Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (16 page)

Goddamnit.

“I won’t, I promise. But you have to get some help. Some therapy, a drug treatment program,
something
.”

He hesitated but then nodded, his face slightly more relaxed as the reality set in that he wouldn’t have to press charges against the prophet. “Okay.”

“And you
have
to tell Brinley.”

He shook his head vigorously once again, placing his hands on my shoulders. “No, no way. I can’t. I’ll lose her.”

“The only way you’ll lose that girl is if you keep disappearing for days, if you keep destroying yourself, Porter. Don’t underestimate that wife of yours. She’ll support you, I know it.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, pressing the palm of his hand to his forehead as he looked up at the ceiling. “How do you say that? How do you tell your wife that you’re damaged fucking goods? How do I? I don’t know how to do that.”

“We’ll figure it out, but if you don’t do it—if you don’t tell her, you’ll never beat this. You won’t. It’ll hang over you like a plague, and you’ll never be free. Never.”

He said nothing in response but nodded his head as he stared off into space.

His voice cracked. “You really don’t think she’ll leave?”

“I’m certain of it. That girl left the only home she ever knew . . . for you. She’s not going to leave when you need her most. It’s not going to happen. I know that’s what your parents did, but not Brinley.
Not
Brinley.”

“I can’t go home like this. Not again. I promised her I was done with this shit.”

“You’ll come home with me, all right? You can sleep it off, and I’ll let her know you’re safe, that you’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

He hesitated again. “So, you’re not gonna arrest me?”

“No, but I have to get you out of here before I call 911. There’s a few kids out there who could use a once-over by the paramedics. Let’s get you to your feet.”

Porter clutched my arm as I pulled him to a standing position. “Do you know where your other shoe is?”

He glanced around the room. It was covered with dirty laundry, food containers, and beer cans, but no shoes.

“No fucking clue.”

“All right, then. One shoe it is.”

He slid off his other shoe and tossed it behind him. “Fuck it.”

And so, with a quick text to his wife and a call to 911, I took Porter to my car and drove him to my apartment. By the time he was covered in blankets on my couch, he was coming down from the meth.

“You really think she’ll stay?” he asked, calm yet still anxious.

I nodded, taking a seat in the chair opposite him. “I do . . . honestly. Just sleep it off. We’ll figure out how to tell her in the morning.”

“Thanks, man.”

My phone buzzed with a text. It was Jesse.

-Where is he? Is he fried?

-He’s sleeping it off at my place. Long story, but I’ve got him.

-Thanks, Jonny.

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I knew there was another text to send. Calling up Aspen’s contact info, I simply wrote:

-Must discuss breakthrough in the case. Urgent, please call. Seriously, Aspen, this is a game changer for everyone involved.

I knew Porter couldn’t press charges or testify, since his abuse took place more than seven years prior. A judge would have his testimony thrown out within seconds. But it was still a huge development in the case . . . one that could possibly point us in the right direction for victims assaulted within the right time frame. Once he was sober, I’d press him for more information—more names of people who might cooperate with us . . . who might be willing to press charges. And I’d do whatever it took to present that piece of shit with a warrant for his arrest.

With or without Aspen, I would make Clarence Black pay for his crimes against humanity. I would do that for the people of the FLDS. I would do it for Porter Hammond.

Chapter 14

With key in hand, Porter hesitated on the front stoop of his home. His fingers quivered as he pressed them into the door, followed by his forehead. He stood there, pressed against the cool door, knowing she was on the other side—still worried sick, probably pacing their tiny cottage, wondering when he’d arrive.

He hadn’t seen her in three days—since his phone call with Jonathan. He’d pulled his truck into the driveway, only to abruptly throw it in reverse and head to Charlie’s apartment—his old place. Someone would be getting high there—they always did. He could get a little something to take the edge off before going home to Brin. He could capture the guilt inside his chest and trample it with a little bit of crank, just enough to forget about that phone call, to forget about the case against the prophet, to deny that his involvement would help anyone.

But it never really accomplished any of those things. Not ever. However, that didn’t stop him from craving that escape, it didn’t stop the pleasure centers of his brain from their confusion. It didn’t stop the addiction that consumed him no matter how much he tried to deny having a problem.

He was through denying it. He knew it was time, but he needed one more minute of silence. Before admitting everything to Brin, before studying her face for disgust and disappointment. Before telling her he was finally ready to tackle his addiction with the help of professionals. He knew the moment he unlocked that door, his life would change.

He hoped Brinley would be with him for that change. He tried so hard to trust their vows, to trust the woman he loved with every fiber of himself. He tried, but fear is a tricky thing and it can wreak havoc on anyone’s ability to confide, to be vulnerable. And Porter’s fear had been running the show for a
very
long time.

Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, he inhaled deeply, blowing the air out of his mouth as he inserted the key and turned the lock. When the door opened, Brinley hopped from the couch and tackled him with a hug, gripping his shirt so hard he could feel the fabric pinch. He wrapped his arms around her and the tears started flowing the second he opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Brin. So sorry.”

“Shh,” she said as she gripped him harder. “I’m so glad you’re home. Let’s not say anything, okay?”

If only it were that simple.

It was tempting to agree with her—to avoid conversation and take Brinley in his arms. Of course it was tempting to take the out, but he knew that would get them nowhere. Jonathan’s words had finally sunk in. If he didn’t face what happened to him all those years ago, and if he didn’t trust Brinley enough to share it with her, then he’d never stop battling his addiction, he’d never stop disappearing for days on end. And eventually he knew where that would lead. He’d lose her for good. That thought alone was all it took. He had to do it. He had to be honest with her. He’d tell her and hope her love for him would outweigh her repulsion. He’d hope she would still see him as a man.

He had nightmares about her running the other way—of her not being able to handle it. Of complete rejection from the only woman he could ever love.

He knew it was time to face those nightmares, to face those fears—for her, for himself, and for peace inside himself.

“Brin.” He pulled away, studying her face. Her bloodshot eyes matched his own, as did the dark circles under those eyes. “You haven’t slept, have you?”

She shrugged. “A little here and there.”

He placed both hands on her cheeks and kissed her deeply, savoring the feel of her lips before their world came crashing down, savoring the feel of her.

Everything’s about to change. Buckle up.

“I have to talk to you.”

She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to fight, honestly. I’m too exhausted.”

“We’re not gonna fight. I have something to tell you and . . .” He swallowed hard, taking her hand in his and guiding her to the couch. “I’ve waited way too long as it is.”

The color drained from her cheeks, and Porter’s instinct was to drop it entirely, to protect her from her anxiety, her fear. To make everything all right again. But he couldn’t. And there was no sense in trying to keep her anxiety at bay just before dropping an emotional bomb on her.

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered.

Porter swallowed hard, finding it difficult to look her in the eyes. Instead, he looked down at their hands, joined together in Brinley’s lap. He breathed in and out, studying their overlapping fingers, her freshly bitten fingernails, and her pinky finger that twitched uncontrollably against the side of his hand.

He cleared his throat before speaking. He could feel a lump in the back of his throat, growing bigger by the second. “The case Jon is working on . . . you know, with Aspen.”

“Yes, of course. The prophet wants to marry Ruthie, and there were gentiles in the temple.”

“There’s more to it, Brin. A lot more. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, but you have to know. I can’t keep avoiding this.”

“You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“The prophet has been running a, for lack of a better word,
business
, in the temple. Those gentiles are his
customers
.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Is he selling something?”

“Not some-
thing
.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” Porter hung his head, trying to figure out a way to soften the blow, knowing that was impossible. There was no way to soften the rape of children.

“He’s allowing these men to beat and rape young kids. Boys.”

Brinley gasped, pulling her hands from Porter’s and placing them both over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and filling with tears.

“He forces them down and allows the men to do as they please.”

She placed one hand on her belly, looking down at the couch. “I feel sick.”

“I know, it’s disgusting.” He swallowed again, knowing this was it. It was now or never. He took her hand from her stomach, squeezing it and bringing it to his lap. “I don’t really know how to tell you this, and, um . . . I’m fucking disgusted to even have to say the words, but . . . he’s been doing this for a long time. A really long time.”

Brinley narrowed her eyes, and he knew she couldn’t wrap her innocent brain around something so horrifying. He knew he’d be forced to say the words.

“I was inside that room, Brin. I was one of those boys.”

Brinley opened her mouth to speak, her eyes welling with tears. She stared at him, and his heart sank as he waited for her to pull away, for her to run, for her to grab the keys and walk out the door and out of his life. They sat for a minute in silence. It was the longest minute of Porter’s life as he awaited the fate of his relationship with Brinley.

“You?” she whispered. “He did that to you?”

Porter nodded, tears streaming down his face, and the lump in his throat was so large he felt he might vomit. Instead, he bit down on his lower lip while he grimaced, waiting for her reaction.

Brinley pulled her hand away, and Porter held his breath.

Here we go. She’s gone.

Instead, she placed her soft hand on his cheek, again opening her mouth to speak but saying nothing. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she stroked his scruffy skin with the tips of her fingers.

“Say something,” he said.

Her voice cracked as she spoke. She shook her head back and forth, her face pale. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Do I disgust you?” he asked. He needed to know.

She recoiled. “What? How could you say that?”

“Because I’m garbage. Because now you know why I’m such a fucking loser. Because I couldn’t protect myself, because I . . .” His voice trailed off when Brin pressed one finger to his lips.

“You could
never.
” She shook her head vigorously, placing both hands on his shoulders. “Not ever, do you hear me? What happened to you . . . it’ll never change how I feel about you. Do you understand?”

All the fear, all the anxiety that had lived inside Porter since falling in love with Brinley came spewing out in one swift motion. He collapsed into her lap, clutching her calves as he sobbed, his tears soaking her jeans. Brinley said nothing but ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him as he cried. Every few seconds, he’d feel a hot tear fall onto his scalp and he knew she was crying right along with him. He pulled her tight and eventually, a soothing calm came over his body.

“I love you, Brin.”

“I will never . . . ever stop loving you,” she said through her tears, still stroking his hair. “My heart is breaking. It literally feels like it’s been crushed in two. Not only because this happened to you, but because you’ve been carrying it around for so long.”

He sighed, feeling a new emotion—guilt. “I know I should have told you.”

“That’s not what I mean. Don’t feel guilty—you didn’t owe me anything. I just . . . my heart is breaking because I
love you . . .
because the thought of someone hurting you makes the air fall from my lungs. It kills me, Porter. Do you remember how you felt when Aspen brought me to you the night I left Lehi?”