60. Chapter 57
Mari
A ll I could hear was my pounding heart, and his voice.
“ My name is Chance Riordan. And I’m a victim of domestic violence .”
He’d done it. He’d actually done it.
Pride and shock swelled through every inch of my body. That familiar fire burned brightly in my hand, the one that was safely intertwined in mine.
Al, Dylan, and JJ had quietly followed Chance off the stage after his confession. We’d all but sprinted to the underground carpark, eager to beat the rush of reporters and fans.
“Hang on, Chan,” Dylan had called when Chance was holding the door of Reggie open for me. JJ slid into the back of Al’s little Corolla, and I wondered how Dylan would fit in there too.
Before I could ponder it anymore, Dylan pulled me in for a bone-crushing hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered in my ear.
~
The four-hour drive back from Darlington Harbour was silent, but Chance’s hand stayed firmly on my thigh the entire time.
His jaw was locked so tight I was surprised the bones weren’t whining.
I knew why, of course. His phone had also remained silent, but that silence wasn’t comfortable.
It was like that false sense of calm before a storm hit. Before disaster struck.
The sun was proudly shining when we passed the rusty old red and white sign that read, ‘Welcome to Soggla’. There were some new fresh cracks in the paint. Chips had fallen off on the tail end of the ‘a’. Soon it would read, ‘Welcome to Sogglo’.
But then something strange happened. The streets, the birds, hell even nature, all seemed to pause for us.
The stretches of road that usually had scattered cars parked—empty.
The tiny excuse of a carpark for Rusty’s was bare, not even a magpie or pigeon lingering nearby.
Even the wind that usually swept through the eucalyptus and gum trees in the park halted.
Chance’s grip faltered at my thigh and that stormy gaze scanned the roads, looking for that missing normalcy. Anything—a car, a butterfly, a person. Anything.
We rounded the corner, heading straight towards the gym. I lurched forward when Chance slammed on the breaks. My seatbelt dug snuggly into the corner of my neck.
“What the fuck?” he muttered.
Long orange barricades had been placed over the road, fencing off any cars from driving through. On the other side, the street was crammed full of vehicles. A metallic sign glistened in the sun, rust coating the edges since it probably hadn’t been dragged out for at least a few decades.
‘ Event in Progress ’ it read.
“Do you know anything about this?” That wary, annoyed tick in Chance’s jaw was more noticeable with all the weight he’d dropped being so close to the fight.
“No idea.”
People stood in large groups chatting on the road. Smiles and pleasantries seemed to be being exchanged. But the biggest crowd was standing on Knock’s’ gravel driveway. The sun was shining so brightly, I couldn’t see the top.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket.
“It’s JJ,” I told Chance, feeling in awe of the gigantic crowd of people standing in my town. “Hey—”
“Lynnie! Where are you guys? You need to get to the gym now!” JJ’s excitement only furthered my confusion.
I glanced around, looking for him.
“There.” Chance pointed to the base of the driveway, where our best friend was standing, squirming in anticipation. His eyes widened and a grin broke out on his face when he saw us.
Chance threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me through the crowd.
Muttering soft apologies when I bumped into people, I noticed people were clearing a path for him.
“You guys have gotta see this!” He waved a hand and took off up the driveway. “Coming through! Coming through!”
Chance held tight onto my hand, squeezing it three times.
We were at the top before I could respond. Dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands, of pieces of paper were stuck to the entire front wall of Knock’s. Pink, yellow, white, blue, green. No particular pattern seemed to occur, but every piece of paper had writing on it.
Vandalism? But what were all of these people doing here for?
My eyes found Chance, as they always did. His face pale, he swallowed deeply. A sheen of mist coated his eyes, and his nose turned a faint shade of pink.
JJ reached a hand out and put it on Chance’s shoulder. “Go and read them, man. They’re here for you.”
He pulled me by our hands over to the wall. If Chance hadn’t been holding my hand, I would have fallen to my knees.
My boyfriend threw a drink in my face, a few weeks later he threw the damn glass.
My fiancée refuses to let me sleep until we’ve had sex.
My boyfriend’s friend hit on me and groped me at a party. My boyfriend slapped me when he found out.
My wife sucker punched me for talking too long to a cashier when we were getting groceries. She told me no one would believe me, that I was a man, and I should be able to take it .
Story after story was hung up for everyone to see. Horrors at the hands of mothers, fathers, siblings, relatives, partners, and friends. These shitty, horrible, life-altering experiences were no longer a deadlocked memory in someone’s mind. But spoken . Out in the open for the world to see.
“The Chronicles of Hidden Abuse,” JJ read from the banner that lay at our feet. The crowd behind us had gone silent.
I. Love. You . I squeezed Chance’s hand.
He turned his head to face me, those stormy eyes I loved so much starting to loosen raindrops. The eerie calm before the storm was no more—the rain was here.
I reached a hand up to wipe one of the stray tears away when he caught it. Brushing his lips over my knuckles, he mumbled, “It’s okay.”
Squared shoulders and a lifted chin turned to face those silent around us.
Many of them smiled appreciatively, hope and relief filling their faces.
Relief, not because they wanted anyone to experience what they had, but relief knowing someone they looked up to had .
Relief knowing they weren’t alone, and that there was at least one person out there who understood at least some small inkling of what they were going through.
Most of the people gathered around us were women, but I saw the few dozen men scattered about.
Most lingered along the far fence line, but one man stood front and centre of them all.
He was holding the hand of a beautiful dark-skinned woman by his side and staring at the man at mine.
His eyes were glassy, and his mouth was trembling.
That familiar shift in the air around me drew my eyes to Chance, who’s jaw was locked down under immense tension.
He stepped forward and walked towards the man.
The crowd, including myself, seemed to hold their breath.
Rocks skidded under his feet as he paused, those blue eyes meeting mine.
The clouds parted behind the storm, delivering a message to me on a beam of new sunshine.
Ironic, since he was the one who called me ‘Sunny’.
I need you with me .
I didn’t hesitate—I didn’t want to hesitate anymore. Not when it came to him.
“I’ve got you,” I mumbled for only him to hear. The hand on my back pressed three short times. I. Love. You .
We beelined for the man whose nose was now beginning to flush red.
He stepped forward, standing about half a foot taller than me.
Neither man said anything, until the former fumbled for his dark-washed jeans pocket.
He stretched his arm down, digging deep into his pocket.
A brief flicker of triumph on his weary face, and he pulled out a note.
Folded, crumpled and lint strings attached, he handed it immediately to Chance.
I didn’t dare look at what was on it, not with how still the teary-eyed man had gone.
That familiar wave of tension flung off Chance’s already rigid stature before he neatly refolded the note and tucked it into a pocket of his own.
“I believe you,” he told the man.
And that was the beginning of it all.