Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
SORROW
I stare out the window of Wade’s car and blink back tears.
“I’m sorry, Sorrow.”
I swallow and turn to look at the man who has had my back since the second he walked through the police station door. I look down at my cell phone, handed back to me before he took me to the hospital. I type into my cell and listen as it reads my words out to Wade.
“You don’t need to be sorry. You were great. I’m not sure I’d have made it through the day without you.”
“That was all a bunch of bullshit, and you know it.” He hits the steering wheel in frustration, and I don’t know if it’s because of how I was treated at the station or the treatment I received at the hospital.
“I know. It’s fine. I expected it.”
“Fuck that. Whatever that was back there shouldn’t have happened.”
“People are still angry at me. A boy died. The rest doesn’t matter. Nothing any of us can say or do will change that.”
“How the fuck can you be so nice when everyone treats you like shit?” I flinch at his words, making him curse. “I’m sorry, that was a crappy thing to say.”
“It’s true, though. I can’t change how people treat me, Wade. All I can do is fix my mom’s place up and hope I sell it. The sooner I can put Tempest in my rearview mirror, the better.”
“I’ve never felt ashamed of this place until today.”
I bite my lip, a couple of tears slipping free at the defeated tone in his voice.
I know what he’s feeling. For all the trouble I had growing up with a messed-up mom and the stigma surrounding that, I always felt proud to be a part of Tempest. Until the day everyone turned their backs on me.
The community I was once so happy to be a part of became something I couldn’t wait to run from.
The look on Wade’s face is one I’m all too familiar with.
It’s as if someone has torn the veil from his eyes, and he’s seeing the dark parts that usually stay hidden in dusty corners and people’s closets.
“When this town loves, it loves hard. They hate me because they loved Alec so damn much. It might not be rational, but I understand it.”
“What about you? Didn’t they love you too?”
“No. They didn’t.”
I turn to look out the window once more, shutting down the conversation. Sometimes the truth is ugly, and nothing Wade can say now will gloss over that fact.
When we pull up to my van, he turns off the engine as I reach for the door.
“Sorrow?”
I turn to look at him.
“The hospital staff should have been impartial. You know that, right?”
I roll my eyes. Of course, I know that. Shame they forgot. I’m sure if Wade hadn’t accompanied me, I’d still be sitting in the waiting room with torn-up wrists.
He huffs out a strained laugh. “Of course, you know.” He runs his fingers through his hair before he continues.
“I know you spoke to your lawyer at the hospital, but you need to fill them in on the rest. Send them the photos I’ve forwarded you and take photos of the rest now you’ve had stitches. Get them to lodge a formal complaint.”
I shake my head. I just want to leave, not stick around and deal with all this.
“Please? One, it stops them from pulling something like this again. But if you don’t do it for yourself, do it for the next person who finds themselves in a situation like yours. If it can happen once, it will happen again.”
And I hate that he’s realized Tempest isn’t quite the safe haven he grew up thinking it was.
I sigh but nod. He had my back, so now I’ll have his. The chief could make his life difficult if he wanted to, and lodging a complaint will at least acknowledge that Wade was right to act and step in today.
I open the door and jump out, surprised when Wade walks around to join me.
He hands me the keys to the van, and I have no idea how he got them for a second until I remember having to empty my pockets at the station.
He walks me to the driver’s side door and waits for me to open it.
I unlock it and open the door, actively avoiding looking in the back, knowing it’s been trashed by the rookie.
Wade looks in, and I see his jaw tighten.
“I’ll get someone to come over and fix your taillight for you.”
I shake my head because it’s not his responsibility, but he folds his arms across his chest in a no-nonsense kind of way until I sigh and give in. Besides, it will save me from having to deal with going to a garage and dealing with more rude people.
“Good. I’ve gotta get going. I’ve put my number in your cell. If you have any issues, call me. I know the police are the last people you’d want to call, but I will come if you need me.”
I reach over and give him a quick hug, touched by his words. He’s right. I’d never willingly call the cops, especially not now, which is kind of terrifying because I’m going to become everyone’s favorite target for trouble.
“Also, don’t be surprised if you randomly find my wife on your doorstep. She was the one who called me when she saw shit going down she didn’t like.”
I quickly start typing.
“Tell her not to. People will start treating her differently if she’s seen with me. I don’t want to bring shit down on your family, Wade.”
He shakes his head. “Nobody tells my wife to do anything, least of all me. If you think Olivia will bow to anyone else, you don’t know my wife. She’s a queen. She bows to no one.”
I type fast with a grin on my face.
“I think I just fell in love with your wife.”
Wade grins. “She’s easy to love.”
My smile slips from my face, wondering if the problem is me. Maybe I’m just unlovable. I move to get in the van before Wade can say anything else and tug the door closed before lowering the window.
“Take care of yourself, Sorrow.”
I nod and press my hand to my heart in thanks. I wait as he gets into his car and pulls away. When it’s clear, I reverse out and head home, wishing I had never left the house this morning.
When I get back, I pull the van into the garage and wait for the door to close before I sit in the dark space.
With nobody around to see me, I break down.
Deep, soul-breaking sobs pour out of me as I try to purge the darkness that festers inside me.
I want to scream and wail, but it would be like shouting into a void because nobody ever hears me.
Sometimes, I don’t know why I keep going.
I mean, what’s the point? There’s nobody to be proud of my accomplishments or to support me through my failures.
I’ve been treading water for years, and I’m so damn exhausted that sometimes I just want to go to sleep and never wake up.
By the time I get my crying jag under control, my eyes feel swollen, and I’m so tired, I want to curl up on the front seat and sleep.
I fought so hard to battle my depression.
Coming here feels like I’ve taken so many steps backward that I wish I’d just set fire to the place instead.
Why is doing the right thing always so much harder than walking away?
I climb out and walk over to the door that leads into the house and unlock it before carrying my bag and phone inside.
Heading back out to the garage, I flip on the light and slide the side doors open so I can see the damage.
I frown when I spot the contents of the cart I bought earlier sitting on the floor of the van.
I wonder if Wade had something to do with that because the last time I saw this stuff, it was still in the cart as we left for the police station.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I carefully unload what I bought before I get to work, tidying up the mess the rookie made.
I also check over everything with a fine-tooth comb.
I’m glad I do because I find a bag of white powder that I somehow doubt is sugar underneath the driver’s seat.
I swallow down bile at the sight of it and feel myself panic.
This wasn’t mentioned during my arrest, which means they’re setting me up for a later date.
And who the hell is going to believe that I was set up?
Nobody. God, I wish I’d had the foresight to place cameras on the inside of the vehicle and not just the outside.
I could call Wade, but what if he thinks it really is mine, and I’m using him to cover my tracks?
I can’t risk it. Instead, I slip it into my pocket and head inside, straight to the bathroom, where I proceed to flush it all down the toilet.
Once I’m sure it’s all gone, I take the empty bag to the kitchen and pull the lighter from the top drawer, thankful for once that my mother was a smoker and left a dozen of these lying around all over the place.
I light it up and touch the flame to the baggy, holding it as it burns, only dropping it into the sink when it gets too hot to hold.
Once I’m sure it’s destroyed, I turn on the water to make sure everything is cool before scraping up the embers and throwing them in the trash.
I return to the van and go over the whole vehicle inside and out as if I’m looking for gold.
Thankfully, after another hour of searching, I find nothing beyond the mess.
A mess I now know was done on purpose to hide the fact that he planted drugs in my van.
With a heavy heart, I head inside and trudge up the stairs to the main bathroom.
I eye my old bedroom door, but I steer well clear of it as I step inside the bathroom and walk over to the sink.
I lean on the edge of it and take in my reflection with a wince.
I look awful. There is no doubt about it.
My nose is swollen, and underneath, my eyes look like dark bruises.
The doctor told me it wasn’t broken, so I’m hoping it doesn’t get any worse before it gets better.
I have dried blood under my nose and on my chin, and my lip is puffy where my tooth caught it.
My tank top is soaked with blood and probably beyond saving.
I slip my jacket off and toss it to the floor, taking in the bruises marring my arms and the bandages on my wrists, one of which needed a handful of stitches.
The urge to run from this place hits me hard. So hard I grip the sink to hold myself in place, trying to remind myself that this is all temporary. The bruises will fade, just like the town when I leave. I just have to make it through today and tomorrow for now.
I turn on the faucet so I can wash away the blood, knowing I can’t turn up at the hotel looking like this.
I hear a knock at the door. I freeze, my fear returning, flooding my veins with ice. I want to ignore it, but what if it’s the cops again?
I slip the jacket back on and pull my cell from my pocket, but hesitate over who I should call.
In the end, I pull up Wade’s number and let my thumb hover over the call button as I make my way downstairs to the sound of more knocking.
I step up next to it and tug the curtain back a little, tensing all over when I see its Banner.
I know he’s seen me, so I can’t pretend I’m not here. But that doesn’t mean I have to let him in.
“Sorrow, I know you’re there.”
I lean my head against the wood, but I don’t let him in.
“I come in peace.”
I almost snort at that. I don’t even know what peace is anymore.
“I also have food.”
That makes me hesitate. I haven’t eaten yet, and I’m starving. I was going to grab something on the way back to the hotel, but with my face looking like this, I’d grab too much attention.
“It’s La Verda pizza.”
My stomach growls at the thought. Damn the man.
I open the door but leave the chain on, wary that this is all some kind of joke. Sure enough, there he is, standing with a couple of pizza boxes in his hands and a plastic bag hanging from his fingers.
“You want me to leave the food on the steps? I will, but I really just want to talk. That’s it.”
I blow out a shaky breath and pray I don’t live to regret this.
I unhook the chain and open the door wider as I step back and let him in.
He moves past me and heads right for the kitchen.
I close the door and hesitate for a minute before following him in.
I hover in the doorway as he places the pizza and bag on the table before he turns toward me.
I feel like a deer caught in the headlights as he takes me in. He steps toward me, which makes me take a step back. He swallows; his voice pitched lower than usual.
“I swear to God; I’m not going to hurt you.”
I fist my hands at my side, wondering if he has any idea how many times I heard those same words slip from his brother’s mouth.
Still, when he moves closer, I stand my ground until he’s so close I can feel his breath skate over my skin. I watch as his hand moves to the open sides of my jacket and feel my breath stall in my chest as he slowly opens it and slips it down my arms.
I don’t put up a fight. I pull my arms free and watch, mesmerized, as he flinches. He’s staring at my bruises as if they’re radioactive. With shaky hands, he trails his fingertips over the bruises.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he chokes out as I fight back my tears. He lifts his head and looks me dead in the eye. “Never again, Sorrow. I swear it on my brother’s grave.”