Chapter 2
TWO
JUSTICE
“Order up!” Billy calls through the galley window as he waves me over.
I top off Pastor Jennings’ coffee before I turn on my heels to get the order from the kitchen.
I toss a friendly wink at Billy and hang the newest orders on the spinner.
I prop the tray against my hip then collect each pipin’ hot plate before I traipse back to my awaiting customers.
The hustlin’ and bustlin’ dinner rush should keep my mind occupied instead of dwelling on my plight, but it’s inescapable.
The smile I wear is a facade. My outward appearance a deception to those around me
With my customers tended to, I make my way to the counter to tidy up and refill the condiment bottles.
It’s been two weeks since Harlan’s arraignment and just as long since I’ve seen even an inkling of Dylan. It’s not uncommon for our communications to be sparse, but I can’t help the foreboding panic that’s setting in. It’s weighed heavily on my mind all week, and even now it’s plaguing me.
After Harlan’s pointed orders Monday evening, I did have to work the evening shift just as I’d told him.
I left an hour before my shift was to start with the story that I wanted to beat the coal train that runs like clockwork by Miller’s Crossing.
It’s a believable story, and you never know if the train will be blocking the crossing for ten minutes or two hours.
I drove past the diner and into the quaint residential district of Williamstown.
It wasn’t lost on me that the sun appeared to shine just a bit brighter on this side of town.
The spring flowers seem to have a bit more sheen and brightness rather than the wild dandelions that cover the untrimmed yards of Millers Branch.
I turned right onto Forest Heights and parked my car along the edge of the curb.
My old black Malibu stood out in stark contrast to the newer model sedans and SUVs.
I knew Dylan would be arriving home any minute now; I’d followed him home on a few occasions vying for a glimpse of the life he’s promised me.
I gripped the small phone in my hand and typed out an evasive text in hopes of a reply that never came.
My eyes flickered cautiously from the road to the screen.
Waiting for him there, out in the open for his neighbors and family to see me, in hindsight was a ballsy move.
But I needed answers, and proving to him that I was willing to out myself this far into the game would be just the tactic to garner his attention.
The sleek black sedan slowly turned into the neighborhood at a snail’s pace, and as the car rolled by, Dylan glanced to the shoulder of the road briefly, barely making eye contact with me.
He parked his car in the driveway of the third brick ranch house.
Suited legs climbed out first, and his broad stature unfolded from the vehicle, slowly standing to his full height.
He slid his hand in the pocket of his pants then removed his phone and briefly studied it.
He quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket then looked uninterestedly toward the entrance of the neighborhood where my car was parked.
I watched through the cracked rearview mirror as the front door opened wide and a small little boy came tumbling down the steps and wrapped his arms around Dylan’s legs.
Dylan embraced his son then placed him on his hip before approaching the house where a beautiful woman greeted him at the door.
It was like a scene from a fuckin’ Hallmark movie, and a pang of jealousy and remorse rolled through my stomach.
He’d seen me waiting.
He’d seen the texts.
But he ignored me entirely.
I fought back the tears that I refused to cry as I drove to the diner.
No man is worth smearing my mascara for.
I closed the diner that evening then returned the following morning and opened up the breakfast shift.
It’s been my intention to keep my distance from Harlan.
With the way he acted after being released, his demeanor overprotective yet as dangerous as a cocked gun, I know a thrashing wave of violence is about to break the calm waters.
And until I hear from Dylan, I lie in wait of being put in harm’s way.
THUD THUD THUD… “Excuse me, miss, did you hear me!” A husky timbre breaks me from my reverie, and my eyes instinctively follow the sound.
Blinking once … twice … and a third time, my vision blurs and the room seems to tilt sideways…
No, upside down. Thunderclaps boom rapidly within my chest, and suddenly my breathing hitches.
An all-consuming hysteria fills every muscle in my body.
I clutch the lip of the counter and pinch my eyes closed.
Deep, steady breaths in and out. And again and again as I will away the rejection that’s filling the void of Dylan’s presence.
“Justice, do you hear me?” he asks, his voice hard and angry.
Is the room spinning now? My grip tightens on the counter, and I hang on for dear life …
round, round, round. Lightning chases each thunderclap that strikes my chest. I feel weightless and heavy all at the same time.
My body wants to sag to the floor, but my fingers are dug so deep into the Formica that it’s a struggle to break free.
A swirl of chatter resonates around me, but it’s all so frantic that I can’t focus on one specific voice.
I feel like I’m losing my ever-lovin’ fuckin’ mind, and I want to break free, release the madness and hatred and trepidation because I’m simply drowning to breathe, and I don’t know if I’ll come up f—
“Miss?” His voice is suddenly clear, dry and abrasive to my ears.
As his cold, scaly hand encases my fingers, my skin burns at the touch, and my eyes snap open meeting his daunting coal black gaze.
I jerk my hand away from the counter as a shattering breath bristles past my lips.
The thunderclaps in my chest now echoes in my ears, and I scurry backward trying to make my way out of the confined space I’ve closed myself off in.
When I reach the back exit, I sling the door open and step out into the heaven’s cry as a rumbling roar of thunder and lightning erupts through the midday sky.
Has it been storming all this time? I wander into the storm with my arms open wide, the catastrophe of my life showering down around me angrily.
Each drop scolding my skin a stark reminder of all I’ve sacrificed to remain in this depraved succession of purgatory.
I fuckin’ ran. Without looking back, I left the abuse.
I left the suffering. I left the prominent dangers that stalked me behind in Georgia when I escaped within a inch of my sanity and fuckin’ life.
I left the hell that Harlan created. I knew there would be consequences, but I tried to outrun my fate just to give him a chance at living.
But it was all for naught. Only a year passed before Harlan came for me, and I knew when he reappeared that there was no turning back.
The lies had already been told—the truth hidden in plain sight.
Six more months passed before I succumbed to his afflictions and allowed myself to accept his abuse as love.
That’s the lie I’ve always told; he can only love through the strength of his fists.
Harlan was supposed to love me, in sickness and health, for better or worse, and till death do us part… But Harlan’s love is filthy and wicked. Harlan is hatred, and that’s a darkness I’ve drowned myself in for too long.
Dylan offered the alternative. He promised an escape from the suffering I’d endured for too long.
The risks were extensive, but the reward …
the reward was an immense victory. I’d provide credible evidence and information regarding all of Harlan’s criminal activities and known associates to Agent Dylan Warren, FBI.
Harlan’s associates were some truly terrifying people whom I wanted no connection with.
Oh, but Dylan made it all much sweeter with promises of a new life, not just for me, but for us. For once, we’d be a family. There’d be no looking over my shoulder, wondering who was lingering in the shadows to avenge one of Harlan’s many misdeeds.
Am I blind to Dylan’s misconceptions? Has he played me like a fiddle all this time? A seductive pawn in his twisted game. He’s turned me against my fuckin’ husband. I’m questioning everything in my life, and I don’t know who I can trust anymo—
“JUSTICE!”
Startled, I quickly turn toward the voice. Tabby splashes through the puddles with an umbrella overhead. “Have you lost your mind?!” Well, that’s what I’ve been standing out here questioning… “You’re going to catch pneumonia!”
With her arm around my shoulder and the umbrella sheltering me from the storm, she drags me into the diner. “I thought you came to the office to calm down. Why were you out in the damn rain?” she asks, digging through the small supply closet.
“Just needed some air. Couldn’t breathe.” My tone is latent. I hug my arms tightly across my chest, cold shivers wracking through me.
Tabby hands me a towel and a wrinkled flannel. “That was more than just needing air, Justice. Something’s brewin’; I can sense it. You’ve been a mess all week. Distant and jumpy.”
On auto-pilot, I wring the water out of my hair with the towel, then twist it up in a messy topknot. “Nah, I’m okay, Tabby,” I dismiss.
“Is it Harlan?” she prods further.
The hell? The thin rubber band restraining my psyche is stretched to its limits.
“What? What do you mean? Why would you ask that?” Stripping the wet t-shirt over my head, I quickly button the musky scented flannel and tie the ends into a knot at my waist. It must be one Luke’s left in the office because it’s about three sizes too big on me.
“Oh, honey, you know I would never pry in your life, but when it’s physically affectin’ ya … well, I’m only trying to be a good friend, Justice.”
“Physically affectin’ me? Like how, Tabby? It’s hangin’ on your tongue; don’t fuckin’ choke on it.”
My tone is harsh and unforgiving, but what is she getting at?
Tabby closes the distance between us, her brown eyes cautiously reading me. “Sweets, it was in the paper again … his, uhm…” she whispers as if we’re not the only two people in the small space. She drags her lip between her teeth nervously then spits, “…arrest over the weekend.”
The shame I feel is masked with strength as my brow quirks up defiantly, and my lips purse. I swallow past the lump in my throat and bark, “Tabby, I don’t mix in Harlan’s affairs, and I sure as fuck don’t need anyone’s pity.”
“I’m concerned about you. You completely checked out, and I’ve never seen you act frantic with a customer before. Did Judge Mullins say something that set you off?”
I take a step back, needing space from Tabby. Needing room to breathe. Even more now than just moments ago, I begin to question everything. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I inhale a calming breath, feeling the tension and anxiety clutching my chest again.
“You’re suffocating, and you’re crying for help without even realizing it.”
Am I that transparent?
“It’s just anxiety, Tabby. I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t mind covering for you if you want to go home,” she offers.
“Thanks, Tabby, truly. Dinner rush will be over soon. We should get back to work.”
She eyes me skeptically but doesn’t press further, returning to the front. I head to the employee bathroom and splash cold water on my face, allowing myself a few extra minutes to calm myself.
I take a deep breath and return to work, refilling drinks, clearing tables, and seating new patrons.
Before long the dinner rush slows to a pause, as table by table empties of all by stacks of dishes and uneaten leftovers.
I grab a tub and make quick work of clearing all the tables, then take the dirty dishes back to the sink.
I hear the bell over the diner door ding and hope another patron has just left, but that thought is short-lived as I hear Tabby greet the newcomers.
I check my watch and see that the diner closes in less than an hour and sigh in relief.
I return to the front counter, where Tabby is cashing out a customer.
Only one table remains, and they’re sitting in my section.
“I went ahead and got their drink orders while you were in the back,” she says, handing me a tray with two cups of black coffee on it.
I round the counter into the dining room, and his eyes lock onto mine, sending a tremor of anticipation up my spine.
He watches me cautiously as I approach, and I nervously roll my lip between my teeth.
“Hi, What can I get for you this evening?” I ask on autopilot as I set the cups on the table.
“The coffee is fine; thank you,” Agent Carter responds dismissively, while Dylan sits stoic, watching me carefully.
“Sure. If you change your mind, just let me know. I’ll check back with you shortly,” I reply.
I close down my station and place the coffee pot on my tray to check on my last customers of the night.
I find their seats empty, half-drank cups of coffee grown cold, and a ten-dollar bill on the table.
Not so much as a word passed between us, but his disregard spoke volumes.
I grit my teeth and huff out an annoyed breath as I clean off the table.
I set the tray on the counter and flip the lock on the door then switch off the open sign.
I’ve had about all I can tolerate of this day.
I pull their ticket and close their order.
I place the ten-dollar bill on the register to pull out the change for my tip, a renewed breath of hope breathed into my soul. Written on the bill is Montgomery 1111.