Chapter 10
Ten
Lane
Taking Back Sunday’s “Cute Without the E” hums softly from the jukebox as I stand behind the bar, singing along as I stock the beer cooler. The metallic clink of bottles sliding into place punctuating the melody.
The door opens, causing my stomach to twist. That’s weird, I distinctly remember locking it behind me.
“I’m sorry we aren’t open yet, but if you just give me a second, I’ll be right with you.”I greet, not looking up as I place the last few bottles in the cooler.
The lock clicks into place, slicing through the music. My spine goes rigid and warning flares go off like fireworks.
“By all means, take your time, Ceciley.”
All of the blood drains from my body, the music fading into the background. I would know that voice anywhere. My ex-husband.
My dead ex-husband.
I turn slowly and am met with his icy blue stare. No, no, no. He can’t be here. He’s dead. I shot him.
My heart threatens to explode out of my chest as I look around for help or an escape. I find neither.
We are all alone, and he stands between me and my only exit, wearing a smug smile as if it’s an accessory to his three-piece suit. Pure arrogance.
He takes a menacing step toward the bar, and I take one back. My pulse thumping loudly in my ears, fear clawing at my throat.
“Did you really think you could kill me, Ceciley?” he demands, his voice cold. Devoid of emotion.
I peek at the bar top, calculating. If I can just make it over and to the door, I can get away and yell for help. I can save myself instead of reverting back to the helpless woman I used to be.
His eyes scan the bar, his nose turned up in disgust. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?
That you could hide away in this little shithole forever?
” His attention shifts back to me. His eyes rake down my body, leaving behind a greasy film on my skin.
“You are my wife, my property. I own you, Ceciley. It’s time to come home where you belong. ”
I stay silent, waiting for my moment.
He stops at the end of the bar, eyes locked on me like a predator sizing up prey. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be, Ceciley.”
I launch myself over the bartop, skin catching across the smooth surface, and scramble toward the door, quickly flipping the deadbolt and yanking it open. It slams shut, Byron’s hand holding it closed. Blocking my escape, trapping me.
He pushes me against the door with his body. “You will never escape me, Ceciley,” he whispers against my ear, his hot breath on my cheek. The deadbolt echos, sliding into place—sealing my fate.
My phone jars me awake, my heart hammering in my chest.
I sit up slowly, blanket falling to my lap, and place a hand to my chest as if it will slow the rhythm. My eyes scan the room, the familiar space grounding me and bringing me back to reality.
Soft morning light spills through the window through sheer white curtains, highlighting the lush plants I love so much. My eyes land on the beautiful antique vanity I found at an estate sale Kam and I attended a few years ago. Things I love. Things that are part of my new life.
I inhale deeply. Once. Twice.
Breathing through the panic. It’s always the same, Byron catches me before I get out the door. It’s taken me years but I've learned to deal with them, or at least live with them.
They used to follow me for days, causing me to jump at every noise. Afraid he was around every corner, just waiting to jump out at me like some boogeyman.
He was my boogeyman, but he’s dead now.
I gently remind myself that I am safe. It was just a nightmare. Echoes of the past. It’s okay to still be jumpy, even now. It doesn’t make me weak. There is no timeline to healing.
Going to a traditional therapist was out of the question. Not with a fake name and a past I’m hiding from. So I studied PTSD and domestic abuse on my own, learning ways to quiet the nightmare and heal after the trauma I lived through.
The first few years were the worst. The nightmare plagued me almost nightly. Leaving me raw and on edge. Now, there are often months between.
My encounter with Luke must have triggered it.
Just another reason to be glad I ended things when I did.
I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes and climb out of bed, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. I hit play on the voicemail, putting it on speaker as I move through the house on autopilot, checking locks. An old habit I don’t bother changing.
The voice on the other end is cheery, with the rasp of too many years spent as a smoker. “This is Greg, at Flint’s Auto Body. I’m just calling to let you know your car will be ready by three o’clock. We will be here until six this evening. Have a nice day.”
Relief washes over me. At least I won’t have to call a tow truck. Chip must have seen the state of my car and called for me.
Kam’s preferred pop music fills the car as we drive down Main Street toward the body shop. “I can’t believe he sliced your tires and called you a whore,” she fumes, steering wheel gripped in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “What a fucking douchebag.”
“He’s going on the banned list. He can get fucked,” I mutter, sipping my own iced coffee.
He is done drinking at The Broken Bottle. Lifetime Ban. I know Chip will back me on it. He doesn’t take kindly to people fucking with his staff.
She gives me a sideways glance, eyes full of suspicion. “How did you get home? I didn’t have any missed calls from you.”
I twirl my straw nervously, watching as the ice clinks together. “Jameson.”
She slams the brakes, tires squealing against asphalt, sending me forward, the seatbelt digging into my shoulder and my coffee sloshing in the clear plastic cup.
Her eyes are locked on me. “I knew it. Tell me everything.”
I squirm under the weight of her accusing gaze and look around nervously at the people who have stopped to stare. “Kam, go. You can’t just stop in the middle of the road. People are looking at us,” I warn, slumping down in my seat, heat creeping up my neck.
She continues to stare, not budging…hell she’s not even blinking.
I groan, sinking further into the seat, my face now on fire as a car blares their horn behind us.
“He told Luke to apologize, and said if he called me a whore again, he’d be eating his teeth.
Then Luke got in his face and tried to swing at him, but Jameson caught his fist like it was nothing and pinned him against the wall.
Then he made them both leave.” The words tumble out in a rush.
She releases the break, and continues down Main Street, ignoring the blaring horns.
I sit up, eyes still nervously looking around. “Jameson said he came back because he was worried Luke might try something when I was alone.”
She squeals, the sound echoing off the windows, and somehow perfectly in sync with Christna Aguilera as she sings about what a girl wants.
I roll my eyes. “It was just a ride home, which I only took because you sleep like the dead.”
This is exactly why I didn’t send Kam a text when Jameson suggested it. I knew she’d make a huge deal.
She, of course, ignores me and continues. “So let me get this straight. Not only is he gorgeous, but he also kicked Luke out of the bar like some bad ass bouncer and waited to walk you to your car,” she sighs, voice dreamy.
“You are making a big deal out of nothing,” I mutter.
The second she parks in front of the auto shop, I’m out of the car and speed walking toward the office, hoping to escape this conversation, even temporarily.
I push open the scruffed metal door, Kam hot on my heels.
A tiny bell announces our arrival. The smell of burnt coffee permeates the air, making my nose wrinkle.
The small room is sparse. Boring tan walls and cracked white tiles.
Magazines, at least a decade old, sit on a small table next to faded orange plastic chairs.
The receptionist smiles at us, a smear of red lipstick clinging to her front tooth thanks to her too-thin lips. “What can I help you ladies with?” she asks, adjusting her thick tortoise shell glasses.
I tear my eyes away from her mouth and give her a friendly smile. “Lane Maddox. My car was towed in for new tires.”
She rummages through some papers on the counter, picking one up and reading it over. She turns, grabbing my keys from a row of hooks behind her, and hands them to me.
“Here ya go. It’s parked on the side of the building.”
I shift nervously on my feet. “How much do I owe?” I ask, hoping it’s not much. I make decent money at the bar, but not enough that this won't hurt my wallet a little.
She smiles, red smear on full display. “It’s taken care of.”
My brows knit together. “What do you mean it was taken care of?”
She leans against the counter, her eyes going dreamy, and I know. “A very handsome man with tattoos and a nose ring came in first thing this morning and paid in full to have it towed here and to have the tires replaced.”
Jameson.
He paid to have my car towed and my tires replaced. Why would he do that?
I thank the receptionist and quickly escape out the door, my feet crunching over the gravel.
“He had your car towed, and he paid to have your tires replaced!” Kam exclaims excitedly as she trails behind me.
Damn it, she’s never going to let this go now.
I stop beside my car, digging my cell phone and the card from my purse. “He probably just thinks Luke slashed my tires because he stepped in last night and threw him out. It’s not a big deal,” I say, thumbs flying over the keyboard.
Lane
Thank you for the tow and new tires. You didn't have to do that. I’ll pay you back.
724-555-2189
I didn’t do it out of guilt, Wildflower. One less thing for you to worry about. I won’t take your money.
Kam pokes her head over my shoulder. Completely ignoring my personal space. “Are you texting Jameson?”
I ignore her.
Lane
I appreciate it but next time please ask me first. I’ll be paying you back.
724-555-2189
Noted. I won’t take your money but I will take a date.
“I swear to God, if you don’t say yes, I’m revoking ALL best friend privileges!” Kam threatens in my ear.
I turn, taking a step back, phone gripped tightly in my hand. “Kam, we’ve been over this.”
Her eyes soften, but her tone remains firm. “Lane, it’s one date. If you don’t like him, you never have to see him again. He doesn’t live around here, which makes him safe. Hell, you might even have fun.”
I nervously gnaw at my bottom lip.
Can I do this? Can I open myself up to someone else? Even Temporarily?
I blow out a breath, giving in to both her and myself. “Fine. One date.”
She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. I just roll my eyes and type out another message.
Lane
Saturday. Pick me up at 7.
I wait for the panic to set in. It doesn’t come. Excitement unfurls instead, bright and reckless, then faint as a draft under a locked door, a whisper of warning.
I hit send anyway.