Page 11 of Duress
“What’s your name?”
“Bryce. Bryce Carmichael.”
CHAPTER 10
EVERLY
Ikissed Dane.Ikissed Dane. Ikissedmy husband’s brother. What the fuck was I thinking?
I stand, my back pressed against the door, chest heaving, heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, while my mind tries to reconcile what I’ve done. I kissed another man, right on my front porch. I kissed mybrother-in-lawon my front porch. Kissing Dane was a bad idea for many reasons, least of which is the fact that I’m married to his brother. God, if he knew what kind of person I really am, he wouldn’t look at me with so much compassion. Or want. Or need. I can’t remember the last time Bryce looked at me like that. Like he would do anything to make my world better. Like my happiness actually matters.
Something wet splashes against my collarbone and trails down the valley of my cleavage before disappearing. It’s then I realize I’m crying. Full on, fat, unstoppable tears, snot running from my nose, ugly crying. Guilt churns in my stomach, and I force my limbs into motion, pushingaway from the front door, trudging further into the still dark house. I become dimly aware that the house is still empty. Brycestillisn’t home. He probably didn’t even know I left. I wait for the anger to come, at realizing my husband would’ve just left me waiting all night without a check-in, but the guilt over kissing Dane is too strong. It is the overriding emotion right now. I can’t even bring myself to feel relieved that Bryce isn’t here. That he didn’t catch us.
I don’t bother with turning on the lights as I make my way through the house to our bedroom. I go through the motions of washing off my makeup, brushing my teeth, and changing into pajamas, my mind alternating between guilt over kissing the one man I have absolutely no right to be kissing and how good his lips felt pressed to mine. How his large, firm body felt pinning my body against the door. His taste as our tongues danced together.
Climbing into bed, I burrow under the covers, as if the weight of the fluffy comforter can smother the twin flames of shame and arousal burning through me right now. I lay there in the dark, watching the minutes tick by on the clock on the nightstand, the faint blue light from the display the only illumination in the room. It isn’t until the clock reads 12:02 a.m. that I hear the sound of the front door opening, signaling Bryce’s return home. I feel my heart rate spike at the sound of his movement through the house, terrified that somehow he will know what I did.
When he enters the bedroom, I close my eyes and will my breathing to slow down, trying to feign sleep. I don’t want to face him. I don’t trust myself not to give away whathappened between me and Dane. I pray he will buy my ruse and try not to disturb me. Keeping my breathing steady and shallow, I listen to him move around the room, undressing. Thethunkof his belt landing on the dresser, followed by his watch. My breath stills as I hear him go into the bathroom and the water turn on in the shower. Why is he showering at midnight? Is it so I won’t know what he was up to? Or rather, who he was with? My mind whirls over those possibilities, and I focus on Bryce and his mysterious whereabouts instead of all of the reasons I should be feeling guilty over my kiss with Dane, or how amazing it felt to be kissed by someone who wants me. It’s with the memory of Dane’s lips skating down my neck with his body pinning me to the door replaying in my mind that sleep finally comes for me.
When I wakethe next morning, bleary-eyed and head pounding, Bryce has mercifully already left for work. Instead of being irritated that my husband is barely around, I find myself relieved. I’m spared from having to make small talk with him and make up a lie about what I did last night, from having to ask him where he was all night. I don’t have to hope the guilt I’m feeling isn’t written all over my face.
Turning on the kettle, I start rummaging through the fridge to find something for breakfast. The vague pounding in my head, I’m sure is related to last night. I’m just not sure if it’s due to the alcohol or from the stress andanxiety I’m feeling over my actions. Nothing in the fridge is appealing, so I just grab a yogurt container and finish making my tea before heading out to the pool deck.
Our house is located in a gated neighborhood at the top of a hill. Our backyard has unobstructed views of the mountains that Birch Falls is nestled in. Normally this view brings me peace and clarity. When I’m having a block with my art or mulling over a problem, I come out here to drink tea and let my mind wander, letting it puzzle through the matter bothering me while I lose myself to the view.
Sipping my tea, I find myself thinking of the night that changed everything forever. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, but now I’m not so sure. It was when Bryce and I were still newlyweds. Still so very much in love. At least I was. I would’ve done anything for him. With the way he treats me now, I find myself wondering if he ever did love me, or if I was just the most convenient stepping stone in the progression of his life plan.
I’m hunched over,elbow deep in pottery clay, lost in the sensation of the slippery clap sliding through my fingers. My tongue pokes out between my lips as I concentrate on shaping the lip of the tall, thin vase I’m in the process of throwing. Pottery is my latest artistic endeavor, and I’m striving to master it so I can start using it as part of my art therapy program. Not everyone can paint or draw, and there is something soothing about the process of shaping and molding clay. I want to incorporate it for my clients who don’t seem to do as well with the other art mediums.I’m almost done with the lip of the vase when my phone rings, startling me. My hand jerks and dents the vase, causing the opening to collapse in on itself. “Fuck a duck.” I turn off the wheel and let the clay collapse in a heap while I wipe off my hands.
Glancing at the screen, I see it’s Bryce calling. He was supposed to be working late tonight. Something about having to go over a case with Richard, the senior partner at the firm.
“Hey babe, what’s up?” I answer the phone on speaker so I can clean up my mess.
“I need you to come get me, Everly. Now.” Bryce’s voice comes through the speaker sounding…frantic. Like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. So unlike the unflappable criminal defense attorney that rules in the courtroom. I’ve never heard him like this.
“What happened? Where are you?” I immediately abandon my task and pick up the phone so I can give Bryce my full attention.
“Come get me. I am on route 19, just past town limits. You know the turnoff that goes to the quarry?”
The quarry? Why the hell is he out that way?
“Yeah, I know it,” I say, already in motion, gathering up my keys and slipping my shoes on.
“Hurry, Everly.” His voice is strained, like he’s fighting back tears.
“Are you hurt? Do you need to call for an ambulance?” My own heart rate spikes as worry floods my system. Was he in an accident? Why won’t he say what’s wrong?
“Just get here as quick as you can. Don’t call anyone else.” Without another word, Bryce hangs up, leaving me more questions than answers.
I break several traffic laws in my frantic need to see if Bryce is okay. My mind is reeling with scary possibilities. Did he get in an accident? Is someone hurt? Surely not, because why wouldn’t he call 911 if that’s the case? Maybe he went for a drive and hit a deer. Or someone’s dog. I almost have myself convinced that I’m overreacting and he probably just has a flat tire by the time I get to the stretch of road that Bryce described. I slow down, looking for the turnoff to the quarry. I flick on the high beams, slowing the car to a crawl as I scour the road looking for my husband. Just past the unmarked turnoff for the quarry, I see Bryce stumble out from behind a tree looking disheveled, like he’s been crawling on the ground. I hit the brakes, and the car throws me forward, even at my slow speed. Throwing the car into park, I am out in a second, without thought or care about leaving it in the road. Bryce looks hurt. He needs help.
“Bryce, baby, are you okay?” When I get to him, I see blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash in his forehead. His shirt is covered in dirt, and there is white powder dusted into his hair, probably from an airbag being deployed.
“We need to go. Now, Everly.” He grabs my hand and stumbles past me, back toward my car.
“Wait. What’s going on? What happened? Why are you out here?” I try to pull out of his grasp, not ready to leave without answers.
Bryce whirls on me and grabs me by the shoulders. The look in his eyes is one I have never seen before. Manic. Crazed. Desperate.
