Page 117 of Legacy of Lies
Chapter 27
It was well past midnight when Sara finally arrived back at her rental. Eric kindly checked her house before she entered. Nothing would be wrong, of course. No one would be there. She shivered. Thank goodness she’d had the kitchen window repaired over the weekend.
Eric offered to stay until morning, but she thanked him and politely sent him away.
After a long shower, she changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt. A quick look in the mirror and she sucked in her breath. Her left eye hadn’t shut completely, but the bruises and swelling were impressive. She shivered. Hank had hard fists, and if he’d used them more, she wouldn’t have survived the night.
Garrison took way more impacts than she had. How bad were his injuries?
What about Zach? Eric had said Garrison’s son would be okay.Please, Lord, let that be so.With good care and some good luck, hopefully he wouldn’t have lasting damage, physical or emotional.
The pain in her own chest had nothing to do with the bruises and torn muscles.
Chasing four ibuprofens with a glass of water, she collapsed into bed and tried to sleep. But even though her aching body had gone beyond exhaustion, her mind wouldn’t shut down.
Could it be only a few days ago she and Garrison were wrapped each other’s arms in steamy passion? She trailed her hand over a breast, recalling his touch, his mouth, his ...
She rolled on her right side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Contrast that hot and heavy night of pleasure with last night’s horrors. Holy mother of God.
What in the world had happened when Garrison went into that weird trance with Hank? She’d never seen anything like it before. Almost like the two men’s minds were linked together for a long time. Whatever had happened, Garrison’s haunted expression spoke of horror and pain.
Oh God, he had almost died last night. She had almost died. Hank might be dead, and sorry to say it, but good riddance. Zach had almost died because Sara had failed at her job.
Her career had imploded.
She literally had nothing but the roof over her head, which soon she wouldn’t be able to afford.
Nausea churned in her stomach, and her cheekbone ached like hell. Every inch of her body hurt. Like, run over by a Mack truck hurt.
Too bad she didn’t have any tears left.
• • •
The late morning light did not raise her spirits.
Confusion clouded her thoughts. What day was it? Tuesday. Yesterday—Monday—she had been teaching. Before ... last night ... in the shack ...
Oh God, she had missed work!
With a lurch that jarred her aching body, she managed to reach her cell phone. A message blinked. The number from school.
Holy Mary, it was too soon to be fired. She couldn’t handle more heartbreak today.
But her class was her responsibility. With a sob, she hit the message button.
“Sara, this is Butch Brand. I’m, ah, so sorry about what happened with my ... with Hank. I took the liberty of calling a substitute for you today ...”
Blackness tinged her vision. Such an awful way to get fired.
“You take your time and get better. When you’ve recovered, your job will be waiting for you. And again, I’m sorry for my ... for not being a better principal in this ... with what happened. Yeah.”
What?
Incredulous, she stared at her phone and hit replay, in case she’d hallucinated the entire message. Nope. Her job was safe.
Long enough for her to finish the semester and move away from Copper River and Garrison Taggart.
Relief flooded her limbs until she couldn’t move, so she did the next best thing and sank back into the mattress.
