Emma Chase (4 page)

My father heard my screams in the hallway.  He didn’t even try to help me. 

He flung the door wide and stumbled up the steps.  The boy ran off without a second look.

Joe was drunk and slurring his words.  He shouted at me and called me a slut and the neighborhood dick tease.

So I saved my money, busted my ass over the summers to put extra money away, and built a nice little nest egg, which I kept hidden from Joe. 

I should’ve cut my ties with that shit bag as soon as I graduated and moved out.

This man never did anything right by me.  He was a cancer.  He dirtied everything he touched.  That is why I kept my distance.  I didn’t want him to turn everything I’d worked so hard for to shit like he had with everything else in my life. 

That is why I gave him money whenever I could when he needed it, which was often.  He would take the money with promises of distance, which was always temporary.  He came around at least once a month.  It was so bad that I set up an account called “Shit Bag Payoff
Money.”  Yes, I set up an account specifically for Joe “Shit Bag” Chase.  Back then, I felt sorry for him.  When a man who is reduced to rubble walks aimlessly though life right before your eyes, it’s hard not to feel sorry for him, especially when that man is your father.

I moved out
when I graduated high school.  I couldn’t let him drown me in his own despair.

I got two job
s—
one as a waitress at the Hare and the Hound and one as a receptionist, which gave me enough income to get an apartment in the outskirts of Tryon.  Not a very good place for a single female to live on her own, but it was temporary.  I moved up and slid right into management at The Hare and the Hound.  I became the general manager, moved across town to the nicer part of Tryon, which was much safer, and worked there for the next six years.  Until now.  I also bartended three times a week, which had been approved by the owner, so that I could make tips.  I pulled at least $800 in cash a week—I’m a damn good bartender—and all of that money went to the Shit Bag account.  Money that I could have used to better
my
life. 

I was so damn stupid.

He shit on everything.  Like I said—a goddamn disease.

So not only is the Shit Bag account empty, but now I am also a rape victim—all because of him. 

And now, here I am, sitting on the lap of the man I love with all of my heart while he gapes at me with pain and determination in his eyes.

So for the next two and a half months
, I do everything in my power to stay away from him.

Chapter Four

The man who raped me was caught two weeks
after the visit to my apartment thanks to my descriptive memory and a good ol’ rape kit.

Jose Delgado
was caught outside of the bar I used to work at getting his dick sucked by a Tryon hooker.  Yes, even in this little town, we have our fair share of hookers, drugs, and drama.

The man is disgusting.  He is still sitting in a cell awaiting trial.  I hope he gets butt raped in the shower.

A girl can dream.

I called work after three weeks of being off and told them that they could go ahead and look for a new manager. 

The Hare and the Hound is
a small sports bar in Landrum, which is the next town over.  I really did like my job, but I knew I wouldn’t be going back.

I wasn’t physically or emotional
ly ready to go back.  My boss Charlie was cool about it.  He wasn’t happy about my decision but supportive nonetheless.  It’s hard to find good-quality employees in the restaurant and bar industry.  Especially in a small town where your choices were those who work in the biz because it is conducive to their active party lifestyles and the lazy ones you’re always picking up slack from.

Most of the time, you just find
yourself taking up most of their slack and working harder for the same pay.

After being released, I insisted on going to a hotel.  Holly insisted that I stay with her
.

And that was that.

When we first got here after I was released,
SHE
insisted that I rest and that she would wait on me hand and foot.  She fed me takeout Chinese and pizza in bed, brought me skim vanilla lattes from The Ugly Mug, held me when I cried, and took the punishment of my being a plain old bitch when I got frustrated that I couldn’t move around as easily.  She spoiled me.

She even helped by washing my hair and painting my toes.   At first it was a bit humiliating
. I don’t like being helpless. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer so I just let her do her thing.

So for the last two and half months, I have stayed with Holly.  What started off being a temporary stay
became a more permanent roommate situation.

I spoke to the management of my old apartment, who quickly let me out of my lease, giving me back every cent of my deposit.

Holly got together with Braden, Olivia, Tristan, and Jake to pack up the apartment, taking most of my furniture to storage.  Management said they would take care of the cleanup.  I thought that was really nice. 

Either they were trying to make this a smooth move or they really just wanted me the hell out of there.  I assume a girl getting brutally raped in one of their apartments and a heavy police presence probably doesn’t do well for business.

Over the past couple of months, Braden has been trying to see me.  I have used up every excuse I can think of.  I even pulled out the, “I have to wash my hair” bit—twice.

He has kept to his word about not letting me push him away, at the same time giving me my space, which I am extremely grateful for.  I get a text or a call from him every day.  He promised to give me time to “sort shit in your head,” as he calls it, but he hasn’t given up, and I don’t see him doing so anytime soon. 

Holly has been fantastic and so supportive.  She let me move right in, and I haven’t given her a cent towards rent yet.  I did, however, try to give her money and she held up her hand, palm out, and shook her head. 

“Get on your feet first, honey.  I got the rent for now.” 

Holly Madison is a paralegal over at the courthouse.  Incidentally, that also means she gets to keep tabs on the jail where Jose Delgado is being held.  She’s made sure that I am kept informed of any new information coming in about the case or his status.  So far, no one has posted his bond, which is a huge relief for me.  She also made sure that I was registered with the Victim Witness Program, so if he does get released, I’ll get notified immediately. 

Holly ma
kes a nice living for herself.

She is also gorgeous with her long
, light brown hair, hazel eyes, perfectly symmetrical nose, straight, gleaming white teeth, and a banging body.  The girl has J-Lo curves, only with less booty, and she knows how to show them off--with class, that is.

We
became friends back in high school.  She moved to Saluda with her mother when we were freshman.   

Her father was incarcerated.  For what, I don’t know.  It’s a sore subject for her and I always figured that one day, when she
is comfortable, she’d tell me her story.  I am not going to push it.  I know all too well about deadbeat dads.  A couple of times she came close but shut it down.

It has been seventeen years since we met and I still don’t know the details.

Maybe that is why the two of us get along so well.  Her father was a deadbeat, my father was a deadbeat, but her mother was golden.  She took me in and let me stay over with them on many a night when Joe would go off on one of his gambling or drunken benders, not coming home for days.  No warning, no call—nothing.

Holly and I are kindred spirits.  We
are meant to be there for each other.  We can relate to each other on so many levels.  We formed a bond that no one can ever take away from us.  We live the same reality and we understand each other.

F
or her generosity, I go to the supermarket on numerous occasions to fill up the fridge and cabinets with food.  I also make sure that there is an endless supply of wine in the house at all times. 

I am ready to get back to work again. Not only is what little I did have saved starting to dwindle, but I can’t take being cooped up in the house any longer.  It is time to become a productive member of society once again.

Every day I am getting stronger physically and mentally.  My nose and eyes are back to normal, but I have a small scar on my cheek that I can live with.  It’s the other scars I’m left with that are harder to heal.

It makes it easier having Holly around.  I love living here with her.  Our apartment is cute and spacious.  It was remodeled about three years ago with all new stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops in the kitchen as well as in the bathrooms.  It has hardwood flooring throughout the entire apartment.  The kitchen, dining room, living room combo is spacious.  The only distinction between the living spaces is the sunken living room.  You have to walk down one step into it.  The kitchen has a U-shaped bar that separates it from the dining room.

Holly has a badass TV and surround sound speakers.  Not because she is a sports fa
n—
she is a huge movie buff.  Her DVD collection alone is impressive.  She has everything from Star Wars to the Gone With the Wind.  She likes the sensation like she is in a movie theater when watching her movies. 

Well, considering it is a sixty-inch TV, it takes over most of the living room.

There is a green sectional sofa that has two recliners and a pullout couch, a coffee table, and two end tables.  On the coffee table, there are eight remote controls.  Yes, eight.  I still haven’t figured out what remote belongs to what piece of technology.

Down the hall off the living room is where our bedrooms are located along with a guest bathroom. 

It is Friday night and we are having a movie night.  Holly insisted on a chick flick and some wine. 

It is October and
I am dressed in a white tank top, my favorite flannel pajama bottoms, and pink fuzzy slippers.  I tie my hair up in a messy ponytail and flop down on the couch.  Fall weather in the mountains is unpredictable.  Some days I can get away with a tank and others I am bundled up in sweaters and scarves.  This is a tank kind of night.

Holly
brings me a glass of wine filled to the rim.

We never skimp on wine.

“So what’s on the agenda tonight, chica?” I ask.

She lift
s up the DVD case and wiggles her eyebrows. “Magic Mike always lifts the spirits.”

I smile and take a gulp of my wine.  “Half-naked hotties dancing around on a stage
will definitely do that.”

“Al
l right, let’s start the movie.” 

When
Holly goes to put the movie into the DVD player, there is a knock at the door.

We
shrug at one another.

She
puts the DVD on the coffee table, places her finger to her lips saying, “shhhh,” and tiptoes in the wackiest, most animated way before putting her palms flat to the door, peering through the peephole.  Her body grows tense.

Holly pushes back from the door and unlocks the deadbolt, opening it.  When I peer around her, my mouth drops to the floor.    

It's Braden.

I ha
ven’t seen him since the day at my apartment. 

Sure, he’s called and texted me every day—sometimes two and three times a day—but I have been successful at keeping him at bay.  Meaning I’ve been here and he’s been anywhere but here. 
He always wanted to know how I was doing.  Did I need anything?  It was actually kind of sweet.

He
is wearing a light-washed pair of jeans, his black ass-kicker boots, and a long-sleeved blue shirt that stretched heavenly across his chest and hugged his muscular arms. Topping it off was his trademark black Under Armour hat.

My God, he always
looks so good.

“Braden
.” Holly nods and steps aside to let him in.

He flashes her one of his sweet boyish smiles. “Holly.  How are you?” he asks as he leans in, and giving her a quick hug.

“I’m good.  Just getting ready to
catch a movie.  Would you like a beer?”

Now why the hell
is she offering him a beer?  He isn’t staying, is he? 

Braden has a grin on his face when he sees the shock on mine.

What do I do?  Do I say something? 
Sit, have a drink. Oh and by the way, thanks again for saving my life.  Sorry I’ve been avoiding you like the plague, but really, you could do so much better.
Probably not.

I put my glass of wine on the coffee table in front of me and
stand up, wiping my hands down the front of my pajama bottoms, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles.

After I got settled in at Holly’s, I did a lot of reflecting over what happened.  I still don’t know what my intent was for showing up at the bar that night except that I knew Braden would be able to protect me.  I can’t help but think that it was so much more than that, but I can’t think about that right now.  My mind is a mess as it is. I don’t need to add this to it.

“Sure, thanks.”

Braden moves again, coming right toward me.  He slips his arms around my waist and pulls me close to his sexy, warm body. 

“Em,” he says against my head as he plants a tender kiss to my forehead.

I tilt my head back to look at him.

He stares down at me.  I back up at him.  Holly clears her throat. 

I do a slow blink,
turning to her.

She twist
s off the cap and hands Braden a beer.  “Well, I think I am going to go and…ummm…wash my hair.  Yep, just going to go and wash my hair.“

“What is it with you girls and washing your hair?” Braden mumbles.

Oh God!

“Emma, if you need me, just holler.”

Holly twirls on her heels and bounces out of the room. 

Traitor.

Braden still has one arm around my waist, and I swear I want to crawl into a hole and die. 

“Em,” Braden says, breaking me out of my stupor. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.  Oh my, his eyes are soft and kind and downright gorgeous.

“I’m good” I answer immediately.

He
brings his hand up to my jaw and his thumb trails along my cheek.

I
hold my breath or stop breathing altogether—not sure which one—while he watches his thumb circle the spot on my cheek that once was bruised.

“Talk to me
, baby.”

“I promise, I am doing much better than I was the last time we had t
his conversation,” I whisper, my heart kicking up a few beats.

Damn, he still ha
s that effect on me.

His eyes were
are so warm and full of something I have seen before. 

I shake my head, trying to clear it.  No, it's definitely NOT that.

Braden removes his hand from my waist and grips my hand.  “Come on. Sit.”

I
sit.

He hand
s me my wine and I drain half of it in one gulp.

We
sit on the couch while some show about a guy who was filming a documentary on internet dating where these poor people would meet and nine times out of ten they weren’t who they claimed to be is on.

It started with a guy who met the love of his life online only to find out a year later that she was indeed a he.  Poor bastard
.