CHAPTER 25 | Abby
?CHAPTER 25
Abby
I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep on Dallas’s lap, his hand gingerly draped across my chest. I open my eyes, squinting in the light to see him scrolling through his phone. He smiles and puts his phone down.
“Good morning,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “How’d you sleep? I was worried you wouldn’t be able to sleep after last night, so when you did, I was too paranoid to wake you.”
“Good actually. Did you sleep like this all night, too?” He didn’t look like he could have been comfortable, not in our current position.
“Yeah. This couch is stupidly comfortable. Not too bad for a hand-me-down. Coffee?” he asks, when I finally sit up. He makes his way to the kitchen as Logan appears from his bedroom.
Logan looks awkwardly between us before taking a seat on a barstool. “Eventful night?”
“You could say that,” Dallas replies, no amusement dawning on his features. “The game was good. The twins won. And nothing beats night riding.”
“Cool.” Yeah, Logan has no idea what to say. Surely, he heard everything last night. “You work today?”
“Yeah, but I’ll be done by practice.” Dallas leans against the counter, also seeming to be at a loss for words.
No one says anything for a long while, an awkward silence falling between us. Only the muted sounds of neighbors and the humming of the fridge keep us company. But as I’m about to get ready for the day, still unsure of what I’ll do with myself after everything last night, Logan cuts through the silence.
“Okay, I have to ask, is everything okay? I promise I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop last night, but it’s a little hard not to when you’re the only sound in the apartment at two in the morning.”
I hadn’t noticed how long we spent riding around or sitting by the pond. I felt like it was cut short. It was, but who knows? Maybe we would have spent all night out. But of course, Sam would be the one to send us racing home.
I move to the kitchen, take my coffee from Dallas, and inhale deeply, trying to gather my thoughts. But I truly don’t know what to say. “I’m ... not in the mood to have this conversation for a second time. Can we talk later, Logan?” I try to sound casual though I’m sure it comes out a little uneasy.
He looks between me and Dallas a moment before replying. “I guess.” Those two words come out a bit miffed.
I can’t talk about this again right now. As frustrated as he might be, he doesn’t have a choice. I still don’t know if I’m okay. I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know where Dallas and I stand right now. Surely, we’re still good, but after the hysterics of last night, I’m not certain. I said some rather harsh things. I blew up over a single question. But in the moment, and even now, it doesn’t feel like a meager question. I know he was trying to be supportive and get to the bottom of our options, but it felt like fighting words in my head, almost accusatory like Sam.
My gut tightens at the thought. They are nothing alike. Never will be. I push the thought down. Deep. Until I’m sure it’s nearly gone. It has to be. I cannot keep thinking like that if I’m going to make it out of this chaos alive.
***
T he bleachers are hot today, making me thankful I brought a blanket to sit on. These jean shorts are not doing me any favors protecting me from the hot metal. Muffled voices from the field reach the bleachers between the sounds of baseballs clashing with leather gloves.
“Okay, everyone. Two laps before we start!” the coach yells from home plate.
The outskirts of the field turn into a makeshift running track as everyone starts their laps. Logan near the front, Dallas pulling up the end. I’m not sure if those two have discussed anything from last night yet. They’ve had plenty of time to do so since getting to the field. But Logan has avoided eye contact with me all morning. He hasn’t said a word to me since we ended the initial conversation.
So, while I sit here, waiting for Meredith to join me at the top of the bleachers, I contemplate what to do next. And how to tell Meredith about last night. When she finally joins me an hour into their scrimmage, she strolls up the steps, her clunky heels notifying everyone she’s arrived.
“Who’s winning?” she asks, taking a seat next to me. She gives me a small side hug before plopping her bag on the bench in front of her.
“Logan’s team. They’re up by one. Top of the fifth.”
She nods, placing her hands on her knees. “So, what’s up? Dallas sounded urgent when he called.”
“Uh, yeah.” How do I start this? I stare at my shoes, playing with a loose string from my shorts. Meredith has this habit of going into full parent mode even when little things happen. Lately, it’s been tenfold. Last time, no detail was too small. She threatened to break his hands the next time she saw him. I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that. So now, sitting here, I’m a little apprehensive of how she’ll react.
I almost don’t notice her get up abruptly at the same time that the inning ends. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back. I have to pee.” How she runs in heels like that, I’ll never understand.
I watch Dallas run back into the dugout, disappearing behind a large tarp blocking the sun. A few minutes pass as players take their new positions on the field, and others set up to bat. A whistle blows as tires screech behind me, disappearing down the road past the trees before I can see the vehicle responsible. A few strikes later, I’m wholly pulled from my trance of fastballs and whirling bats.
A female and male police officer turn the corner around the fence of the bleachers, glancing in my direction. The female officer points at me and says something, but I can’t hear her over my already pounding heart in my ears. Meredith and Dallas follow a short distance behind.
My pulse threatens to tear a hole through my chest. My gut says run, but my head says stay, hear them out. But why are they here? Who called them? I just had this conversation with Dallas. He wouldn’t do this to me. Would he? As the female officer makes her way up the bleacher steps, I stare past her to the defeated faces of my supposed friends, my gaze shifting between them. Meredith watches me closely. Dallas hangs his head, pausing at the bottom with the male officer. All of the satisfying sounds of bats and gloves have stopped. The game I’ve been watching now halted, every player staring in my direction.
An audience. Great. I glare at them both, trying to convey just how pissed off I am. Why the fuck would they call the cops? And now of all times. In public. If they were set on calling, why not have a little compassion and call when I’m home so I can have this ridiculous conversation in private? But as her steps grow closer, I realize I have to face the music. I’m shocked the cops even bothered showing up, to be honest. I’m surprised they didn’t take one look at who the call was for and decide it wasn’t worth it. But I guess when someone other than me calls, they take it seriously, at least for now. Once I start talking, they’ll go right back to the police station, file this report away, and let me crawl back into the hole I’ve dug so deep to hide in.
“Abigail Cooper?” the female officer asks, stopping a few steps below me, a hand on her belt, the other on the railing.
I don’t answer. I keep my eyes focused on the two I know are behind this foolish move. The female officer looks behind her at Meredith, who has stopped about halfway up the stairs and at Dallas, who still waits by the bleacher entrance, the male officer standing next to him. They’re talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Dallas won’t look at me. He motions to his coach to keep playing.
“Abby, please,” Meredith speaks this time, taking a tentative step forward. Her eyes are pleading, begging me to cooperate.
How am I supposed to cooperate when my best friends have taken it upon themselves to deal with what should be my problem? They should never have gotten involved. But at the same time, how did I plan on dealing with this myself? The only solution I can come up with at this point is to go running back to Sam. Maybe I should have.
“Ms. Cooper, please come with me.” She holds a hand out toward me. “I will explain once we are somewhere a little more private.” She looks back to the field where the game has started again even though many players are still staring not so discreetly.
Rather than saying anything, I agree by simply standing and making my way down the steps, blowing past the officer’s outstretched hand. She smiles slightly, following closely behind until we get to the bottom of the steps.
Dallas stands next to the male officer, watching me closely, and our eyes finally meet. With a shake of my head, he drops his.
I move past him while the officers follow with Meredith and Dallas behind them. We make our way toward the closed concessions booth, hiding us from the view of the other players. I turn around, arms tightly crossed, not at all ready to have this conversation.
“Well?” I ask, more directed at Dallas and Meredith than the cops.
“Ms. Cooper, my name is Officer Emma Thurston. I’m an officer with the Oxly Police Department.” She gestures to the man standing next to her, his legs braced wide, one hand on his taser, the other gripping his vest. “This is Officer Terry Proud.” I look between them, lips still sealed, trying to focus on my breathing, trying to keep from panicking though I’m almost angrier than anything. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard. I know your friends know what’s going on, but they’ve told me that you may not be aware of what has happened today.”
I look at them, confusion tight on my face. With my brows drawn together, I look back to the officers, waiting for them to explain.
“Based on past reports you have made, and today's call, I understand you are recently out of a relationship. Is that correct?” I nod slightly, shifting on my feet. “I also understand, from what Mr. Kraus has told me, that you’ve been experiencing some stalking from this ex-boyfriend, Samuel Johnson, is it? And that you experienced some physical abuse from him, as well.” She pauses, waiting for me to acknowledge that she’s getting the story correct. I nod again, watching Dallas carefully. He holds my gaze, his eyes apologetic. “Well, today, we received a call from Ms. Vazquez that Mr. Johnson was here in the parking lot. Were you aware of this?”
What? Sam was here? When? How didn’t I notice? Panic is setting in, seeping through the cracks of my anger, my heart almost stopping at the words. I wrap my arms around myself, tightening my grip until I’m sure nail imprints are embedded in my back. I try to take a deep breath, but it gets caught, leaving me taking short sharp breaths. I swallow hard, fighting past the knot in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Warm hands brace my arms, lightly stroking up and down. “Abby,” a male's voice cuts in. It’s muffled from the pounding pulse in my ears. “Abby, you’re okay. You’ve got people here with you. You’re not alone.”
I chance a look, breaking through the heavy tears to see Dallas squatting before me. He smiles, but I take a step back. His features falter with my movement, hands falling to his sides.
“Ms. Cooper, I assure you, we’ve done a thorough sweep of the area. He is gone. He’s no longer here. He left in a hurry when he saw Mr. Kraus approaching.” Officer Thurston doesn’t move from her spot, but she cocks her head, trying to level it with mine.
That’s when it clicks. The screeching tires I heard, that was him. He was sitting in the parking lot. Probably watching me. How did he know where I was? I’ve asked myself that question too many times at this point. I’ve feared getting close to him again. I am so tired of running. Tired of crying. Tired of fighting for basic freedom.
And just as quickly as the scared little girl inside me comes, she disappears, making room for the rage boiling inside. I swipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks with my forearm, focusing on the officers.
“Okay.” I straighten myself, standing up tall, or as tall as I can muster my small frame. Meredith and Dallas look a little confused. Dallas stands up again, moving back to Meredith. She glances at him and mouths something. He shrugs.
“So, now what?” I ask, waiting for the officers to tell me what they think the next steps should be.
“Well, I think you all should come to the station to give your statements so we can make a full report and decide on the next steps.” Officer Thurston folds her hands in front of her.
“No.”
Officer Proud jumps in for the first time. “Ms. Cooper,” he starts.
“Abby. My name is Abby.”
He sighs. “Abby. I think it’s in your best interest to join us back at the station. If everything we’ve gathered is true, we could create a case against him.”
“No,” I say again, crossing my arms.
The officers look at each other and then at Meredith and Dallas behind them. Dallas shakes his head, but Meredith takes a step forward.
“Abby, I think you should listen to them.”
“So, you called them then?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
She doesn’t respond, giving me all the explanation I need.
“Go fuck yourself,” I blurt out, just before either officer speaks again.
Her face screws up tight, clearly defeated. Dallas looks a little crushed at the comment, too.
“Did you help her?” I ask, facing him fully.
He shakes his head, his voice little more than a whisper. “No. She was already on the phone with them when she came and got me.”
I take a deep breath, forcing the air into every crevice I can muster. Looking around rapidly at anything other than the four people standing before me, I force the knot in my throat down, letting the rage take its place. I nod flippantly before making my way back to the bleachers.
“Abby,” Meredith says trailing behind me. “Abby, please!” she yells.
I halt just before turning the corner for the bleachers, still facing away from her. “What,” I snap.
“I warned you. If I suspected anything more, I would call the cops. I did. Can you blame me? I saw him sitting in the parking lot watching you. Staring. I’m not going to just stand by while he torments you. Who knows what he would have done if he stayed any longer.”
I turn around, seeing her begging eyes. “Just stop. Okay? You crossed a line. I’ve told you not to call the cops. And you did it anyway. I’m an adult capable of handling my own decisions. Had I wanted to call the cops, I would have. But you didn’t give me that choice. Sam has had a few moments of weakness and—”
“Weakness?” she cuts in.
I hold a hand up, cutting her off, my blood now boiling. “Yes. Weakness. Don’t we all have weaknesses? This is an issue between me and Sam. Not you. So back off.”
“No. I won’t. I refuse to let this continue the way it has. Because clearly, you won’t do anything about it.” She folds her arms, popping her hip out.
I shrug. I’m done with this conversation. If she can’t respect my wishes, then this can’t continue. “Fine. Then we’re done.” I point a finger between us. “Don’t call or text me anymore. I’ll stop visiting the cafeteria.”
Her jaw drops. “Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I refuse to be friends with someone who can’t honor my decisions, especially on something this big. So, goodbye, Meredith,” I say, turning around to hide the tears welling up in my eyes. I don’t want this to be the reason our friendship ends, but I know her. She’s not going to let this go. I don’t want every conversation with her from here on out to be about my relationship with Sam. This is something I need to sort out with him myself.
Meredith calls after me as I make my way back up the bleacher steps, but I keep walking. Away from my problems.