Page 30 of Before I Deserved You
God, I’m such a dumbass sometimes. My old man is going to kick my ass three ways to Sunday and fuck if I don’t deserve it this time. Dropping the back of my throbbing head against the cold wall, I close my eyes and mentally replay the evening’s events. The whole thing screams setup. It’s crystal clear to me now. Shane goaded me into a fight solely to plant drugs on me. He’d most likely called the police before I even threw the first punch. They would never have gotten there so fast otherwise. Again, I wonder why. What is his obsession with me? I realize fairly quickly that the reason behind his despicable actions doesn’t matter. The question is, what’s going to happen to me now? Officer Carl read me my rights and offered me a complimentary phone call, which Igraciously declined. I mean, what’s the point? I’m in no rush to see my father. He’s either going to be pissed about having to drag his ass out of bed at such a late hour, or he’s well on his way to getting good and drunk. Neither scenario will make him fun to be around.
Just then, I hear voices down the hall, and the man himself storms into the room. He’s closely followed by Mr. Evans, Sheriff Payton, and a guy I don’t recognize. I guess someone took it upon themselves to make that complementary phone call for me.
“What in the world have you gotten yourself into, son?” Mr. Evans seems to be genuinely concerned on my behalf, whereas my own father simply hovers behind him, glaring over his shoulder at me with his usual contempt.
“Those drugs weren’t mine,” I say right off the bat, meeting Mr. Evans’ eyes and silently urging him to believe me. Funny how his opinion of me seems to be the only one that matters in this moment.
“Now, Mr. Nelson. Please don’t say anything else until we’ve had a chance to consult,” the guy in the expensive suit instructs me before introducing himself as my lawyer.
Payton leads our merry little group into a sterile room, where I’m advised to undergo a saliva swab and urine test, both of which I perform on the spot. Does it piss me off that I’m being treated like a criminal when I haven’t done anything wrong? Sure. Am I going to put up a fight I know I can’t win? Not really. Besides, I’m not worried about the results. I know the tests will come back clean. I’ve already undergone a breathalyzer test that proved that I am, in fact, one hundred percent sober. Thank God for small favors. Had I not fallen asleep on the couch earlier, I most likely would’ve been three sheets to the wind by now.
There’s a seemingly endless amount of legal blah blah and various tongue lashings from my old man, who doesn’t seem to understand what Carter’s dad is doing here but also doesn’t object when Mr. Evans requests to stay for the duration. While the adults talk, I keep my eyes down and my mouth shut,knowing it’s my best shot at not antagonizing my father further. At this point, I just want this over with so I can go home, take my punishment, and lick my wounds in private. I vehemently deny ownership over the bag of cocaine and swear up and down that it belongs to Shane, who must’ve slipped it into my pocket during our altercation. When Mr. Evans informs Payton that my girlfriend, as well as several eyewitnesses, have come forward, confirming Shane was the instigator, the sheriff reluctantly agrees to brush the drug charges under the rug.
After what feels like hours, I’m finally being released under the following conditions. If my drug test comes back negative—which I know it will—I’m to pay a fine of seven hundred and fifty dollars for disturbing the peace and resisting arrest, which is fair enough. I had the chance to walk away, and I chose to bash Cooper’s face in instead. If all I have to do to make up for my lack of control is cough up a few Benjamins, I’ll gladly put in the overtime. Once outside, I thank Mr. Evans for coming and apologize to Mr. Harper for robbing him of a good night’s sleep. Then, I have the pleasure of sitting through the world’s most tense car ride before we eventually arrive home, where my dad adds a couple of bruises to my already battered body.
Twenty
Tessa
“Hey, come on in,” Jake greets me, swinging the door wide before leading the way to the kitchen, where a delicious aroma hangs in the air. He gestures for me to take a seat at the table, and I watch in fascination as he continues with his dinner preparations.
I know Jake is often responsible for the meals in the Nelson household, but up until now, I always assumed his culinary skills were limited to cold-cut sandwiches or frozen pizza. Watching him cook an actual dish—and expertly so—is a rather jarring sight. The angry bruise sitting high on his cheekbone where Shane had gotten a lucky hit in is already beginning to fade, and I’m glad he’s gotten off the hook fairly easily. Initially, I was upset with him for not taking the high road that night, but given the fact that Jake threw the first punch to defend my honor, I simply hadn’t been able to stay mad for long.
“I’m sorry our plans fell through, baby. I know you’ve been wanting to check out that new Italian place, but my dad is MIA again.” It’s obvious he’s upset with his father for—once again—preventing him from following through on his own plans. I don’t want him to feel worse than he already does, so I wave off his apology and do my best to hide my owndisappointment.
“Don’t worry about it. You can’t let the little ones fend for themselves. I understand. Besides, you inviting me over and preparing me a home-cooked meal is actually much more romantic. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Jake throws me a cursory glance over his shoulder while he gives the tomato sauce a vigorous stir. “Who do you think does the cooking around here? My father?” he snorts. I don’t tell him that, in most cases, that would be the norm and not nearly as ridiculous as he makes it out to be.
I’ve been tiptoeing around the issue surrounding his home life since the beginning of our relationship. Jake’s situation has gradually progressed from difficult to unbearable, and I’m not oblivious to his struggles. The evidence is right there. After all, we’re physical often enough to make hiding the frequent marks on his body impossible, even though he certainly tries.
I’d first gotten suspicious when he refused to take his shirt off during intercourse, something that’s happened several more times since. He always plays it off, making up some feeble excuse about how he’s too impatient because I drive him crazy, and I don’t have the heart to call him out on his lies. When the person you love shuts down and distances themselves whenever you push for answers, well, guess what? You stop asking questions.
His pride is one of the few things he still desperately clings to, and I don’t have it in me to take that from him. Instead, I’ve decided to focus all my energy on being the best damn girlfriend there is, hoping I’ll gain his trust enough for him to confide in me when the weight on his shoulders eventually becomes too much for him to bear. So far, that day hasn’t come. Jude and Anna save me from an awkward reply, skidding into the kitchen in a flurry of activity as they yell and shove at each other.
“Jake, she took my markers again, even though I told her a million times not to touch my stuff.”
“You left them out on the living room table, and you’re not using them, anyway.”
“That’s no excuse to take my shit—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Jake cuts in, shooting Jude a warning look. “Watch your mouth and mind your manners. The least you can do is acknowledge our guest.”
“Hi, Tessa,” they both mumble, barely even sparing me a glance. I stifle a smile. Watching Jake play house never fails to amuse me. Seeing him in big brother mode is just so different from the way he acts around his friends. He seems so put together when he’s dealing with his siblings. More mature and much more serious.
“Anna, give your brother his markers back and stop touching what doesn’t belong to you. Jude, don’t leave your things all over the house if you don’t want others to use them. Now, go wash up. Dinner is ready in ten.”
“What’re we having?” Jude asks, his little spat with his sister forgotten at the mention of food.
“Spaghetti and garlic bread.”
“Again?” Anna whines, and I can’t help but cackle. The corner of Jake’s mouth tugs up, the only outward sign that he’s as affected by Anna’s cuteness as I am.
“Listen up, Missy. You’re lucky you’re getting a warm meal at all because I had plans tonight. Plans I had to cancel because I couldn’t find anyone to look after you on short notice. So how about you show a little gratitude and stop complaining?”
“Where is Dad, anyway?” Jude asks, extending a finger toward the bubbling sauce on the stovetop.
“Hot,” Jake barks, slapping the back of his hand to keep him from burning himself.
