Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
S HANNON
“Listen to me. You’ve got this. You’re smart, you’re capable, and you’re beaut—” I can’t say it. It’s a mantra I go over with my girls at least weekly to remind them they’re all of those things—smart, capable, and beautiful, exactly as they are. God knows the world will try to tell them it’s not true, but I’m hoping hearing it over and over at home will help them see themselves as they are—amazing little girls who will grow up to be badass women able to do anything they want.
I know I’m trying to build the confidence of the woman in the mirror, but I can’t lie to her and tell her something that’s not true, even if the point is to raise her confidence. Ugh, the point is to tell myself these things until I believe them—all of them—so I at least have to try.
I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. I fix my stare on my reflection in the mirror, determined. “You’re smart, you’re capable, and you’re beau... beauti... Damn it! It’s just a word, Shannon.”
I give myself a break and inspect my new haircut in the mirror. Since losing the weight of the six inches I had cut off last week, my natural curls got some of their form back, and my hair now falls a little below my chin. The stylist tried to talk me into highlights, but I don’t have the time—or the money—to keep up with regularly getting them touched up. So, I stuck with my natural mousy brown color. That, mixed with my brown eyes, makes me look... neutral. It’s the word that pops into my head when I look at myself, even when wearing eye makeup I don’t usually wear, and the touch of pink lipstick. I look neutral and average. It’s not atrocious, but definitely not beautiful. I’m not even sure if I’m pretty anymore. Definitely not compared to all the other moms who are regularly at any of the different activities my kids are enrolled in.
“All right, let’s do what you can. No self-judgment here today.” The woman in the mirror nods back at me. I stand tall. “You’re smart. You’re capable. And that’s enough.” I shrug my shoulders. It’ll have to do.
When the doorbell rings, I startle. I’m so nervous about my first day of full-time work outside the home in years that it doesn’t take much. I bend down and snatch Chase off the bathroom floor, where he’s thankfully sat entertained by his toy fire trucks. He holds onto one for dear life as I pull him into my arms and snuggle him against my side.
“You ready to go see Daddy, bud?”
Chase is undeniably a daddy’s boy, and his eyes light up with delight at the mention of his father. He flails his arms excitedly, chanting, “Daddy! Daddy!”
My reflexes aren’t as fast as they used to be, so I don’t dodge the small metal truck clasped in his little hands in time. When it strikes my lower lip, the immediate sting hurts, but more than anything, I’m worried because now I’ll likely show up to my first day with a fat lip.
“Great,” I murmur. “Just great.”
It’s a struggle to keep Chase in my arms as I walk down the stairs—he’s fighting to get down to get to Troy. When I reach the bottom step and place him on solid ground, he races to the door, calling for Troy the entire time.
When I pull the door open, Chase jumps at Troy, who easily catches him and hugs our boy, kissing him on top of the head. He hasn’t even looked at me yet, so it gives me a moment to check him out. How, at thirty-five, he still looks boyishly handsome yet all sexy man at the same time, I’ll never know. It’s pretty low of Mother Nature, or the Universe, or God—whoever’s responsible—that most men age like Troy, and time can be so hard on a woman.
When Troy finally looks at me, he avoids my gaze, but I don’t miss how his eyes trail from my high heels and then up my body. He freezes when he sees my hair. His pupils dilate, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the hand that’s not wrapped around our son reach toward me. My gaze shifts down to watch the motion, but he stops a few inches from my jaw and sharply pulls his hand back as if he’d been shocked. My body, which had tensed for a moment in anticipation, deflates, and I don’t like it.
Troy backs up and clears his throat. “So, um, I’ll drop him off with your parents about one. Is that okay?”
“Sure. That works.” As I reach down to pick up Chase’s to-go bag, my thin heel gets caught in a gap in a grout line between the foyer tiles. As I start to fall to the side, I see the wall charging at me and realize I’ll probably be sporting more than a fat lip on my first day. Ugh.
Instead of making an impact with the wall, my body stops about four inches from it when a strong arm wraps around my side, and a hand my body knows well splays across my back. Troy stops my fall while holding our son and makes it look like it was nothing.
We’re both squatting now, and I look in his eyes. His sad eyes.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I guess I need to get used to the hazards of wearing heels again.” I offer him a small smile, trying to break the tension.
I’ve got my balance back now and run my hands down my skirt to straighten it as I stand. That’s when I realized Troy hasn’t removed his hand from my back. We probably shouldn’t have lingering touches, given that we’re a few weeks into our “divorce practice,” as my sisters Shyley and Shayna have dubbed it. I look into his eyes. They’re dark and narrowed, focused on my lips.
His hand moves off my back, but only because he moves it to my face and barely grazes his thumb over the busted part.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is rough and almost dangerous sounding. He’s laser-focused on my mouth.
I’m stunned, not having seen this side of Troy for many years. It takes me back to high school when I first started tutoring Troy and was dating someone else. My boyfriend, at the time, was kind of a douchebag. I knew that before I ever went out with him, but I was just happy someone asked me on a date. So, I ignored the voice in the back of my head telling me to steer clear of him. Even though I was book smart, it didn’t mean I was socially smart, especially not since I was two years younger and a bit behind my peers emotionally and socially.
Up until that one day, the day I first experienced what a bad guy looked like, I had only seen the quiet but charming side of Troy. I would have been lying to myself if I said I wasn’t secretly crushing on the star quarterback I was tutoring—any girl with eyes and half a brain was—but I thought I was hiding it well.
Apparently, I wasn’t.
I don’t like this. It was stupid to let Anthony corner me in this nook near an infrequently traveled stairwell after school when there were fewer people around. He’s my boyfriend, so I didn’t think I had to worry about him, even if he has been acting weird—angry almost—for the last few weeks.
When he met me at my locker and insisted he needed to talk to me alone, I explained to him I couldn’t be late for my tutoring session. He rolled his eyes but followed me when I shut my locker and started walking. I was already cutting it close because of his interruption, so when he said he’d walk me with me, I didn’t object.
Then he came to a dead stop here. Still a good twenty yards from our destination. Fine by me. I’d rather not risk having to kiss him goodbye in front of... other people. So, when I quit walking and turned to kiss him on the cheek, I was shocked when he grabbed my arm tight enough that it hurt and pulled me six feet or so into the alcove.
“I said I need to talk to you, Shannon. The stupid jock can wait.”
I hate it when people tear someone else down because they’re jealous or insecure, worrying someone is better than them. There will always be someone smarter, thinner, more talented, prettier than each of us. It would be a crappy world if we went around tearing everyone down for it.
“Stop it! And he’s not stupid.” I used all my strength to pull my arm from his grip, and it worked, but his fingernail left a nasty scratch. It burns, and I hiss at the discomfort.
Anthony glances at the bleeding red streak on my arm. “That’s on you for pulling away.”
Incredulous, I step away from him, immediately recognizing my mistake. Without thinking, I had stepped another foot or so away from the main hall.
“What has gotten into you lately? You’re acting like a jerk. And don’t ever put your hands on me again.”
His entire expression changes, and he stalks toward me. The way he’s looking at me with beady eyes and a twisted smile is downright frightening. My heart races, and my mouth goes dry. Before I know it, he’s got me caged in, up against the wall.
“The problem isn’t what’s gotten into me. It’s what’s not gotten into you.” His creepy stare doesn’t divert from my eyes.
“What? That doesn’t even make sense. I’m acting norm ? —”
“Jesus, for a book-smart girl, you really are naive. I’m talking about us taking our physical relationship to the next level.”
As understanding dawns on me, my belly clenches with that tightness I always get right before I throw up. I lower my eyes. “I’m not ready. You said you didn’t care about that... stuff.”
A sarcastic huff escapes him. “Yeah, well, I fucking lied. Any guy that tells you he’s dating a chick and sex isn’t his number one goal is a goddamn liar. I’ve been waiting for four months. It’s time.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. What are the chances I can knee this butt wipe in the balls and make it to the study area before he catches me?
He softens his facial expression, and I hope he will back off. Instead, he cups one hand over my jaw and neck and rubs my cheek with the tips of his fingers. I hate it, but I try to hide my response. If he weren’t touching me on the side near my escape route, I’d attempt a run for it, but I suspect he intentionally kept his arm up on that side to keep me trapped here.
“Look at me, babe.” He sounds contrite and leans his upper body in closer to me. I reluctantly peer up at him. “I’ll be eighteen in a month. Once that happens, I won’t be able to touch you without risking us getting in trouble. The time for us to show what we mean to each other is now.”
Fuck. Ing. Ass. Hole. How did I not see this?
I pull my head away from him and find my inner strength. “Not a chance. That’s a hard no for me.”
Before I have a second to process what’s happening, Anthony grabs me by my upper arms on both sides and slams me backward. Pain erupts at the back of my head as it cracks against the cinder block wall.
As quick as he was on me, he’s ripped off, and I turn to see a familiar baseball cap worn backward on Troy’s head. Troy now has Anthony pinned up against the wall. Anthony’s face is red as a beet. Whether from fear, embarrassment, or anger, who knows? Maybe all three.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, putting your hands on her like that?” Troy roars.
“Hey, she’s my ? —”
“It was a rhetorical question, dumbass. It’s obvious you’re a fucking creep.” At this, Anthony, clearly recognizing he’s outmatched physically, has the sense to stay quiet. “I should beat your ass and see how you like it.”
A new panic sets in as I watch the scene. Troy could get in big trouble for fighting. He’s already at risk of not being able to play football because of his math grade. If he gets suspended for fighting, I don’t know what will happen.
I step toward them and put my hand on Troy’s shoulder. “Troy, let him go. He’s not worth it.” He doesn’t respond at first, but he eventually drags Anthony into the main part of the hallway and tosses him a few feet away. Anthony struggles to avoid falling, but he gets his bearings.
Troy stands like a sentry between Anthony and me, who, after straightening his hoodie, turns and spits on the floor. Ew. What a degenerate. Not one to leave well enough alone, he looks up at Troy and grins.
“Whatever, you can have the prudish, little dick tease. She’s got a crush on you, so maybe she’ll let you get your dick wet in her be ? —”
Anthony doesn’t get to finish speaking before Troy’s fist hits his face.
“Shannon?” The tension in Troy’s voice pulls me back to the present. I step back to give myself some breathing room.
I force a smile to lighten the moment. “No worries. It was an accident.” Troy doesn’t look convinced.
“My twuck gived Mama a boo boo.” Chase holds up the little metal fire truck.
Troy raises a questioning brow.
“There may have been some flailing arms in his excitement to see you as I carried him down the steps.”
Troy’s shoulders and jaw visibly relax. “Sorry about that,” he offers. “I guess we’ll head out.” His cheeks suddenly turn a faint pink color, piquing my curiosity. “Also, I-I’m sorry for touching you. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I just forgot about everything for a minute.”
“It’s okay.” I can’t hold his gaze, so I lean over and kiss Chase on the head. “You be good for Daddy and Grandma and Grandpa. I love you, buddy.”
“I loves you, Mama.”
Troy opens the door and steps outside. I watch him move down the steps to the front walk. As I’m about to close the door, he turns around.
“Hey, Shan?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna kill it today. Don’t doubt that for a second.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before he turns back around and walks away.
It’s been three weeks since Troy and I stood before the judge, who basically declined to grant our divorce until we did a practice run and made certain Troy could live with the financial agreements. Three weeks, and yet I don’t feel significantly better. Today will change that. Being married to Troy came at a cost, and that cost was my professional dream. Something only for me. Today, that all changes. I’m nervous yet eager and excited to start my dream job, even if it is over a decade delayed.