Fool Me Once (New England Bay Sharks #2)

Chapter 24

T here are a lot of critical times that sometimes present themselves as impossible obstacles, yet they are placed there for a reason. This is one of those times, and as much as I’d like to skip it, I know I have to put on my big-girl pants and paint on a brave face.

So, with my hands gripped together, I sit across the table from the investigator while he prepares to show me the footage that Richie’s ex-girlfriend, Lizzy, turned in.

He’s a tall, husky man, likely in his early fifties, with gray-colored eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. His face is clean-shaven, besides a goatee, and he is dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks. He’s been nothing but kind. Still, I can’t help but be wary of him.

When I told my parents that an investigator had agreed to fly out to me to review the evidence in the case against Richie, they demanded to come to the meeting. Even though I knew it hurt them, I told them no. My dad is still not himself after the cancer treatments, and to be honest, I just wanted the one person who brought me the most comfort.

Smith.

And when he offered to meet the investigator with me before I even had the chance to ask him, I wasn’t even surprised because, since the first time I had seen him once I was in Portland, he’s been my biggest supporter.

He also suggested we have the meeting at his house rather than at a restaurant or anywhere in public. Given how nervous my stomach feels, I’m thankful that we’re here and not at a random place where anyone could walk by, especially since I know that whatever footage he’s about to show us is going to be hell to watch. Even I can’t predict what sort of reaction it’s going to bring from me.

Sensing my nerves, Smith reaches for my hand under the table and intertwines our fingers before his thumb strokes my flesh. It’s such a simple act, but it means everything.

It’s his way of telling me:

You aren’t alone.

I’m right here.

I believe in you.

You can do this.

You’re stronger than you think you are.

All the words he’s said to me since he found out the truth—I feel them through a simple touch.

Richie took my self-esteem from me, yet little by little … Smith is giving it back to me.

Spinning the laptop to face me, the man gives me a sympathetic look. He warned me over the phone and again when he first arrived today that it would be tough to watch.

“Ready?” he says firmly yet delicately, and I nod. “Remember, just watch as much as you can, and after, you can tell me your recollection of the events on this particular day. All right?”

“Okay,” I utter.

Seconds later, he presses the play button. As I watch the video captured on the camera inside Richie’s garage, my stomach clenches, and I instantly feel queasy.

Simply from watching the screen and knowing what events are about to play out, I’m transported back to California, in the hands of a monster who wanted to hurt me on this particular day because he’d pulled in from work and I was outside, watering the flowers in a slutty outfit that was begging for any man to fuck me .

I cringe as I watch myself walk deeper into the garage to set the watering can down, Richie behind me.

At first, he gently presses his palms to my shoulders. In the video, it’s clear that my body tenses up right away and that I’m nervous. His grip tenses before he shoves me forward into the wall and grabs the back of my hair.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart racing at an unhealthy rate. I know I need to see this because, in some way, it confirms that I never did anything wrong. I didn’t deserve the treatment I got, even if he always convinced me that I did .

No one deserves this kind of treatment.

I don’t need to open my eyes up to know what happens next. I remember all of it. I know that when he spins me to face him, he moves a hand to my neck and grips it tightly, pushing me harder against the wall. Then, his fists begin to rain down on my stomach, and I feel the pain that I felt that day radiating in my belly. It’s almost like I’m back there, in that garage.

This video was recorded just a month or so before I finally left him. I remember I thought there was no point in really fighting back because that only made him hit me harder and choke me longer, pushing it to the point where I wondered if I was going to die.

My eyes crack open just in time to see my body on the screen grow limp. I shoot up from my chair and run to the bathroom because the last thing I want to do is puke my guts out in front of this random man.

Rubbing circles on her back, I hold Gemma’s hair back as she repeatedly throws up into the toilet. My own stomach feels sick, but I’m keeping it together for her because she needs someone strong in her corner right now. She needs me to be the anchor she thinks I am.

It was one thing to see bruises, cuts, and bumps and know that the woman I loved had been abused by the man who was supposed to be her better half. That was awful and sickening and made me want to throw my entire life away just to take Richie off this earth. But it was a whole new nightmare to watch it play out on a screen before my eyes and not be able to do a fucking thing about it.

“You’re all right, Gem,” I whisper, continuing to rub her back.

She’s not crying as she continues to heave, but that doesn’t mean she’s hurting any less, and I hate that she had to fucking watch that video.

I should have never let her watch it.

When she finally stands up, I release her hair. She walks to the sink and brings some water into her mouth before spitting it out and splashing some water on her face.

When she spins to face me, her cheeks are red and blotchy, and under her eyes are swollen, so I grab a washcloth, wetting it lightly before patting it on her face.

“Sorry,” she whispers, looking down. “I didn’t think I’d have that sort of reaction.”

Tossing the washcloth into the hamper, I cup her cheeks. “Don’t say sorry to me, Firefly. Not ever.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry you lived through that. I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

Tears cloud my vision, and I inwardly curse my emotions because today is about her, not me. I have to keep it together for Gemma.

Bringing one hand to my face, I wipe my tears away before returning it to her cheek. “I think you saw enough of it to confirm it’s you. I don’t see any reason why you have to watch another second of that fucking nightmare.” I press my lips to the top of her head, keeping them there. “I’m so sorry, Gem. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

Not only do I not want her to watch that bullshit, but I also don’t know if I, myself, can stomach it either.

I’ll never forgive myself for leaving her, only for her to live through that. Gemma Jones was stuck in a nightmare while I was here, in Maine, living out my dreams as a professional hockey player.

And I’ll spend my life making it up to her.