Frayed Rope (18 page)

“Jayne?”

I hear the surprise in his voice. No time for that.

“Answer the question please.”

“Jesus fuck forgive me, I thought you were in a ditch somewhere! Give me a minute.”

I hear his long exhale into the phone. He’s most likely running his hands through his hair, a telltale sign when he was frustrated.

“I don’t have a minute. Please answer the question Miller,” I say as sincerely as I can and hope that I get my point across.

“Shit! Fuck alright; you’re a missing person Jayne. However nobody is avidly searching, considering you said goodbye to Laura so we know you were alive and well when you dropped off the grid. Shit here has been on hold for a year. No charges laid yet but no second attacker has been found. Braumer never dropped the warrant that says you still need to be brought in for more questioning regarding the death of your attacker. He’s retired, but still sticks his nose in on the case from time to time.”

This isn’t news to me, that old prick will nail me to the wall for anything he can. I don’t know why he hates me so much, and I don’t really care. However, I would like to know the real reason as to why he just won’t fucking drop it.

“So all the police in the surrounding area have my photograph and know I’m wanted until questioned further? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Fucking Braumer, I figured the lazy fuck would’ve given up by now.

“That’s what I’m telling you. Not like you’d be arrested if you came in willingly, and I’m sure it will all blow over. I’ll be honest, the only one pushing for this is Braumer, the rest of us consider it finished. I’m sorry Jayne.”

He’s been kind to me, and I know he means well but I can’t fucking stand when someone says they’re sorry.

“Gotta run Miller, thanks for the update.”

Wanted? Fuck sakes. That old prick still thinks I could’ve done things differently when I escaped hell. I can’t go back to Canada, still wanted for questioning. I know it’s some twisted tactic Braumer would use to try and nail something on me. I have no fucking clue what I did to piss that man off other than my attitude when we first met, but Christ give me a break.

Chapter Sixteen

I’ve spent a little bit of time each day this week packing. Not that there’s much. I just can’t seem to get it all in one go. The fight to stay versus leaving is a constant battle for me. I know deep down I’ll leave, but I crave to see him one last time before I go.

The feel of his hands on my skin and his mouth on mine is enough to make me hold out a little while longer. I’ve never felt the passion he gave me from anyone else in my life, and it’s become a drug I crave. I wish to experience it once more and then pull a runner in the night.

I’m skilled at that.

I grab my new prepaid and order a pizza since I’ve been too lazy to cook lately. I’ve also been too busy searching for a new place to live. I’ve found a few places online in Indianapolis that look promising. I don't feel the same about them as I do this cozy place, but it will have to do.

I’m torn between a little bungalow near the river and a shabby house that needs quite a bit of fixing up more secluded near a lake. My options are slim; wanting to still be near the water but far enough away from neighbors.

I’m weighing the pros and cons of the two when I hear a knock at the door. I didn’t hear a car pull up and the dog is barking, frantically.

No tail wag.

Too early for pizza.

Not Ryder.

I grab my gun and edge along the wall toward the door, close enough they can hear me.

“Who is it?”

I holler out while taking shelter in the hallway.

“It’s Anna.”

I don't know a fucking Anna, but she doesn't sound threatening. I make my way to the door and peer out the window to see a beautiful woman with a blonde bob. She’s tall and slender dressed in well-fitted beige slacks with a frilly red blouse. Her pale skin is glowing under the porch light. I unlock the door.

“What can I do for you?” I ask as she looks me up and down. My jogging pants and faded out tank top are not up to par with this woman's wardrobe.

“I can’t get into the house or get a hold of my fiancé. I assume he must be working late. I’ve been away so I’m not sure what time he’s been coming home. Have you seen him today?” She asks in a haughty voice that grated on my nerves the minute she opened her mouth. I assumed an Anna would have a sweet, kind voice.

Not this snooty bitch.

“Who did you say you were?”

I’ve never met any of the other neighbors, and I’m still disappointed she’s on my porch and not the pizza I’m waiting for.

“Anna,” She says with some bite in her tone, as if I see her every fucking day.

“I don’t know any ‘Anna’s’, and I have no idea who your fiancé is so I can’t help you.”

I begin to close the door but her words force my back to go straight and my head to whip around to face her again.

“Ryder Callaghan,” she half hisses, like she’s sick of talking to me.

No.

It can’t be.

“As I said, I’ve been away. Could you please tell me what time he’s been coming home? I’ve lost my key,” she quips, and I know in that moment the bitch doesn’t have a key.

Like I said, I’m good at reading people. I would consider all her words to be a lie until I look down and notice the small, but pretty little rock on her finger.

Why the hell does bad shit seem to find me? 

If it can happen, it will happen right? Well it certainly does in my world. That fucking bastard. The letter he wrote me? His mouth between my legs. The connection I felt with him?

I suppose it’s true. At the end of the day we all want what we can’t have. Ryder seemed like a great catch, probably because the entire time he was unavailable.

Engaged to another woman.

This feeling of being a home wrecker gives me that last push to get the fuck out of Dodge and not look back.

“I’m not certain what time he gets home, mind you, we don’t talk much and I haven’t seen him lately as I too have been away.”

Not a total lie, we really don't. And I was away.

She humph's a little before shaking her head.

“He’s probably off playing G.I Joe somewhere at the moment. I’ll leave him a note since his phone must not be working properly. However, if you see him let him know I’ll be at the Hilton.”

Her prissy attitude is more than I can handle so I simply nod and shut the door.

The man my heart had softened for.

Engaged.

To be married.

What the fuck?

* * *

It’s early morning and the last of my stuff I want to bring with me is loaded in my truck.

I haven’t called Tom to let him know I’m leaving. This place is paid for the next three months and I know Ryder will be back to look after it. He’ll let Tom know when I don't return. I have no doubt it’ll be in good hands until then. I packed up my cooler with the remnants from the fridge and took the garbage to the curb.

I lean against the truck with my phone in hand.

‘It will be goodbye,’
I tell myself.

Enough for closure.

I’ve rolled the conversation over in my head of all the ways I can tell him what a lying sack of shit he is. I saw Anna’s little red car parked in his driveway this morning.

Bitch must’ve found a key.

I dial the number I memorized from his letter and wait for it to connect. I half hope to hear voice mail before his whiskey voice rasps down the line.

“Callaghan,” he grunts into the phone sounding out of breathe.

Probably fucking some other cunt on the job, while his muse packs to hit the road and his soon to be wife waits for him at home.

“I thought about staying Ryder, until you got back to give you a proper goodbye.”

I hate that my voice cracks a little on the ‘bye’ and I hope he doesn't notice. I take a deep breath and center myself before speaking again.

“But that’s changed,” I say with the firm tone I was originally going for.

“What-what's changed Elle? Stay and talk to me. Please. Three more days. Four max and I’ll be back so we can sit down and talk about why you’re refusing to stay. Give me that much Elle, don’t make me come back to find nothing but an empty house.”

There’s a desperate tone in his voice, and at this moment it makes me fucking hate him more for seeming to be so interested in me and my life, all the while lying like the bastard he is.

I go in for the kill.

“Don’t worry handsome, someone will be here for you when you get home.”

Then venom in my voice won’t be mistaken.

“What are you talking about Elle?” 

I clear up his confusion in three simple words before hanging up.

“Anna, your fiancé.”

Click.

Chapter Seventeen

Two and a half months later

“Get your head in the game Elle! One two, PUNCH! He's not gonna wait for you to get your shit together babe, and neither am I!”

My back slams down against the mat and the air whooshes out of my lungs. I run my arm across the sweat running down my forehead.

Brock is kicking my ass today. I only managed three hours of sleep last night due to the nightmares and my body is exhausted after the past hour on the mat with my trainer.

He stands above me and reaches a hand out to help me up. He knows not to go soft on me. I need the release of someone kicking my ass and giving everything I’ve got in return to get myself out of the situation.

It’s cleansing, paying to get your ass kicked. It’s like my new form of therapy.

I don’t often win, and I’ve never taken him down. Brock is huge. From afar he seemed a bit intimidating when I first met him. He’s over six feet tall, covered in colorful ink and has shaved light blond hair. He’s built like a mastiff, but I know deep down he loves like a kitten.

In another life I might be attracted to him, but the love he has for his wife Sam along with the strictly business attitude he gives me makes it easy to stay in the teacher-student zone.

“You need sleep Elle, go home. We need your head here, and it’s not today, girl. Go home and sort that shit out okay?”

Brock pulls me up and gives me a pat on the shoulder. I give him a head shake but I don't deny his claim. I know I’m a useless sack of shit today. If someone were to come at me right now, much like with Brock I’d be put flat on my ass.

“Yes, sleep. I think after today's ass kicking it should be a good one,” I joke. My way to lighten the situation.

Brock heads to the boxing ring and I make my way toward the showers. I’ve been coming here for two months now. What started out as a self-defense class turned into one on one lessons with a personal trainer named Brock.

I’d like to say I took the lessons that were offered because I had a genuine interest in going home bruised three times a week, which would give me another excuse to soak in the tub.

The real reason is because during the self-defense class I enrolled myself in, I blacked out and lost my shit when Brock wrapped his hands around my throat.

It took me straight back to the basement and I knew nothing in that moment other than true survival. Of course he was only teaching our first demonstration before he would implement how to take down an attacker.

Instead of a friendly demonstration where he would’ve come out unharmed, Brock walked away with a broken nose, black eye and most likely a reduced ability to make children should he hope to do so in the future.

While the blood poured out of his nose and he lay in the fetal position on the floor protecting his man parts, he opened his mouth to speak what I assumed would be something along the lines of  ‘
you crazy bitch, get the fuck out.’

He said no such thing.

“That was badass Elle, but we definitely have more work to do. Be here Monday at six and we’ll work on some alternative maneuvers. No group class, just you and me.”

I walked out that day with lingering stares from PTA looking moms who probably thought I belonged in a mental institution. I still don't give a fuck what other people think of me, so I gave them the finger and showed up on a Monday two months ago to start my personal training with Brock.

He gets me.

Never has he asked personal questions, or made comments about the marks on my body which are impossible to hide in a gym setting. Long sleeve shirts and scarves are null and void when you’re sweating your ass off with boxing gloves on.

We’ve been training many times a week together and I couldn’t have asked for a better sparring partner. My muscle mass is through the roof and I’m pleased that on those nights I don't need alcohol to ensure myself a few hours of sleep.