Page 23 of Desperation

“They’re going to induce me on Monday.”

His fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Everything okay?”

I shrugged, fighting back an unexpected wave of emotion. “Yeah, the doctor wants to err on the side of caution and make sure me and the baby are safe.”

“That’s good,” he said, reassuringly, reaching for my hand. I let him take it and give me the comfort I desperately needed.

Drake and I spent the weekend finishing the last of our preparations for the baby. I prepared and froze several meals so that cooking would be a breeze. Even Drake could dump a Ziplock bag full of ingredients into a slow cooker or pop a disposable foil pan in the oven. It wasn't like we had a ton of friends and family who’d be clambering to see the baby and bring the new parents covered dishes. I was sure Drake’s father would be over once we got settled in and may even think to grab a bucket of chicken on the way, but he was one person I didn’t want to encourage to visit.

Drake could be a monster, but Sheriff Wilder was the Devil himself. He treated me like I was invisible most of the time, and when he deigned to acknowledge my presence, he looked upon me as a high lord would a peasant. It didn’t take long for me to realize just how evil he could be. When Drake began to tighten his grip on me, controlling where I went, what I did, and who I saw, he mysteriously always knew what I was up to. If I tried to visit a friend from school, he would question me relentlessly about what I’d been up to that day.

Finally, I broke down and went to the police. A uniformed officer with kind, brown eyes listened to me as I spilled my guts about the abuse and isolation, how Drake wouldn’t let me go anywhere or talk to anybody. He sat quietly with his hands folded in front of him, and at the time, I didn’t think twice about the fact that he wasn’t writing anything down.

When it was all said and done, he wrapped a scratchy blanket around my shoulders and set me in a quiet room with a cup of coffee. When the sheriff walked in, my blood ran cold.

“Thank you so much for calling me. We’ve been worried sick about her,” he told the officer before turning to me. “Let’s get you home,” he crooned. His facade was quite convincing, and I almost believed he was there to help me. I shook as I climbed into the passenger seat of his SUV. He stayed quiet for several minutes, but the air inside the vehicle was thick with tension, anger rolling off him in waves.

“My officers have been instructed to notify me of any interactions they have with you.” His voice was cold and flat when he finally broke the silence. “They’re aware of your mental illness and history of making false claims against my son.” He spoke the words as though they were fact, like I was expected to believe everything he was saying. Was this man delusional? “We’ve tried to get you help, but you just won’t cooperate. So for your own safety, they are to report to me if you come to the station or are seen outside your home.”

His eyes never left the road. I thought about unbuckling my seatbelt and jumping out the door just to get away from him, but I was terrified, afraid to move, the only motion the rise and fall of my chest as I struggled for breath. “Our goal is to keep you at home for as long as possible. We’d hate to have to put you in an institution.” He finally turned his icy gaze to me, and I shrank back against the cool calculation behind it. This was the story he’d given his officers to hide the fact that I was a prisoner in my own home. He convinced them I was crazy and that he and Drake were trying to take care of me. And they believed him. Did this man’s power and influence know no limits?

That had been the worst day of my life. I realized the extent of my helplessness in that moment. There was no escape. And I would pay for my indiscretion.

* * *

We arrived at the hospital early on Monday morning, before the sun had the chance to break over the horizon. A nurse in lavender scrubs checked me in, smiling sweetly as she asked me pages and pages full of questions. At the end, she asked me one thing I hadn’t been expecting.

“Have you experienced any physical, emotional, or sexual abuse?” Her question caught me off guard, the straightforward way she’d asked throwing me for a loop. I hesitated for a moment, trying to absorb it.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked out in stunned confusion. “What?”

She studied me, and her eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting a bit. “Are you being abused in any way at home?” Her voice was still gentle, but her gaze honed in on my face. For a split second, I considered telling her the truth, that Drake had hurt me repeatedly over the years. But the last time I confided in someone I thought I could trust, it came back to bite me in the ass. Besides, it had been a while, and Drake was doing better. I needed to hold on to that.

“Oh, um, no,” I replied automatically. “Your question just surprised me.” I smiled, hoping my answer was convincing. If she suspected I was lying, she didn’t let it show. She moved on to starting my IV, and after that it was game on.

Turned out, I was already a little dilated when the doctor checked me. She broke my water and had the nurses start an infusion that would speed up my labor. When she offered to have an anesthesiologist come in to give me an epidural, I accepted gratefully. I hadn’t made my decision on it until that moment. When we last spoke, I was still weighing my options, but the time for deciding was up, and I was scared about pushing something so big out of something so small.

Six hours later, they laid a wiggly, screaming infant on my chest, and I gazed upon him in wonder. The entire world fell away as I brushed my fingers over the little tuft of hair matted to his head. He was beautiful and perfect. Little round cheeks and a perfectly strong set of lungs. The nurses wiped him down while Drake leaned over to examine him.

“He’s perfect,” he echoed my sentiments and brushed a damp tendril of hair from my face before softly brushing his lips over my forehead. In that moment, I’d never been happier.

Chapter Nineteen

Devon

Physical therapy was kicking my ass. But in their defense, I told them to put me on the fast track so I could get started at my new job. Cole Security had been very accommodating when I pushed back my start date to go on one final mission before leaving the SEALs. Part of me wished I hadn’t. I wouldn’t have been there to witness my team members being cut down in one fell swoop or had my leg nearly mangled. But we got the bad guy. The man who’d orchestrated the attack had been hiding out in the compound for weeks. Luckily for us, he was sloppy and not nearly as well connected as some of the others the US government had hunted down in the past.

“Am I ever gonna be able to walk without a limp again?” I asked the therapist.

“Most likely. Those muscles just need a little time to heal. Until then, just think of it as your swagger,” he offered with a sly smile, and I chuckled.

“I already had that. Didn’t need any more.” He roared with laughter, and a few of the other guys turned to look at us. I sobered quickly, realizing just how lucky I was. Some of these fellas had been through far worse than I had, and their road to recovery was much longer.

“What are you going to do now that you’re out?”

“I have a job lined up with a security firm. They’re waiting for me to get back on my feet to start.”

“That’s good of them. I hope you don’t end up in any more situations like the one that landed you in my gym.”

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