Page 31 of Duress
“My partner will determine if it’s no big deal. If your wife gives her the same story, then you have nothing to worry about.” Not a threat, just letting him know I’m not the cop to come to if he wants something swept under the rug.
He doesn’t try to push his luck with me. Smart man. Instead we stand in the foyer, in a silent stare-off. EventuallySerena comes back downstairs, frustration etched on her face, her lips turned downward in a frown. She’s not happy about what just happened.
She stops in front of Skip, her face a mask of barely contained rage.
“According to your wife, she had too much wine and dropped a glass, and it scared her. She apologized for worrying the neighbors.”
Skip’s lips twitch, threatening to smile. Unfortunately he’s smart enough to stop it before giving Serena a well justified reason to punch him.
“It’s no trouble, Officer Roberts.” Skip lets his eyes linger on her badge, making a show of acknowledging her name in some misguided attempt at intimidation. “I’ll be sure to let Captain Rogan know how diligent you are when responding to a call.”
We leave without acknowledging the implied threat to his words. Back in the car, I turn to Serena. “How was Veronica? You look pissed.”
“She was definitely drunk and had a cut on her hand she claimed was from the wine glass. I also noticed another, fainter bruise on her arm. I don’t think that happened today. I’m not buying the accident thing at all, but she wouldn’t give me anything.” Serena blows out a breath in a frustrated huff. She knows better than most how hard it is to get a woman to leave an abusive relationship. Especially when her husband holds some sort of power or higher position.
“We’ll keep an eye on her. Maybe we can get her to trust us or we can catch Skip slipping.”
Serena gives me a flat stare, completely aware of how unlikely either of those situations are. At least of them happening before it’s too late. Men like Skip get away with far too many transgressions against women entirely too often.
Instead of focusing on the futility of the situation, she decides to change the topic. “So you and Everly, huh? Care to start from the beginning and catch me up?”
And so I do, because I know, if anyone will relate to Everly’s situation, it will be Serena.
CHAPTER 27
EVERLY
Ican’t do this. I don’t know why I thought I could. Day after day of pretending to be the happy, doting wife while simultaneously trying to snoop around Bryce’s study, trying to find…something? Evidence? A smoking gun? A confession? I’m not even sure what I expect to find. It doesn’t help that Bryce has been surprisingly affectionate and considerate of my needs since the day after the fundraiser. I see glimmers of the man I fell in love with all those years ago. It’s almost enough for me to question everything. To feel guilty for sleeping with Dane, for invading his inner sanctum. But at night when I’m asleep, the nightmares come.
Slow dragging footsteps.Heavy knocks on the front door. Gasping, pained cries of someone begging for help. Not someone. Jake. When I open the door, there he stands. Skin gray andsallow. White, vacant eyes. Blood dripping from a large gash on the side of his head. In the dream I always stand there, frozen in horror at the specter in front of me. His plea is always the same.
“Why did you lie? Why won’t you help me?” When I cry and try to tell him how sorry I am, he just shakes his head, his disappointment covering me like a shroud. Then he turns and shuffles away, one leg dragging with each step, a large gaping wound on the back of his head, pink brain matter peeking through the red, matted hair.
The first nightI had the nightmare I bolted upright, convinced it was real. I had to rush to the bathroom to empty the contents of my stomach, the gruesome memory of his injuries my brain had conjured up more than I could handle.
I had nightmares before, when the accident had just happened and the responsibility of keeping Bryce’s secret was a cross I bore in solitude. They weren’t this dark though. I think sleeping with Dane has broken something in me. It’s shattered the dam of flimsy excuses and rationale that kept me from telling the truth about Jake’s death. Now the guilt has morphed into something raging and overwhelming, threatening to unravel my psyche if I don’t find a way to make it right. Is that even a possibility at this point?
How did I think I could manage to keep up appearances of the dutiful, loving wife while planning to betray my husband? All the while developing feelings for his brother?His brother who will rightfully hate me if he ever finds out I knew the truth. I’m in over my head, and I’m drowning.
Sighing, I put down the paintbrush I had been holding. I’ve been sitting in front of this canvas for so long my hand is cramping and my back is screaming in protest. Scooting off the stool, I cast one more look at the painting in front of me. The setting sun streams through the window, casting a red glow over the ghoulish face of nightmare Jake staring back at me. I flip the canvas over so I don’t have to stare at the visual representation of my guilt.
Instead, I torture myself by picking up my phone and opening the text thread with Dane. I’ve kept him at a distance since returning home. After realizing how easily I could see myself falling for him, I knew Ihadto keep my distance. I won’t go back on what I told him I would do. I will find something he can use to shut down Bryce’s corruption. But I can’t allow myself to fall further for Dane. Not when I know heartbreak is the only thing that lies ahead for us.
Dane
You ok?
This message was sent the day I went back home. I didn’t respond, shame over what had transpired between me and Bryce staying my hand.
Two days later, Dane texted again.
Dane
Just checking in. Serena was wondering if you’ll be at game night.
By Serena, I mean me.
I bite my lower lip, fighting a smile at his playful message.
