Solid Ground: a Wounded Love novel Page 3

  “That’s Spider-Man, dumbass,” Alex quips.

  Troy shrugs him off. “Tomato, tomahto. The point is, you’re the fucking man, dude. I’ve heard talk. You arrested my buddy Vince a few weeks ago. He said you chased him down on foot and caught him even though he had quite the lead on you.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “Your buddy Vince? The guy who was hopped up on speed and running around his block with no pants on?”

  He nods. “That’s him. And you’re just proving my point. The guy was on so much crank, it should’ve taken an army to get him to the ground. But my man Joey here takes him out without even breaking a sweat. You’re a fucking superhero, I tell ya.”

  I shake my head at him, grabbing my beer to take a swig. “You need new friends,” is the only response I can come up with.

  “Vince is cool. Most of the time. And he’s always got some good shit he’s willing to share.”

  I choke on my beer. “Dude…cop, remember?” I sputter as I point to myself. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”

  “Why? It’s not like you can arrest me. We’re friends. There’s got to be a law against that or something,” he says, taking a big gulp of his own drink. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up spending the night behind bars because of a little bit of fun. You cops are such killjoys.”

  Deciding this conversation has gone on long enough, I close my eyes and down the rest of my beer in just a few swallows.

  I slam the bottle back on the table and turn my attention to Alex. “So, I sort of ran into Nichole the other day.”

  Alex’s head whips up as he gapes at me.

  He and I were tight in high school. Other than Nichole, he was the only one I trusted completely. I had a lot of friends throughout my four years at West High. It sort of comes with the territory of being a football player. But I only had two people I really felt close to. Two people who I knew would have my back through anything. That is, until one of those people destroyed my trust and shattered my heart. Then, I only had Alex to help put me back together. He knows everything. And he knows just how much that seemingly innocent statement affects me. The look of concern he’s currently shooting me tells me he knows what that must’ve been like for me.

  “Nichole Hadley?” Troy asks, completely oblivious to the silent conversation going on between Alex and me. “Or I guess I should say Nichole Reynolds. Man, she was hot as fuck in high school, wasn’t she? Why didn’t I ever try to get with that?”

  Alex reaches over and smacks Troy upside the head. “Because she was with Joey. And she wouldn’t have looked twice at you anyway. You were a dumb fuck.”

  Troy rubs the back of his head. “Oh, yeah. You guys were a thing in high school, huh? What ever happened with that? Too bad for you, she married that fuckwad James. Too bad for all of us, really. She’s still a hot piece of ass. Total MILF. If I wasn’t sure her husband would bury me, I might still go after her. Show her what it’s like to be with a real man.”

  Alex smacks him again. “Shut the fuck up. Nichole wouldn’t have gone out with you then, and she sure as hell wouldn’t now.” He turns and looks at me, irritation at Troy slipping away as his concern returns. “Where’d you see her?”

  I don’t really want to explain in front of Troy, Dex, and Russ that I found her battered and bruised on her kitchen floor, so I simply say, “Hospital.”

  The knowing look in Alex’s eyes tells me he knows exactly what I mean by that. I need to get him alone, so I can find out just what is going on in Nichole’s life.

  After the way things ended, I know I shouldn’t care. I should just drop it and move on. She made her bed. Now, she has to lie in it and all that. But I can’t. Regardless of how we left things, I can’t knowingly be okay with her being hurt, especially if my hunches are correct, and the man who’s supposed to love, honor, and protect her is the one who’s doing the hurting.

  Troy interrupts my silent brooding, “Have you met James, the fuckwad, yet?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Should I have?”

  Troy’s brow furrows, and his nostrils flare, his lips pulling down at the corners in a deep frown. “Probably. The whole damn town worships the ground he walks on. Fucking asshole, if you ask me.”

  It snaps into place then.

  “I guess I should say Nichole Reynolds.”

  James.

  James Reynolds.

  “Wait, Nichole is married to James Reynolds? Like, as in the guy from the billboards and park benches?”

  Alex nods. “That’s the one.”

  I’ve seen Reynolds’s advertisements everywhere. He’s an attorney. You know, like the ones you see on TV commercials and in ads in the paper.

  Injured in a car accident? Call James Reynolds.

  DUI? Reynolds is your guy.

  Custody battle? Let James help.

  Yet he somehow manages to come across as wholesome and good-natured, not slimy, like those guys usually do. He does a lot of charity work around town, too. Not just free legal counsel. But he goes to retirement homes, spends time with sick kids, builds homes for homeless vets—that kind of charity. People here love him. I have to admit, even though I’ve never met the guy, he’s always had my respect just based on the good he does in the community.

  Seeing Nichole crumpled on the floor though…

  Maybe it wasn’t what it appeared to be.

  Turning my attention back to Troy, I ask, “Why do you say he’s a fuckwad?”

  He laughs without the slightest trace of humor. “Because he is. A giant fuckwad. The biggest. If you look up fuckwad in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of his fucking face right next to it.”

  “Okay…but why? Everyone in town seems to like him. So, tell me why he’s a fuckwad.”

  “He was born that way.” Troy seethes.

  Well, this is going nowhere fast.

  I look at Alex, hoping he’ll be able to explain why Troy seems to hate this man so much.

  “Reynolds and Troy got into it a while back. Troy hit his car. Reynolds wasn’t happy about it. Can’t say I blame him, seeing as how Troy’s blood alcohol content was three times the legal limit.”

  “It was fucking not!” Troy booms. “I didn’t have shit to drink that night. Fucking Reynolds blew through a stop sign and hit me. He was stumbling around and slurring his words big time that night. He was the one who was drunk. But, of course, that wasn’t what came out to the public. The town hero versus the town fuckup? Of course they believed him. And then he paid those fucking cops, doctors, and whoever the fuck else to switch all our shit.”

  Alex shakes his head at him. “Do you hear how crazy you sound, man? Like it was all some big conspiracy against you?”

  Troy’s face reddens as his anger grows. “Seriously, Alex? How long have you known me? How often have I lied about being fucked up? Fuck, I just admitted to a cop that I do crank with Vince. I might be a fuckup, but I’m an honest fuckup. If I did something, you’d better believe I’d own up to it. And I’m telling the truth. I didn’t have anything to drink that night. I was sober as a judge. He fucking hit me.”

  And, strangely enough, I believe him. Because, just as he said, he’s always been honest about the times he’s been wasted. One time in high school, he somehow managed to get his car stuck in a tree.

  His explanation was, “Tequila turns me into motherfucking Superman!”

  “What do you know about his relationship with Nichole?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Alex shoots me a pointed look though. He knows how interested I really am.

  “Not much,” Troy says. “He tries to keep his personal life private. Aside from the occasional event where he parades her around on his arm like a fucking trophy, nobody really ever sees Nichole much anymore. After you left town, people sort of blamed her, and she started keeping to herself. Then, James came to town, and the two of them became inseparable. They were married less than a year later. It seemed like things had finally turned arou
nd for her. Then, shit started going around that she was accusing James of abuse. Nothing ever came of it though. Turns out, James didn’t make her sign a prenup, so talk is that she just wanted to take his money and run. Almost felt bad for the poor asshole until that shit happened with me a few years ago. Now, I’m not so sure there isn’t some truth to her accusations.”

  I feel my face flush as I grind my teeth. “So, a woman goes to the police and says her husband is abusing her, yet nobody does anything because of who he is? Did she have proof? Any physical evidence to back up what she was saying?”

  Troy shrugs. “Yeah, people said she had some bruises and cuts and stuff like that. But nothing that she couldn’t have done to herself.”

  “That’s bullshit. Why would she have done that?” I’m fuming now, anger lacing my every word as my pulse jackhammers in my ears. I’ve never taken kindly to people who abuse women. I’d react this way to hearing about any woman’s accusations being swept under the rug like this even if it wasn’t Nichole, I try to tell myself.

  But I know there’s more to it than that. Yes, I’d be upset upon hearing my fellow police officers didn’t do their jobs appropriately, and because of that, a woman was hurt who knew how many times. But that hatred I’m feeling for this man whom I’ve never even met…it runs deeper than just disappointment and frustration. It’s personal.

  Troy suspiciously eyes me as if he’s just now realizing that this is upsetting me. “I don’t know, man. I’m just telling you what happened. You know this town. People started talking. Then, someone let it slip that there wasn’t a prenup. Add the fact that people already hadn’t liked her for breaking your heart, and people stopped talking and started blaming. They accused her of trying to run off yet another good thing that happened to this town.”

  “Oh, fuck that. Nichole didn’t run me off. I enlisted before all that shit between us went down,” I bite out.

  “Dude, I know that. You know that. Hell, they know that. But they don’t give a shit. Rumors are a way of life in this town. Gives these assholes something to talk about. You should know that by now.”

  I nod because it’s true. That’s the curse of a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. Even when we were in high school, the details of our relationships and friendships were town knowledge. You can’t do anything in this town without someone knowing about it. It’s part of the reason I left. I wanted more. Needed more. I wasn’t okay with turning into Mr. and Mrs. Ward from down the street, sitting out on the front porch every night and commentating on everybody else’s life as they pass by.

  But hearing that my leaving might have caused Nichole turmoil, caused people not to believe her when she said her husband was harming her, makes me feel ill.

  Was my need for something more important than her safety and happiness? Was it worth it, getting out of this town, knowing I left her behind to suffer?

  Regardless of what happened between us, nobody deserves what I saw the other day.

  And I can’t help the guilt I feel because of it.

  If I hadn’t left, would she have ever been in this situation in the first place?

  If I’d stayed, even if we’d never gotten back together, would people have believed her when she said James was hitting her?

  This is my fault.

  The door clicks softly behind me as I enter the familiar room. My parents’ smiling faces greet me from the mantel, my mother beaming in her white dress and my father looking like the happiest man on earth. Next to them, Toby’s goofy face beams up at the camera, his tongue lolling out to the side in the sweetest puppy grin.

  When James and I moved into this house after my parents died, I insisted the pictures stay exactly where they had been throughout my childhood. James tried numerous times to remove them, but this was one thing I stood firm on. The picture of my parents and the picture of our dog, Toby, would stay exactly where they were.

  I walk over to the portrait, wishing like hell that my parents were here today. I lost both of them only a few short weeks after marrying James.

  “It was a freak accident,” the police told me.

  My dad must’ve drifted off and lost control of the car. According to witnesses, they’d rolled three times. They were both dead before anyone was able to reach them.

  But, looking into my mother’s youthful eyes in the picture, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to be able to talk to her for just a few minutes. She’d know exactly what to say to make everything better. She always did.

  “What do I do, Mama?” I whisper, reaching out to run my thumb across the glass frame.

  Silence greets me.

  Picking up the frame, I move to the sofa next to the fireplace. I pull my legs under me, propping the photo up on the armrest so that I can still look at them. I miss them like crazy. Looking at the old picture only reaffirms my memory of them. They were so in love. Not just in this picture, but every single day of their lives.

  We might not have had much, moneywise. There were times I’d sob into my pillow at night because we couldn’t afford the dance lessons my best friend had signed up for or the new bike I’d seen and wanted so desperately.

  But I’d never wanted for love.

  Growing up, my friends had complained about how their parents fought. By the time I graduated, I could count on one hand the number of friends I had whose parents were still married. And though I liked to tease Mom and Dad about their constant displays of affection, deep down, it made me smile. There’s something special about your parents not just loving each other, but actually liking each other as well. My parents were each other’s best friend. There wasn’t a single thing they weren’t able to get through together. And I wanted a love just like theirs.

  Looking at the room around me, I wonder how I got so far off track. I’m married to a man I don’t love and who doesn’t love me.

  Who abuses you, adds that niggling little voice in the back of my mind.

  It started out slow. Several months into our marriage, his demeanor began to change. His words became short, his tone clipped. One night, I became engrossed in a TV show and forgot about the dinner I had baking in the oven. When James got home and smelled the burned casserole, he was irate. He called me stupid and worthless before shoving me against the wall and storming out of the house. I’d never been so scared before in my life.

  It only got worse from there. The first few times James hit me, I was able to make excuses. I could definitely be a pain in the ass. He’d just lost his temper for a minute. But then the slaps turned into punches. Punches turned into kicks. And, soon, I was hiding for days at a time in order to keep the bruising a secret.

  I tried to leave once. The first time James put me in the hospital, I went to the police. I tried to file charges. And I was practically laughed out of the building. James might have still been relatively new in town then, but he had them all eating out of the palm of his hand. They basically told me to keep my mouth shut and my behavior in line if I knew what was good for me. That was when I knew I was in this alone.

  There was a brief shining light in all the darkness when I found out I was pregnant. James was so thrilled. He vowed he’d never raise a hand to me again. He promised he’d give me and our child everything the world had to offer. And, throughout my pregnancy, he kept his word. I saw a side of James I hadn’t seen since the early weeks following our wedding. The charming, loving man I’d fallen for. The man who’d made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. The one who’d been quick to make me smile and acted as if nothing thrilled him more than hearing me laugh. The James I loved had returned. He was seeing a therapist, he told me. For the first time in years, I felt like maybe my marriage had a fighting chance. Maybe he was sick. Now that he was getting the help he needed, maybe he could be the husband I remembered. Maybe he’d be the father our little baby deserved.

  My hopes were short-lived, however. The night we returned from the hospital where I delivered Cade, I wasn’t able to get
him to stop crying. I could see the fury building in James’s eyes as he sat in the corner and watched me try to soothe our newborn son. When he clambered to his feet and stalked toward me, I cowered against the wall, using my entire body to shield our baby.

  He yanked my hair, snapping my head back on my neck, until my eyes met his.

  “Please, please don’t hurt him. He’s just a baby. I’ll get him to stop. I promise,” I pleaded.

  James narrowed his eyes at me. Dropping my hair, he reached for Cade. I shrieked, clinging to our son with everything I had. James shoved me, causing me to fall backward on my ass, but it wasn’t hard enough that I dropped Cade. He pried the baby from my arms as I fought him, taking every punch he gave me with as much strength as I could.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  He straightened, staring at the innocent life in his arms as if he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. His touch was gentle, however. Cade’s red face screamed as James held him, his little body wiggling furiously. James’s gaze never wavered as he watched our crying son. His grip tightened in order not to drop him, but he never handled him roughly. I watched as he walked across the room with Cade, not daring to utter a single word. I didn’t want to anger him and cause him to hurt our son.

  As he approached the crib, I heard the soft sounds of cooing. Not from Cade. He was still screaming with all his might. It was coming from James. He was talking to our son. Trying to soothe him. Rocking him softly back and forth. The coos turned to hums as James lifted Cade to his shoulder and patted his back, his lips pressed against Cade’s temple as he continued the lullaby.

  And, amazingly, after a few minutes, Cade quieted. I watched as his eyes drifted closed over his father’s shoulder. Once James was sure he was asleep, he laid Cade on his back in the crib. He stood silently over Cade, watching him breathe deeply and twitch every so often from his dreams.

  James seemed completely entranced by our son. I got to my knees as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb either Cade or James. When he didn’t turn to look at me, I took it as a good sign and pushed myself onto my feet. When he still didn’t turn his attention to me, I tiptoed out of the room, not daring to close the creaky door behind me.