This One Moment (20 page)

F
IVE YEARS AGO

My father stood in front of me and Hailey, blocking our escape route. I tightened my hold on her hand, warning her to remain silent.

“We're leaving.” I nudged Hailey to the side, keeping her as far from him as possible.

“Why was there a fuckin' cop car in front of the house earlier?”

I was surprised the house didn't shudder because of how loud he bellowed. Hailey stiffened next to me. She knew he got angry. This was the first time she had witnessed this small taste of it.

My father narrowed his gaze on me. “What kind of fuckin' trouble you get into now?” Before I could respond, he grabbed hold of my T-shirt with both hands. The stench of booze rolled off him in waves.

With more force than I expected given his drunken state, he shoved me into the wall. My head bounced back hard against it, and the world tilted as if it had shifted off its axis. I was vaguely aware of Hailey and Mom screaming, their panicked voices somewhere in the distance.

I shook my head, struggling to regain my senses.
Run,
I silently pleaded with my mom and Hailey.

With my gaze locked on my father, I told Hailey to go home. She didn't move at first, but after what felt like several minutes, she disappeared out the front door. My father didn't make any attempt to touch her. If he had, I would have killed him.

The front door clicked shut.

“Why was the fuckin' cop here?” he repeated, voice no quieter than last time.

“Why don't we eat dinner first, Gordon, then we can discuss it.” Mom's tone was soothing through years of practice, but even so, it still wavered slightly. If my father noticed, he was doing a great job hiding it. His alcohol-bleary eyes studied me for a moment before he nodded and staggered after her into the kitchen.

A deadly silence suffocated the hallway.

I needed to get out of here. Mom would be fine. I was the one who had fucked up in his eyes.

Since he was preoccupied for a few minutes and wouldn't know I was gone, I snuck out of the house and shut the door quietly behind me. I needed to see Hailey. Just for a few minutes. Just so she knew I was okay.

Hailey's bedroom light was on. Her parents had gone out and wouldn't be back for a few more hours. I rang the doorbell and a minute later the door opened to reveal my best friend, no longer in the wet shorts and my hoodie. Now she was in her sleep shorts and flimsy tank top. My dick jerked to life, its typical response whenever she was dressed this way.

Her gaze searched my body for signs of injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine.” But I didn't feel fine. I felt trapped. Trapped and fucked, and I didn't know what to do about it. “Can I stay with you for a bit?”

“Of course.” She reached for my hand and led me into the living room. “You want to watch a movie?”

I nodded even though what I really wanted to do was hold her. While she put the DVD in the machine, I lay down on the couch.

She turned around, and an adorable frown crept onto her face. “Hey, where am I supposed to sit?” She eyed the armchair, which wasn't her favorite. She thought it was lumpy.

I patted the cushion in front of my hip. “There's plenty of room here.”

The frown became an equally adorable pout. No other girl could pull it off the way Hailey could. No other girl looked as sexy as Hailey did. “But you get to lie down. Why do I have to sit?”

“Nothing's stopping you from lying here too.” I scooted back. My back was pressed against the couch, giving her a little more space, but not a whole lot. We'd have to get cozy if she didn't want to end up on the floor.

And that was my goal. I wanted to move our relationship up a level. I'd known her forever and had been in love with her almost as long. I had no idea if she felt the same way about me. This would be the ultimate test.

She lay next to me, her body touching mine. I wrapped my arm around her waist. Her breath hitched, the small movement pressing her back against me. Her sweet vanilla scent had me visualizing all kinds of scenarios, most of them involving her on her back and me kissing her senseless.

Even though we had never watched TV this way before, it felt natural. Her body fit mine perfectly, like we were designed to be together this way.

My mind was only half on the movie—the other half was figuring out the best way to make my next move—when my cellphone pinged in my back pocket. Any other time I would have ignored it, not wanting to end this possibility between me and Hailey. But a warning in my gut told me I needed to check who was texting me, now.

I pulled the phone out and read the message from Sarah:
Where are you?

Hailey's.

Please come home. I need you.

Something was very wrong. Sarah never texted after she went to bed. She'd get in trouble if she did.

On my way.

“I've gotta go. It's Sarah.”

Hailey scrambled up. “What's wrong?”

“I don't know. My father's probably yelling at Mom, and that scared Sarah.”

She followed me to the front door. “Are you coming back?”

I wanted to return to Hailey and the couch and the movie. I wanted to continue where we'd left off, but I couldn't. I wouldn't leave my sister again. Not tonight.

I gave Hailey a sad smile. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Text me once you get back to let me know everything's all right.”

“Okay.”

She must not have been convinced, because she said in a tone that warranted no argument, “Promise me, or else I'll call the cops.”

“Okay,” I said, this time with more conviction.

I ran across the street to my house and opened the front door. The place was quiet. No yelling. No slurred conversation. No TV blaring in the background. I entered my house and flipped the light on. Instead of the usual warm glow, the light was cold and harsh. But that wasn't what filled my body with icy dread.

Blood drops on the beige carpet formed a trail to the kitchen.

I strained to hear a sound, but my ears were met with nothing but silence. Darkness seeped from the room, and I walked toward it, my gaze glued to the bloody trail. A strong, unpleasant smell sat heavy in the air, and my stomach turned.

Ignoring the five alarms in my head telling me to get out of the house, I stepped into the kitchen and turned on the light. My hand recoiled at the sticky wetness on the light switch, and I glanced down to see what it was.

And wished I hadn't.

Smeared bloody handprints stained the walls.

My heart slammed hard against my ribs, threatening to shatter them. My gaze traveled around the room. The island obscured my view of most of the floor, other than the pool of blood seeping across the tiles. Based on the amount of blood, I could only guess the person was no longer alive.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, a voice told me to get out of the house and call 911, but the rest of me didn't want to pay attention to the voice. My body, working on its own accord, moved forward.

The first thing I saw as I walked around the corner of the island was an outstretched female hand in the pool of blood, her fingernails painted a muted red. Next came the familiar long brown hair. I choked back a sob and rushed to Mom's side.

“Mom?” I said even though it was too late. Her eyes were wide, peering up at me but no longer seeing.

Call the police. Now,
the voice insisted, but I couldn't move. All I could do was stare at what had once been my mother. Blood soaked through her cream-colored blouse, the fabric ripped in numerous places. It looked like whoever did this had stabbed her multiple times. She'd never stood a chance. Her hands wore defensive wounds from trying to protect herself.

I couldn't hold back the sob. “Mom.” I sounded like a small child, lost, without hope.

A muffled bang from upstairs jerked my attention from Mom's body. That was all it took to break the spell. Sarah.

I raced out the kitchen and up the stairs.

As I approached the top step, a frightened scream ripped through the air. This transformed into a pained cry and grunts. Concern for my own safety shoved aside, I rushed to her room and threw open the door. I didn't give myself the chance to process the scene. I couldn't. I just reacted.

I hurled my body at my father.

My father was a large guy, only I was bigger from working out at the gym. But in this moment of unspeakable insanity, he possessed the strength of two men. He didn't even budge from Sarah's body. It was like moving a house with your bare hands—impossible.

I did, though, manage to break his attention from what he was doing to my sister. With inhuman strength, he shoved me away. I half flew, half stumbled backward.

Before I could avoid the impact, my body slammed into Sarah's desk. Pain shot through my hip. A level of anger I'd never seen before twisted my father's once handsome features. Finished with his assault on my sister, he shifted his attention to me.

“What did you do?” I choked out even though I knew exactly what he had done. The why was a mystery. People got drunk all the time. They didn't stab people to death and continue stabbing them long after the victim had died.

“They had to die,” he said, voice deadly calm, his body covered in blood. Mom's blood. Sarah's blood. “They had to die so she couldn't have sex with anyone else.”

“She?” My voice was the opposite to his. I was amazed I could even utter any words around the rapidly beating heart lodged in my throat.

He moved toward me, his body blocking my escape. My only hope was to talk my way out of this until help arrived.

If
help arrived.

“Your mother,” my father said.

“She wouldn't have had sex with anyone else. She was faithful to you.” Otherwise she would have escaped this hell years ago.

“That's a fuckin' lie,” he screamed.

I could barely breathe, and it had nothing to do with the stench of death choking the air from my lungs.

My gaze dropped for a brief second to the gruesome sight on the bed, and my strength gave way. If I hadn't gone to Hailey's, I could have prevented this. I could have protected my mom and my sister.

And instead of standing in front of me, getting ready to end my life too, Dad would've been in jail.

In that moment, instead of seeing my life flash before my eyes, only one thought crossed my mind. I'd never told Hailey that I loved her. I mean, I had told her I loved her…as a friend. But I'd never told her that I was in love with her, and now I'd never have the chance to tell her.

And I would never find out if she felt the same way about me.

A loud noise came from downstairs, like the sound of someone banging on the front door, followed by shouting. None of this bothered my father. His focus was entirely on me.

I kept my gaze locked on him and took a cautious step back.

Everything happened fast after that. My father lunged at me as movement in the doorway caught my attention. His knife sliced into my body, bringing with it a sharp pain. I cried out and stumbled back.

Yelling filled the air. My father moved toward me again, his knife ready to butcher me. A loud bang. And another. My father's body jerked forward, then slumped to the ground.

Unable to support me anymore, my legs gave out, and I collapsed.

Pain engulfed me. Pain from my wound. Pain from what my father had done to my mom and sister. Pain from all I had witnessed.

A cop crouched beside me and spoke. In my numb state, I couldn't make out what he said.

Instead, I welcomed the darkness.

My breathing came fast and hard at the memory. The movie continued playing on the huge screen, but all I could see was the blood covering the kitchen floor, my mom's open but sightless eyes, the blood-splattered bedding surrounding my sister's mutilated body.

I gripped the armrests, digging my fingers into the velvet fabric.

Alyssa leaned closer to me and whispered, “Are you all right?” She placed her hand on mine and lightly squeezed it when I didn't respond. “Nolan?”

Deep down I had always known the murders were my fault. If I hadn't been at Hailey's, none of the events of that night would have happened. And I'd bailed on Northbridge not only because I wanted to avoid the memories but also because I wanted to escape Hailey. I'd failed my mother and sister. I was afraid of failing Hailey too.

“I need to get out of here,” I told Alyssa.

She must have realized something major was going on with me. She whispered to her assistant, then told me, “Monica will escort you out and stay with you to make sure you're okay.” She kissed my cheek, either for my benefit or for the benefit of the people witnessing me leave in the middle of the movie. Or maybe a little of both.

I squeezed past Alyssa and the rest of her entourage. My body no longer felt like it belonged to me. I was a walking zombie. The only thing I was aware of was the sound of the movie and the scattered whispers following me up the aisle.

I almost sagged in relief when Monica pushed the theater door open and we stepped into the lobby. My father's final words,
That's a fuckin' lie,
pounded in my head. Had he been right? Had Mom been cheating on him?

Monica waved a staff member over. “I'm Alyssa Graham's personal assistant. Mr. Kincaid has a migraine and needs a private place to sit for a moment.”

“Absolutely. This way, please.”

We followed him down the dimly lit hallway and stopped at a door. He unlocked it and ushered us into the small room.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked.

“No, this is fine, thanks,” I said, dismissing him.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, I sat on the red velvet couch in the middle of the room. The space had been designed for comfort and for a quiet place to converse. But it was also like stepping into the past. Framed classic movie posters lined the light brown walls.

Monica locked the door. “Do you want some water?”

I could have used something much stronger, but I nodded. She handed me a bottle of water from the table against the wall. With shaky hands I opened it and drank the lukewarm liquid.

“I heard about what happened to your family. I'm sorry you went through that.”

I gave a slight jerk of my head in thanks. While pretending to be Tyler Erickson, I'd avoided those pitying looks and words of apology over what happened. At the time, it had been a relief because I had only wanted to focus on my future instead of my past. But something about the way she said the words made the meaning behind them sound different. She didn't say them because she believed they were the right words to say.

“A friend of mine lost her family in a robbery,” she explained. “She was a kid at the time and witnessed their murder. She struggled for years with post-traumatic stress disorder.” Monica bit her lip before powering on. “You have that too, don't you? That's why you looked like you were having a panic attack in there.”

I wanted to deny it, but then changed my mind. Alyssa wouldn't trust someone she felt could end up betraying her and those who were close to her.

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Until recently I couldn't remember anything from that night. But…but I remembered it all during the movie.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” At my confused frown, she added, “I mean like a therapist?”

I shook my head. “I saw someone after the murders. He told me I had dissociative amnesia and that I might or might not remember what happened. I decided to go with the might-not-remember option and avoided seeing anyone after that.”

“Maybe things will get better now that you remembered what happened. But there's also a good chance it will only get worse unless you talk to someone. My friend struggled with guilt because she thought she should have done more to save her family. The guilt almost killed her. If you want, I can find out who she talked to.”

“Thanks. I'd like that.” She was right. I couldn't keep living like this. Not if I wanted a life with Hailey in it. I couldn't keep hiding from what it was doing to me.

We talked for a bit longer. Like Alyssa and Hailey, Monica was easy to talk to. But that was probably because she just saw me as a regular guy. I wasn't some rock star she was fangirling over. She was used to being around celebrities.

She checked her phone. “The movie's almost finished. You ready to join Alyssa and the media circus?”