Damaged In-Law (11 page)

“Is he...Did he just...?” I splutter, looking around at the
stony women surrounding me.

“
Go upstairs, girls,
” my mother says to
me and Avery. “We
’
ll deal with you two later.”

“
Deal
with us?” I explode, “And how are you going to
deal with the man who just tried to rape your daughters?”

“Keep your voice down,” my mother hisses, glancing back
toward the party.

“There
’
s no need to throw that kind of
language around,” Anita clicks her tongue.

“What has gotten into all of you?” Richard Cole asks,
dragging Jack toward us as my father and Daryl Hellman bring up the rear. “All
of you, apologize to Mr. Hellman at once.”

“Like hell,” Jack says through gritted teeth, ripping his
arm away from his father, “That scumbag cornered Avery in there, just like he
’
s been doing for the past ten years. And when Callie tried to
stop him—”

“That
’
s ridiculous,” Beth Hellman says
lightly. “My husband did no such thing.”

“He
’
s had a couple of drinks, just like
the rest of us,” my father adds. “You girls are just being overly sensitive. We
’
re just of a different time. Isn
’
t that
right, Daryl?”

“
I don’
t know what to make of this
younger generation,” Daryl grumbles, wiping a splatter of blood from his split
lip.

“Mom, Dad,” I say urgently, looking back and forth between
their impassive faces, “This man has been abusing Avery since she was—”

“Stop it Callie,” Avery hisses, clutching my hand, “
I don’
t want to do this now. Not with everyone here—”

“Since she was eight years old,” I go on, too furious to
hold my tongue. “Not five minutes ago he had me pinned to a wall, trying to put
his hands—”

“I
’
ve heard just about enough of this,”
my father cuts me off, “These are not accusations you can just throw around,
Calista. There are consequences—”

“Are there really?” I challenge, stepping up to my dad,
“Because as far as I can tell, he
’
s been getting away with
this scot-free for years—”

“I think I
’
d better make my exit, here,”
Daryl says crisply, brushing past us toward the door, “Let you deals with these
girls of yours. Come on, Beth.”

“You
’
re going to let him walk away,
aren
’
t you?” I ask breathlessly, staring around at my
parents and the Coles.

“Just look at Avery,” Jack snarls to the adults around us,
gesturing to her ripped dress, her streaked makeup. “You think she
’
s making this up? You think we
’
re all
—?”

“That
’
s enough,” my mother shouts, as
the Hellmans beat a quick retreat, “
I don’
t know what kind
of sick joke you three are trying to play, but my patience has officially run
out. All of you either pull yourselves together and get back to the party or
excuse yourselves.”

“Alright,” I fume, reaching for Avery
’
s
hand, “We
’
ll leave.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” my father says, crossing his
arms. “Go cool off, and—”

“
No Dad,
” I cut in, “We
’
re
leaving for good.”

“I need a drink,” Anita Cole mutters, walking away, “Come
on, Richard. We
’
ll deal with Jack later.”

“We
’
ve been talking about this for a while,
Avery and I,” I tell my parents as the Coles depart. “Now that we
’
re
eighteen, we can finally—”

“Callie, no!” Avery says desperately, “We never agreed to
anything.”

“Avery,” my mother says, exasperated, “Could you please tell
us what your sister is rambling on about?”

“Tell them Ave,” I plead with my sister, taking her hands in
mine. “I know it
’
s scary, but you have to sometime. Tell
them what Daryl has been doing to you. Tell them that we
’
re
leaving because they refuse to protect us, or listen, or—”

“
I...I don’
t...” Avery sputters,
pulling her hands out of my grasp. “I
’
m sorry, Callie. I
can
’t. I don’
t want to go. I wouldn
’
t
know how to make it, on my own.”

“You won
’
t be on your own,”
I plead, my hopes plummeting,
“You
’
ll have
me.”

But I can tell that I
’
ve already lost
this battle. Avery shakes her head, and takes a shaky step back toward our
parents. I stare at my sister, feeling the world fall away beneath my feet. She
looks back at me from behind a mask of composed sorrow. I know, in this
instant, that she
’
ll never tell my parents the whole truth
of what has happened to her. She
’
ll never seek justice.
She
’
ll never face this ugly truth again. From my very
core, I know with absolute certainty that this silence is going to destroy her.
She
’
s not coming with me.

But that doesn
’
t mean I
’
m
going to stay.

“Right,” I breathe, looking around at my parents, my sister,
and the pained face of Jackson Cole. “Well. Enjoy the rest of your party,
then.”

“When will you be home?” my mother asks primly, laying a
hand on Avery
’
s shoulder.

“Oh, mom,” I murmur, “You wouldn
’
t hear
me if I told you.” 

I turn on my heel and head for the door. As I turn away from
my family, from the twinkling cocktail party, and even from Jackson Cole, I
know that my stay in this world of their
’
s is over. The
moment I step out that door, I
’
ll be utterly on my own.
Nothing has ever been more freeing, and more terrifying, than this.

Just as I
’
m about to take that final
step into the fresh spring night, someone catches my hand. I turn to find Jackson
staring down at me, ardent desperation gleaming in his eyes. My family has
already retreated into the great room. He
’
s the only one
holding me here, now.

“Cal,” Jack rasps, lacing his fingers through mine and
holding tight. “I know this whole thing is absolutely fucked, but come on. You
can
’
t leave like this.”

“I can
’
t. But I have to,” I tell him
firmly, meeting his desperate gaze. “Thank you. For helping me back there. I
don
’
t know what would have happened if you hadn
’
t—”

“Let me drive you somewhere. Anywhere,” he cuts me off, “We
can figure out a game plan. Figure out how to take Hellman down, find a way to
help Avery. We can do this together, Callie. Just please. Don
’
t—”

“Jack,” I say quietly, laying a hand on his firm chest, “I
’
m sorry, but there are some things that just can
’
t
be fixed. No matter how hard you try.”

“
I don’
t accept that,” he says
fiercely, holding my hand flush to his chest.

“That
’
s why you
’
re
going to do amazing things with your life,” I reply, smiling sadly, “I hope I
get to hear all about them someday.”

“Cal,” he whispers, taking my face in his hands.

“What is it, Jack?” I ask, my voice barely audible as I
’
m overcome by the nearness of him. Even though my body is still
reeling from Hellman
’
s despicable touch, the nearness of
Jack cuts right through that unease. I feel my body being drawn to his. It
’
s like gravity, this feeling. I find myself wondering if I
really have the strength to break away. To turn my back on this person who has
always understood me, even if from afar.

He levels his gaze at me, takes a breath, and simply says,
“Don
’t leave us.
”

I stare up at him in the low light. I know that he means is,
“Don
’t leave me.
” But to my honest surprise, it
’
s still not enough. I can
’
t be what he
needs right now. I need to do what
’
s right for me, what
’
s going to keep me safe and whole. And god knows, that doesn
’
t involve staying under this roof for another night.

“Bye Jack,” I whisper back, brushing the rich brown locks
away from his forehead, standing on tiptoe to reach him. My face is barely an
inch away from his, and I feel my body making a decision before my brain has
time to check it. I bring my lips swiftly to his, amazed by the soft fullness
of his kiss. In half a second, his surprise wears off, and he kisses me right
back. I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, pressing myself flush against
his muscled form. His arms circle the small of my back as our mouths move
together. His tongue sweeps against mine, and I shudder with pleasure as the
taste of him goes straight to my head.

A deep, aching want rushes through my body as I press myself
to Jack. The intensity of our kiss takes us both by surprise...mostly because
it feels so natural. So
right
. And it
’
s that rightness,
more than anything that dashes my heart into a thousand pieces. No matter how
good it feels, or how good we could have been together, I can
’
t
stay to find out. Not now.

Now, I have to go. I tear myself from his embrace, my chest
tight with impending despair. I turn away from him, from my home, from my
family. From everything I
’
ve ever known.

“Callie,” he calls after me. I can hear the hopelessness in
his voice. He knows I
’
m already gone. I turn to look at my
brown-haired best friend of old. My Jack.

“Hey. By the way,” I say softly, “You really did make a
wonderful Romeo. I wasn
’
t kidding about that ‘do amazing
things with your life
’
. If you want to do the acting
thing, don
’
t let anyone stop you.”

“I won
’
t,” he tells me, steeling
himself against my leaving. “I promise you, Cal.”

And with one last smile, I tear my eyes away from him. I
take my final step away from my life so far, and my first step into the life I
’
m about to make from nothing.

Chapter Nine

New York City

Present Day

Ohhh boy...
I think to myself, as I feel myself
rising up from a heavy, vodka-soaked slumber,
this is not gonna be pretty.

Rolling onto my back, I gingerly pry my eyelids open, just a
hair. A groan escapes my throat as the vibrant morning sunlight floods straight
into my brain, searing it. I stare, unseeing, at the pristine white ceiling
high overhead. For a good long moment, it doesn
’
t even
occur to me that I
’
ve never seen this particular ceiling
before. Where are the water stains and hairline cracks in the paint that
usually greet me upon waking? Why have the sounds of Bernadette
’
s
many canine companions been replaced by a low whirring of traffic cut through
with car horns and raised voices?

In short...Where the
hell
am I? 

A cavalcade of images from last night parades through my
barely-awake brain, crashing cymbals and all. I sit bolt upright as my hangover
is temporarily seared away by the startling series of events that comes rushing
back to me all at once. Driving to NYC, seeing Jackson sitting at that classy
bar, the drinks, the way his eyes lingered on my body, the next round of
drinks, his proposition, his promises, his body pressed against mine...

And of course, the brand new digs he
’
s
set up for me.

My eyes dart all around the space, struggling to take in all
this new information. I
’
m perched in the middle of a
sprawling queen sized bed, hugging the cloud-like comforter around my
shoulders. My green dress and black heels from last night are laid out on a
wing-backed chair across the room. With a gasp, I glance down at my body and
find that I
’
ve miraculously changed in a plain white tee
shirt—A
man
’
s
tee shirt—with my own lacy
panties underneath. And I have a pretty good idea as to which man
’
s
tee shirt this is, too.

I leap to my feet and charge out of the spacious,
cream-colored bedroom. My bare feet pad out into the main room of the suite. A
blonde hardwood floor stretches out beneath me. There
’
s a
cluster of soft leather couches and chairs across the space, a small
kitchenette, and a sliding glass door that leads out onto, what else, a balcony
overlooking New York City.

I can practically hear my jaw cracking against the hardwood
floor as I take in the view, the space, and the whole luxurious shebang. When
Jack said that he got me a room for the night, I was expecting a cot or
something—not an entire, impeccably decorated suite all to myself. And I
definitely wasn
’
t expecting to find the pot of coffee and
tray of pastries that are currently waiting for me in the kitchen. The rich
aroma of dark roast coffee draws me forward, my bleary eyes growing wide. I
’
m not entirely sure what I
’
ve stumbled into,
here, but I know I
’
ll be much better equipped to face it
with a perfect cup of coffee in hand.

As I amble up to the coffee pot and pour myself a deep mug
of the delicious dark brew, I spot a note and two key cards sitting beside the
plate of pastries. I peer at the sheet of The Rouge
’
s
stationary as I splash a dollop of cream into my coffee.

Good morning, my favorite
hot mess. Come on over. —
J

Rolling my eyes at his snarky endearment, I pick up the two
key cards, surprised by their solid weight. It
’
s like they
’
ve been carved from slate, or something. And, given the
luxuriousness of my surroundings, they very well could be. I can
’
t
even wrap my head around how much one of these suites must cost.

“Here
’
s to you, Apollo Pictures,” I
murmur, raising my coffee mug to my benefactors before taking a long sip. Just
saying the name of the production company out loud lets a swarm of butterflies
loose in my belly. I haven
’
t agreed to anything yet, of
course, but even the prospect of jumping into Jack
’
s movie
is overwhelming.
And
super exciting to boot. I snatch a croissant from
the pastry plate and head back into the bedroom to get dressed, putting off the
question just another moment longer.

I glance around my expansive bedroom, and let out a groan as
I realize that I have no change of clothes for today. I
’
m
not into the idea of putting on last night
’
s outfit
again—too “walk of shame-y” for me. Maybe there
’
s a robe
or something I can slip on over my tee and panties until I find some new duds?
I loathe to take off Jack
’
s shirt, despite my lingering
questions as to how I ended up in it. I open the closet door to take stock of
my options.

“Holy shit...” I gasp, nearly dropping my full mug of coffee
onto the floor. Before my baffled eyes sprawls a huge a walk-in closet, almost
as spacious as the bedroom itself. Rows and rows of designer clothing, shoes,
and accessories line the space. An antique vanity stocked with expensive makeup
and a matching pouf chair stand against the back wall. I
’
m
at once overcome with the almost primal urge to play dress up, and kind of
repelled by the excessiveness of it all. Since running away from my parents
’
home, the only on-label item of clothing I
’
ve
owned is a pair of Doc Martens.

I tentatively approach the nearest rack of clothes, brushing
my fingers along the array of fine fabrics. Everything is exactly my size, a
petite 2, and perfectly in line with this season
’
s
fashions. Or at least, I think that
’
s the case. I
’
m not exactly the one to ask. As I take in the fancy contents
of my new closet, one big question comes to mind.

What the hell is all of this doing here?

I rummage through one of the nearby drawers and pull out a
pair of black skinny jeans and a soft yellow cotton tank. Peering around, as if
to make sure no one
’
s watching, I slip out of Jack
’
s tee and bury my face in it, taking a deep breath in. The
shirt still smells like him—crisp, manly, with just the smallest hint of spice.
Even after all this time, that signature scent is still the same. I don
’
t know why, but that fact makes me incredibly happy.

Shucking on my new clothes, I find that they
’
re
a perfect fit. I shake out my long dirty blonde locks, grab my coffee and
pastry, and snatch up the key cards sitting on the counter. Slipping out into
the hotel hallway, I see that the door marked “Penthouse” is right next to
mine.
Keeping his backup plan close, is he?
I think to myself. I hold my
croissant between my teeth as I slip the key card into Jack
’
s
front door. Making sure not to spill my much-needed coffee, I nudge the door
open with my shoulder and slip into the penthouse once again. The door clicks
neatly shut behind me as I step into the main room, looking around for Jack.

The penthouse is even more impressive in the light of day,
though I do wish I had a dimmer switch for the sun on this particular morning.
My dull, throbbing headache is clinging on with a vengeance. I sip my coffee,
chasing away my hangover as I look over the elegantly minimal space. The only
impressively gorgeous thing missing from this picture is Jack.

“The hot mess has arrived,” I call into the penthouse,
padding across the floor.

“That you, Cal?” I hear Jack call. His voice sounds very far
away. Exactly how big is this place, anyway?

“Who were you expecting, Scarlett Johansson?” I reply,
following his voice toward a door off the main room.

“Maybe,” Jack laughs, “She
’
s a good
friend of mine, actually. Great company.”

I push through the door and feel my stomach flip over. I
’
m standing in Jackson Cole
’
s bedroom. My eyes
go wide as they fall on the gigantic king bed in the center of the sprawling
space. The dark wooden bed frame stands out against the otherwise cream-colored
room. Before I can stop myself I
’
m imagining how hot it
would be to have my hands tied to those posts, bound naked before Jack as he
does whatever he wants to me, and—

“Oh good. You found the coffee,” his voice derails my dirty
thoughts from across the room. I spin around toward him, expecting a moment of
relief from my flushed, fervid desires. But no dice.

A cloud of stream rolls through the bathroom door in Jack
’
s wake. He leans against the doorway, fresh out of the shower.
A plush hotel towel is knotted around the muscular v of his hips, and not too
snugly either. The knot looks like it could come undone just like that, and I
find myself praying that it does. My eyes are glued to the cut line of abs that
stand out in sharp relief along his torso, the firm and shapely pecs, the
dusting of dark chest hair that leads off in a tantalizing trail beneath the
white towel.

Jack crosses his thickly muscled arms across his chest,
drawing my eyes to his face at last. But this hardly offers any relief from the
dizzying awe of his gorgeousness. His dark brown hair is slicked back from his
face, and those sculpted features are on full, unobstructed display. The dark
stubble can
’
t obscure his square but razor sharp jaw, the
solid definition of his cheekbones, the perfect shapely line of his nose. But
as ever, it
’
s the eyes that do me in. Deep sapphire blue,
almost teal in their saturation...and looking straight through me.

“Damn,” I whistle, planting a hand on my hip, “You sure grew
up good, Cole.”

A deep, roaring laugh rings up from Jack
’
s
perfect chest. I grin back at him, happy that the moment of intense, raw want
has been dispelled. Or at least
relieved
that it has been. Call me
crazy, but I swear I saw a fair bit of need shining behind Jack
’
s
blue-eyed gaze as well.

“You
’
ve seen me without a shirt on
before Callie,” Jack reminds me, running a hand through his damp locks. I
stifle a shudder as this motion sets off a rippling cascade across his every
defined muscle. “I spend most of my professional life running around
half-naked.”

“Yeah, but I haven
’
t seen you
half-naked in
person
since our high school pool parties,” I tease him,
sipping on my coffee to keep from grinning like a lust-struck idiot. “You
’
re all Hollywood hunked-out now.”

“What
’
re you trying to do, make me
blush?” he grins, taking a swaggering step toward me. With every inch he
advances, my skin flushes with wanting to be touched by him.

“Maybe,” I shrug, turning away before I surreptitiously
throw myself at him. “By the way, is this taking-your-shirt-off thing
compulsive for you or something? I believe I woke up in one of your tees this
morning.”

“That you did,” he says lightly.

“And how, exactly, did I find my way into that shirt of
yours?” I ask, daring to sneak another peek as his perfect form.

“Man, you
were
wasted,” Jack laughs, “Relax. I let
you change on your own. I
’
m not in the habit of undressing
incapacitated women, thanks.”

“Just curious,” I assure him quickly, blushing like crazy.
“I
’
ll wait out here until you
’
re
decent, OK?”

I all but dive back into the main room, chest heaving.
Jackson calls out to me as he puts some clothes on.

“So how
’
s the hangover treating you?”
he asks.

“Oh, it
’
s swell. Makes me feel like a
real starlet,” I reply, sitting down on the couch as I munch my buttery
croissant.

“Practicing hard, huh?” Jack asks, “But wait a second...Does
that mean you
’
re in for this movie or what?”

“Or what,” I call back, looking out at the breathtaking
cityscape. “I
’
m not ready to sign on the dotted line just
yet.”

“No?” he replies, appearing in the main room once more. His
dark blue jeans and plain black tee would look standard on any other man, but
on him they
’
re elevated to works of art.

“Nope,” I say lightly, watching him shamelessly as he
crosses the room and fetches his own cup of coffee. “We need to discuss a few
more things before I make any decisions.”