One to Hold (17 page)

To her credit, my mother only nodded. Once I’d returned to Wilmington, she’d dropped all suggestions that I try to work things out with Sloan. She immediately switched to supportive mode, and any indications that I might have made a mistake were gone. I assumed she reserved those types of urgings for the pre-divorce discussions, and now that it was over, so were they. Either way, I was thankful. Yet at the same time, I could sense she knew there was more I wasn’t telling her.

“Here,” she said, putting the package on the counter and going to my refrigerator. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle of champagne I’d stuck in the back—in case of celebration. I’d read a quote that said sometimes just having a bottle of champagne in the fridge could be a reason to celebrate. That was two months ago.

“It’s time to open this guy,” she said.

“What?” My brows pulled together in disbelief.

“We’re celebrating. It’s a new chapter in your life.” I watched as she twisted the wire basket off the cork and then popped it.

“Talk about pendulum swings.”

Mom shook her head. “You were very different when you got back home three months ago. I didn’t say anything at the time, but you had a definite look in your eyes.”

I pulled two flutes down from the cabinet and placed them in front of her to fill.

“Was it the look of a crazy person?”

“We don’t use that term in the profession,” she gently scolded as she poured. We waited for the fizz to settle, then she held my glass out. “You looked like you’d been through a long and difficult battle.”

I took the sparkling wine from her. “I had,” I said softly.

“You looked nearly broken,” her voice strained. “It hurt so much to see the remnants of that kind of pain on your face.”

My mom’s eyes were brown, but she had my dark curls. Our eyes met in a warm understanding, and she stepped forward. “I believe you did the right thing,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry I ever questioned you.”

For a moment, I relaxed in her healing embrace. She didn’t know the full story; I didn’t want her to know the full story. It was enough that we were here. It was more than enough. My head rested on her shoulder, and I held her waist.

A few minutes passed and I stepped back, giving her a smile. I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Thanks, Mom.”

Then she clinked her glass to mine. “Here’s to a better future.”

I smiled and agreed, taking a sip.

Mom stayed through dinner, and we had one of our best visits since I’d married Sloan. It was a cold night, and she pulled on one of my sweaters. I lit the gas log, and we sat close together in front of the fireplace sipping coffee and eating the luscious cinnamon-bun cupcakes.

They were warm and comforting and perfectly timed, considering what else arrived with them. Not only that, they were cupcakes like only Aunt Bea could make—moist and buttery cake with a slightly spicy cinnamon ribbon swirling through the middle. On top was a deliciously crusty buttercrème frosting that was the exact flavor of cinnamon bun icing. We were both swooning from the first bite.

“None of my clients send me gifts like this,” Mom teased, finishing her small confection.

“Isn’t Bea the best?” I agreed, taking another nibble. “She can’t figure out the Internet, but I convinced her I could maintain her account from here. And I still get my seasonal treats.”

Mom placed her hand over mine and rubbed. “I’m glad to hear Baltimore wasn’t all bad.”

I nodded. “There are great people there. Bea was one of the best.”

Aunt Bea might not understand how small the world had become, but she did know how to show kindness from any distance. Her gifts went a long way toward restoring my faith in both humanity and in one’s ability to recover from any setback.

“I need a tree,” I said, taking a sip of coffee and hoping to transition the conversation away from the past. Christmas was coming, and Mom loved decorating.

It was the perfect detour, and she immediately launched into the different options I might choose. That led to the topic of gifts, so I pulled out my Macbook. We spent the next few hours looking at pin boards and making lists, until she announced it was late.

I walked her out, promising to drive in and spend the night with her the next weekend—we could complete our lists, do some shopping. For a few moments I stood outside in the cold air, listening to the waves crashing far off and watching the taillights of her car fade into the distance.

Slowly I went back inside and put our dishes in the dishwasher. Our champagne flutes were still in front of the fireplace, but I was tired. I walked to my bedroom ready to wash my face and slip between the cool sheets. Halfway there, I heard a noise in the kitchen. A banging as if a window were falling.

“Mom?” I called, swiftly going back down the hall. “Did you forget something?”

The scream was out of my mouth before a thought registered in my brain. Sloan stood in the kitchen doorway, backlit by the yellow lights. “It’s only me, hon.”

I dashed into the living room and ran around the couch, putting as much space between us as possible. Quickly, I scanned my room for anything to use as a weapon. All I saw was a lamp.

“S-Sloan…” I caught my breath, struggling to keep my voice calm, not fearful. Authoritative and not yielding my ground. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s not very a welcoming remark,” he said, with a grin, a wicked glint in his eye. “We’re supposed to show guests that southern hospitality, aren’t we?”

“What do you want?” I reached for the lamp, resting my hand on the neck and waiting.

“Nice place,” he said, surveying my new home. “I see you got your divorce papers today. Not celebrating, I hope.”

Fear stole the air from my lungs as he quickly crossed the room to me. I snatched up the lamp, but he caught my wrist, jerking it and sending the fixture crashing to the floor. I tried to pull my arm away, but he held it fast, turning me so my back was pressed firmly against his chest.

“You bet I’m celebrating,” I grunted, struggling to free myself from his grip. “My time with you is over. Legally. And forever.”

He only held me closer, wrapping my other arm around my waist and holding me still. “And what are you telling all your old friends about our divorce? That I slept with prostitutes? That I beat you?”

I shivered with dread as his breath whooshed across the back of my neck. “No,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm, to stay in control. “I figured that was too much information.”

He laughed. “I’ll say. Especially since it was all your fault.”

I struggled so hard to get away from him, my shoulders ached. Finally I gave up. I’d have to out-think him. I wasn’t strong enough to overpower him. For starters, I wouldn’t fall for his tricks. He knew as well as I did what happened that night. And whose fault it was.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” I said. “What do you want?”

His voice was right at my ear. “I want you, of course. You’re incredibly sexy as a single woman. And we never said a proper goodbye.”

His grip loosened on my arms, and I jerked them both free. He only caught me by the waist and pulled me back. “I hope you’re not planning to fight me again. You know I’ll win.”

My stomach lurched, and I hated the dread his words triggered in me. I had to calm my mind, I had to think. Somehow, I had to throw him off and then make my escape.

Taking a deep breath, and closing my eyes for a moment, I relaxed my fighting. I imagined getting a gift on Christmas morning, happy feelings. I tried to make my voice sound like I was having a pleasant realization.

“You’re saying you want to spend the night here?” I was all innocence now. “I guess that’s a good idea. You’re pretty far from Baltimore, and it’s very late.”

The smile returned to his voice and he released me. “To be clear, my dear, I’m not just looking to spend the night. I’m looking to fuck somebody. Namely you. I vaguely recall you’re not too bad in the sack.”

I swallowed the tightness in my throat and turned to face him. “But I don’t understand. Why me? Why not call an escort service?” My eyes flickering around the room, double-checking for something to hit him with. “You know you prefer them.” The words were bitter on my tongue, but I was playing a part, buying time.

“Thanks for your concern about my satisfaction,” he said, lifting an empty champagne flute and sniffing it. “But I confess, my interest in you is renewed now that you’ve added an ‘ex’ to your prefix. You’re still a hot little piece of ass. Oh, and I wanted to let you know, I’m aware you’ve got someone keeping tabs on me.”

My mind was still working, trying to figure out an escape plan, but that made me pause. “I don’t have anyone watching you.”

“Whatever you say,” he breathed, unbuttoning his shirt. “But I’m not an idiot, darling.” He pulled the shirt tail out of his pants and started toward me.

I’d given up on finding a weapon. Tomorrow I was buying a bat, but for now, I had to get out of this house. I grabbed my empty flute and headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll fix us both a drink. White or red?” My plan at this point was to run for it—even if it was into the dark night, even if it was bitterly cold, and I’d probably end up lost. I’d figure that out once I was away.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he called after me.

My innocent act must have worked. I couldn’t believe he let me leave the room, but I hurried into the kitchen, hoping my purse was still sitting on the counter. It wasn’t.

I was contemplating my bare feet when a massive arm swept me off the ground by my waist. A hand clamped tight over my mouth to keep me from screaming, and I was held tightly against a solid chest.

“It’s me,” Derek’s voice was barely audible, right beside my ear. “I’m here to help you.”

My heart hammered against my ribs as he gently lowered me to my feet again. I was shaking all over as I turned to face him, relief coursing through me.

As always, I noticed how the black tee he wore was stretched tight over his chest, but tonight, my attention was on his biceps straining at the sleeves, his hands clenched in fists. I almost burst into tears at the sight, and just as fast, all I could think was I wanted him to beat the shit out of Sloan.

“Mel?” I heard Sloan’s voice from the living room. “You okay in there?”

Derek held a finger over his lips and then circled two fingers around each other as if to indicate “keep it going.” He held up a digital recorder, and I bit my lip nodding.

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing the knot in my throat. “No clean wine glasses.”

“I can help with that,” he answered.

“No!” I said quickly. “It’s okay. In fact…” I went to the doorway and back into the living room. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not staying here. In fact, it’s time for you to go. Now. I don’t want you here anymore.”

If Derek was doing what I thought he was, I needed to make this count.

“What?” Sloan said, turning to face me, his expression of surprise turning into anger and thinly veiled arousal. He made me sick. “I thought we’d moved past the rough stuff. But I’m happy to revisit it. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t want any of your
stuff
,” I said, wondering if I should speak louder. “Take your shit and get out of my house. We’re not married anymore.”

His smile was tight over his gritted teeth, and he crossed the room to me quickly, grabbing my arm and bending it back behind me. “You little bitch,” he hissed. “You’ll take whatever I give you and like it. As much money as I spent on you.”

“Ouch!” I tried to jerk my arm away, but he pulled it higher up my back. “You’re hurting me,” I said loudly.

I was in real pain, but more importantly, I wanted this on the record. This time, I wanted him to pay.

“Then stop fighting,” he said, pulling me against his pelvis by the front of my jeans and flicking my top button loose with his fingers.

“Or what?” My voice was still loud. “You’ll rape me? Beat me again?”

“It’s not rape if you like it,” he said, moving in for a kiss.

“I said no, Sloan!” I said his name loud and clear, bracing to have to fight him, to do whatever it took for Derek to get the evidence he needed.

I was just closing my eyes when I felt the swish of air from a fast-moving body followed by a loud
crack!
My eyes blinked open, and Sloan was on the floor. My piece of shit ex-husband moved once before he passed out completely.

It took me a second to register what had happened. Derek stood over him looking down, breathing hard. His jaw was clenched as were his fists, and it looked like he might do more, like one punch wasn’t enough to satisfy him. And while I’d have been happy for him to beat Sloan beyond recognition, I didn’t want anything to ruin our chances of putting that loser away.

I quickly stepped in front of Derek, placing my hands on his arms. “I’m okay,” I said, pulling him gently. My whole body was trembling. I couldn’t seem to stop it, but I had to get him to look at me and not Sloan lying on the floor. “I’m okay, Derek.”

As if waking, Derek blinked to me and then took a deep breath. His worried eyes traveled over my face briefly before he leaned down to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his body. My insides melted, and tears flooded my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was from the close-call, or post-traumatic stress, or if it was just holding him again this way. Maybe it was a combination of all three, but I gripped my arms around his neck and held him as my body shook with sobs.