it. Ducking beneath the table, I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I pray that he’s in a good mood.

“Katie!”

The way he shouts my name tells me I’m not in luck. My body begins to tremble; I feel sick to my stomach. I press a hand over the growing ball of my belly. It’s still early, very early, but there’s a life growing there.

“Katie!”

The voice is closer. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t scream. So I pray. I clasp my hands in front of me and pray fervently. Not just to God, but to every deity I’ve ever heard of, because if God is busy someone has to hear me.

The sound of heavy work boots comes closer. Now I can see them. Heavy, dirty, caked with mud and dirt. The refrigerator opens, and the tell-tale sound of a beer lid being wrenched off quickly follows. I watch as the lid falls to the floor, spins, falls.

“If I have to call you again, we’re going to have a problem!” the man shouts.

We always have a problem. Even now, I’m wearing the delicate pink dress that flows to my ankles, the one that he picked out before he went off to work. My hair is braided modestly, and it flows down my back because he won’t let me cut it.

I hear the sound of the boots walking away only to hear them going up the stairs a short while later. He’ll realize that I’m not up there and be back down soon to add bruises to the ones that already cover my pale flesh.

I forgot to make dinner. Falling asleep on the couch hadn’t been a part of my plan, but it had happened. The pregnancy is wearing on me; staying up all night until he falls asleep is wearing on me. How could I sleep while he’s home, though?

Hiding will only make it worse, I’m aware of that, but I can’t face him. I bury my head into my knees and silently choke down tears. My heart beats in terror and sweat trickles down my forehead, down the deep groove of my spine.

The boots are coming back. He knows. He knows. He knows! Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he walks over to the table and he throws up the red and white checkered tablecloth. There’s a scowl three miles wide on his face.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Nathan screams into my face.

He’s been drinking before he even got home. I can smell the beer and bourbon on his breath intermingling into an atrocious concoction. His hands wrap around my throat, and I can’t breathe. My fingers claw at his. He laughs in my face. It’s funny to watch me struggle, and I know one day, to him, it will be funny to watch me die.

My vision begins to swim, twist, grow dark. “The baby,” I manage to squeak out.

Nathan drops me. I writhe on the floor, choking, sputtering, gasping. The only reason he doesn’t plant the boot in my belly is because of the baby, because the only thing he wants more than keeping me prisoner is to have a child of his own.

“You’re lucky,” he spits, reaching into the refrigerator for another beer. “Just remember, one day you won’t be pregnant. Get your lazy ass up and start dinner.”

I nod, because that’s what he wants. An act of submission, a white flag waved in his face, something to tell him that he’s won and I’ve died a little more on the inside. I watch him leave as I slowly pick myself up, still wheezing, my throat still tight and sore from where he choked me.

When he’s sitting on the couch, my eyes burn. It’s strange being able to see myself, but I can, and my eyes blaze with a fire I was sure had died out sometime after we first met. Tomorrow is the day. I’ve found a way to get out, to get away, and I will never come back to this place.