Chapter 22 – Rhett
“What the hell?” I ask, alarmed, as I open my front door to find Jael wearing nothing but a bikini-top and denim shorts with tear-stained eyes, and mascara running down her face.
It’s four in the evening now, and the day we’d agreed to go on our date, but I wasn’t expecting her to be here already given we’d agreed for me to pick her up at the hotel in two more hours.
She stumbles forward with the movement of the door opening and I catch her in my arms easily before she falls onto her face. She reeks of vodka, and I realize instantly that the meeting she’d had planned today with her father’s lawyer and mother must have not gone well.
“What happened?’ I growl as her hands reach out to cling on to my shirt. She stands up, steadying herself enough before she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a crumpled note, pressing it into my chest firmly.
“Read for yourself the great final words of Larry Braddock,” she slurs.
Her tone is dripping with sarcasm and pain, and her eyes are full of sadness. It guts me to see her like this and at the same time, makes me want to burn the world down for her and take revenge on every person who’s ever hurt her.
I take the note from her hand, unfold it and exhale a breath to read what he wrote.
“You got any liquor?” she asks as she stumbles into my kitchen, searching through the cabinets for something I know she doesn’t need.
I finish the short note then sigh, folding it back up and placing it on the countertop face down.
“Jael, come here. Let’s talk about this. Please.”
“What’s there to talk about? My father treated me like shit my whole life.
I tried to pretend the abuse wasn’t happening.
I acted like it would stop, never acknowledged it to anyone but you, but he was hurting me, and I was a child.
It was horrible!” Jael shouts sadly. “I didn't deserve that. And now, here he is, dead, providing a sort-of apology for not being present? Why is it that he waits until he’s gone to apologize? And frankly, it’s a shitty apology if you ask me. ”
She reaches under the counter, opens another one of my cabinets and retrieves a bottle of tequila I'd stashed there last week after game night at Lainey and Larks, her eyes light up like she’s happy but it doesn’t quite touch the sadness and hurt lingering there.
“Ah-ha! Found some.” She stumbles towards the cabinet where I store my dishes and retrieves a glass, turning to pour it to the top. I walk cautiously around the island until I’m behind her, wrapping my hand around her wrist to stop her.
“Jael. Look at me. Please.”
Her gaze stays fixed on the countertop, but I can see it, the way that she’s spiraling out. She’s slipping deeper into that pit of self-loathing, probably twisting this moment into some way to blame herself for her reaction to his letter.
I know this because I know her. I always have. And Jael’s heart is as pure as they come. She used to make excuses about how she wasn’t a good enough daughter and that’s why her mom always worked and didn’t take her side. Wasn’t obedient enough. Wasn’t smart enough.
When things got bad with her parents, this is what she did—tried to outrun the pain any way she could or ignore it entirely.
Back then, it was sneaking off to that old church where we used to pick berries.
I’d find her sitting high up in the tree, wind and rain whipping around her like the world was daring her to fall.
And every time, I’d have to climb up after her or beg her to come down.
When the fighting between her parents got bad, she’d try to hide from her father’s fists and most of the time, it worked.
But sometimes, times like that spring before our junior year, she’d take the brunt of it while her mom spent her night hiding safely at work, pretending like she didn’t know what was happening to her daughter at home.
But now, we’re not kids anymore, and her self-sabotage has taken on a sharper edge. Her poison of choice is no longer trees and storms; it’s alcohol. And I’m not a kid, standing by, trying my best to protect her without having the means to. I’m a man who won’t let her self-destruct again.
**
Rhett: You’re late. I’m standing by the truck, and if you don’t show up in the next five minutes, I’m leaving your ass behind.
I fire off another text to Jael, warning her that her ride home is about to leave while I tap my foot impatiently.
School ended fifteen minutes ago, and Jael knows the deal – if she needs a ride back to her house, she needs to be at my truck no later than 3:15, or I’m leaving her to make the five-mile walk home alone even if I don’t think it’s safe.
I glance down at my watch again.
Two more minutes.
I look up, finally catching Jael walking my way out of a side door to the school. It’s the beginning of May, only a few more weeks until school lets out for the summer before our junior year.
Though it’s technically still spring, temperatures are already in the nineties and the girls in our class are all wearing sundresses and shorts.
Jael, however, isn’t.
Today, she’s wearing high-waisted jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a baseball cap pulled firmly over her face. Though I’ve had three classes with her today, this is the first time that I’m actually taking notice to what she’s wearing.
As she comes closer into view, my eyes glance down at her hands gripping her biology book where I notice the faintest tell of what look like yellow bruises.
“Jael, what the hell happened?” I shout, stepping towards her and grabbing her arm to examine it more closely. I yank the sleeve of her long-sleeve shirt up to reveal more colorful bruises all over her tiny arms like paint splotches.
“I fell during gym class,” she says flatly as she pushes her shirt sleeve back down and pins me with a glare like I’m responsible.
“Those bruises are yellow. You didn’t just get these.”
“Oh, are you a bruise expert now?” she shoots back.
“Who did this to you?” I demand, my voice lowering, though I already know the answer.
“I told you I fell, Rhett. Drop it.” She steps onto the stairs leading into my truck, swinging her body and backpack inside, before slamming the door shut behind her.
I slip into the driver’s side next to her and turn my body so that we’re facing. “We need to tell someone.”
She rolls her eyes. “Who?”
“I don’t know. My mom, a police officer, Child Protective Services, I don’t know?”
I’m grasping at anything right now, fumbling for some sense of control to reign in the fury that I’m feeling deep in my gut. It’s the same feeling that I’ve felt since Jael walked into my world two years ago and suddenly became mine to look after.
“Oh, and what get my dad thrown in jail? He’s a deadbeat, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make occasional money to help support me and my mom living here. If you do that, we’ll have nothing. Also, who’s saying they’ll believe me? And if they don’t and he stays, it’ll only get worse for me.”
I clench my jaw. “He gambles it all away, and you know it.” I’m trying to find any angle to convince her.
She sighs. “You tell child protective services, and they’ll take me away.
If I get taken away, I sure as hell won’t be placed with a family in this town.
I’ll get shipped to who knows what city and probably find myself in this exact same situation except this time at the hands of people I don’t know. At least here, I can escape most days.”
I look at her, still unwilling to start my engine. She just looks so... fragile and vulnerable compared to the strong Jael that I’ve spent the last three years living next to.
I’ve always known that her parents neglected her, but I’ve never seen bruises on her body before. I never knew that they were hurting her physically too. My mind races on what to do as she snaps me back to reality.
“Stop looking at me with pity, Rhett. It’s fine. It isn’t an everyday thing. It only happens when he comes back from the casino after losing when he’s been away for a while. I’m fine,” she says firmly then points ahead. “Just take me home.”
I reluctantly turn to put the key in the ignition, feeling the rumble of it beneath my thighs attempt to steady me.
I don’t know if Jael is right about CPS.
If I tell them, and they take her away, what would that mean for her?
What would that mean for us? I like her, though I haven’t told her that.
In fact, I’ve probably been more of a dick to her over the last two years than I should be because I like her so much.
Would I be putting her in even more danger than she’s already in living in that shitty trailer home if I reported the abuse?
My mind races as I make the short five-mile drive from our school to the trailer park where we live, thinking about the summer that’s looming before us.
We have only three weeks left until school ends, and I decide to come up with any way to distract and protect Jael during that time to keep her out of her home and away from her dad.
And if that means sacrificing my summer plans to hang with her instead, I’ll do it.
“It’ll be a good summer,” I say, speaking into the space that’s between us. “We’ll keep busy, keep you out of the house.”
Jael doesn’t respond to my comments and after a few seconds’ pause I turn to look at her, finding her with silent tears slowly streaming down her face.
Dammit.
I grip the wheel tighter as I continue to drive, not knowing how the hell I’m going to make this right but wanting to try.
◆◆◆
I don’t want her ignoring and masking the hurt like she’d used to. I want her to feel it. To sit with it, process it, and start to heal.
Because if Jael doesn’t address this, she’ll keep looking at this town the same way she always has—with hate and hurt buried too deep to let her breathe. And that means she’ll leave. Again. And I can’t lose her just as soon as I got her back.
“Jael,” I say again, softer this time.