Chapter 21 Shaw
SHAW
“Is she still asleep?” I asked, casting my gaze down the hallway toward Presley’s guest bedroom.
“Yeah.” Presley dropped to the edge of the couch and slumped. “Do you think I should call a doctor? It’s been two days.”
I took the seat beside her, keeping my voice low. I wanted to put my arm around her shoulders, hold her until some of the worry on her face subsided, but I stayed on my cushion, two feet away from hers. “Has she gotten up at all?”
“I heard her get up in the middle of the night and flush the toilet.”
“Then I’m sure she’s fine.”
Presley leaned back into the couch, looking at the ceiling. “This is . . .”
That was the fourth time since I’d come over that she’d started speaking only to trail off. Her mind was visibly whirling, trying to make sense of her sister’s sudden and strange appearance two days ago.
Scarlett had stepped out of that cab, crossed the yard and walked right into Presley’s house.
She hadn’t hugged her sister or said hello. She’d trudged inside wearing clothes just as baggy as the ones Presley normally wore, except hers hadn’t looked cute or sexy or purposefully loose. They’d been wrinkled and dirty, like she’d swiped them from a man’s bedroom floor.
Presley had gaped at her sister, lost for words.
Scarlett had spoken instead.
Before we talk, can I crash in your guest bedroom for a minute?
Presley had nodded and pointed down the hallway, then Scarlett had disappeared and left a stunned Presley—and me—behind.
Presley had called in sick to work yesterday and today. I’d come by at ten yesterday morning when I’d spotted her Jeep still in the driveway. She’d let me in without any hesitation—which told me exactly how well she was reacting to her sister’s visit.
Today, I’d assumed Scarlett would be awake and that the two of them would have talked.
Again, I’d seen the Jeep when normally it would have been at the garage.
I’d stayed away until the afternoon, but curiosity had gotten the better of me.
I’d expected to find the sisters together.
Instead, Presley had opened the door and led me to the living room, where the stress on her face made my gut twist.
“Why is she here?” Presley whispered, her hands wringing in her lap.
“Wake her up and find out.”
“No, not yet.” She shook her head. “She looked so haggard. I haven’t seen her in . . . a long time. She looked bad, right?”
“She didn’t look good,” I muttered.
The deep circles under Scarlett’s eyes had been a purplish blue. Her long, blond hair was stringy and in need of a couple shampoos. Despite the baggy clothes, she was skinny. Too skinny, even for a woman with Presley’s petite frame.
“Have you talked to her lately?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to her in over ten years.”
I blinked. “Ten years?”
“Yeah.” Presley’s gaze fell. “Not since I left home at eighteen.”
“Did you have a falling out?”
Presley blew out a long breath. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I shifted on the couch, turning sideways to give her my attention. “You have no reason to trust me after what I did, but you were there for me. You listened when I was ready to talk. If you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen to you.”
She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping them in her arms. Minutes passed as she curled in on herself, her eyes unfocused and sad.
And I waited. I gave her time as she decided whether or not to give me her trust.
“We grew up in a toxic home,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, savoring her honesty for one second, then I looked at her with my full attention.
“Toxic how?” My mind jumped to the worst. Drugs? Violence? Molest—I couldn’t mentally finish that word.
“My dad was a cruel man. He beat us.”
Violence. My hands fisted on my thighs. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled her knees in closer. “I don’t remember a time when he didn’t raise his hand to us.
We didn’t get spankings. We got slapped on the cheek if we made a mistake.
We would get sent to bed hungry if we cried.
But he never yelled. I can’t remember a time when he raised his voice.
He was just a cruel man who’d come at us with silent rage. ”
My arms ached to pull her onto my lap, but she was huddled tight, safe in her own world.
“He beat my mom too,” she said, her voice quiet and robotic.
“She didn’t work, so he could hit her wherever he wanted.
When Scarlett and I started school, he made sure the bruises were in places easy to conceal.
He especially loved to yank us around by our hair or grab us here.
” She pointed to her bicep. “We always wore sleeves.”
“Presley, I-I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “He controlled every aspect of our lives. We followed his rules completely because the punishments for breaking them were so severe. Even then, even at perfection, he’d find something to get mad about.”
“And your mom?”
“She stood there and watched. I actually blame her the most because she didn’t protect us. A mother should protect her kids, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But that was my life. From the outside, we were the perfect little family. We had family picnics on Saturdays. We went to church on Sundays. We had nice clothes and got good grades at school. Our teachers adored us and because we were such good kids, our parents must be doing such a good job to have two perfect girls. No one ever thought that the reason we were so good was because we were scared every single day. We lived in fear.”
Presley’s gaze shifted and fixed on an invisible spot on the wall. She went quiet, frozen, as she stared.
I put my hand on her foot. This woman was strong. Resilient. She’d chased the terror away. “But not anymore.”
“No,” she said. “Not anymore.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“A suburb of Chicago.”
“You left at eighteen.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “It wasn’t easy. Scarlett and I were living at home, and I don’t know if my father expected that we’d try to leave or not, but he was so strict after graduation.
More so than before. He didn’t let us get jobs that summer.
We just stayed home, waiting for fall because he’d agreed that we could go to a local community college. ”
Her father was a fucking pathetic excuse for a human being. I’d never met the man, even laid eyes on him, but I hated him. Hated. My molars ground together but I worked to keep my expression neutral. Presley didn’t need me flying off the handle while she was reliving that time.
I’d save my rage for later.
If there was a way to ruin her father without causing backlash to Presley, I’d do it.
My first phone call when I left here today would be to Laurelin.
She was a kind woman but if you fucked with me, she’d make your life a living hell.
Presley was in my life—whether she was ready to accept that or not—and Laurelin would eviscerate her father.
If she wasn’t able to, I’d step in and get my hands dirty.
“Scarlett was dating Jeremiah.”
“Wait, what?” I’d been so lost in thoughts of revenge that I’d barely caught Presley’s statement.
“Scarlett was dating Jeremiah,” she repeated.
“Jeremiah, as in your ex-fiancé?”
“That’s the one,” she muttered. “He helped me get out and get away.”
“How?”
“He found us a car. It was supposed to be for us, Scarlett and me. The three of us, actually. Jeremiah and Scarlett were going to go to California. I had already decided on Montana.”
“Why Montana?”
She shrugged. “It sounded so . . . simple and old-fashioned, living in a quiet town with nice people. I didn’t need the glitz of Los Angeles or New York City. I just wanted a safe, little town to call my own.”
“And what sounds simpler than Clifton Forge, Montana?”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “We snuck out one night. I’d been sneaking clothes and stuff from our room for weeks. Scarlett had too. Jeremiah had kept it all at his house because he only lived about half a mile from us.”
It sounded like a hostage escape, and maybe in a way it was. “Did your parents suspect anything?”
“Not as far as I knew. I’d already found a job.
I’d been searching on the library’s computer so no one could trace it.
That was one of the few places Dad let us go without supervision that summer.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but when I saw a classified ad for a receptionist at a garage, it sounded perfect.
I wanted to work at a place that wasn’t prim or proper. ”
“You wanted the noise and the grease.”
“That, and Draven hired me with only a phone interview. He took a chance on me, and I never asked him why.” Presley’s face flashed with grief, like it normally did when she thought of Draven. Not for the first time, I wished I had known the man she held so dear.
“I was sure that once we were gone, my parents would forget about us,” Presley said. “But Scarlett was nervous. She thought Dad suspected we were leaving. It was a thrill for me. No matter what, I was going. But Scarlett wasn’t like that. She didn’t test the limits like I did.”
“Tested how?”
She smiled a little. “Stupid things. I’d sneak candy home from the vending machine at our middle school and eat it after bedtime. I painted my toenails red in the girls’ locker room. Once, my mom took us school clothes shopping and when she wasn’t looking, I shoplifted a thong.”
My thieving beauty. “Did you get caught?”
“Sometimes. When my dad saw my red toenails, he threw me on the living room floor and kicked me for being a ‘slut.’ He insisted on a lot of pink for his daughters. I’m pretty sure he broke one of my ribs, cracked it at least, but we didn’t go to doctors. Scarlett wrapped them up for me.”
“Son of a bitch.” I closed my eyes, searching for calm. My heart pounded as I thought about these girls and what they’d endured. Or how her sister had known to wrap ribs to heal. “I don’t—I’m sorry.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I can’t help it.”