My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding (13 page)

Perhaps he was in there, right at that moment.

Within seconds, Jemma fell asleep.

*  *  *

Someone jiggling her arm woke her up. She blinked several times, smiling up at Tony's handsome face. "We need to talk," she blurted, reaching for him.

He returned the smile. "I know it was all a misunderstanding. Your brother explained everything in Kate's room." He sat down next to her and pulled her into his strong embrace.

Jemma felt so warm and safe. Tony smoothed her hair down with one hand and rubbed her back with the other. "Everything's going to be fine now."

"Jemma, wake up." Mikey's voice and annoying shake brought her out of her soothing dream.

Bolting into an upright position, she wiped the drool from her mouth. From the corner of her eye, she glanced around at the people around her, to see if anyone was staring at her.

Nope, must not have been snoring
then.
"What? How long was I asleep?"

Mikey raised a quizzical brow. "I've been sitting with Kate for over an hour."

"How is she? Can I go back and see her?" Jemma stood up quickly, her sleepy body struggling to keep her upright.

Mikey sighed. "I don't think that's such a good idea. I tried to plead your case, but she isn't really in any condition to change her mind right now. All it did was raise her blood pressure and set the monitors off."

"I need to make sure she's okay, help her understand. She doesn't need all this stress on her since she's having so many troubles with her pregnancy. I can ease one of the burdens by explaining the situation to her." Jemma lurched toward the doors, but Mikey grabbed her arm.

"She lost the baby, Jemma. Trust me; she doesn't want to see anyone."

Jemma's heart tightened in her chest, a searing pain shot through her. She turned to look at her brother, a single tear sliding down her face. "It's my fault. If I'd been honest with her from the beginning, none of this would've happened."

She ran out of the hospital, all the way to her car, without looking back. She ran from her brother, from all of the lies and accusations, from Tony, but mostly from her own guilt and pain. But it didn't work. She flung herself into her car, laid her head on the steering wheel, and cried until she was nearly dehydrated. In a zombie-like state, she made her way home, drank several glasses of water, and cried some more. She wandered through her apartment to her bed and passed out from pure exhaustion.

It only seemed like minutes before someone banged on her door. "Open the damn door, Jem!"

Anger and adrenaline flooded her body at the sound of Dalton's voice, bringing a renewed sense of strength. She stomped through her apartment and flung open the door. "How dare you show your face here?"

Dalton stood on her doorstep, bruised and battered, both eyes nearly swollen shut, a fat lip, and torn clothing. Joy mingled with the anger. She couldn't keep the smile from her face.

His swollen upper lip attempted a sneer. "You think this is funny?" He stepped forward, creeping into her personal space.

"What do you want?" Her gaze narrowed, as she jutted her chin high in defiance instead of backing away.

He shoved a finger to her chest instead. "I get ganged up on and blindsided, yet you find humor in this? All of this is
your
fault. You're responsible for this
and
for my wife losing our baby. You're a sick and twisted woman. What in the hell did I ever see in you?"

"You blame
me
for getting your ass kicked? It was bound to happen; the only question was who would do it." She swatted his finger away and stood tall, trying to force confidence into her stance. "Well? Aren't you going to tell me who the winner was?" She pushed aside his mention of the baby, concentrating on pissing him off as much as he'd done to her earlier.

"I told you I was blindsided. Trust me, when I find out who did this, they'll pay. I'm sure that it was your little bitch of a brother, along with your dad and his buddies, no doubt." He snatched her wrist, yanking her against him. His nose nearly touched hers, his labored breath smelling of fresh blood. "You'll pay, too. All of you will pay."

"Let go of me. Now!" Jemma struggled against his tightening grip. "If not, I'll push you down those stairs, and frankly, I don't even care if I fall with you. Understand?" She dug the fingernails of her free hand into a bruise on his arm, and he shoved her back into her apartment, propelling himself backward into the hall again. Grasping the window of opportunity, she slammed the door in his face and locked it.

Dalton banged on the door again. "Open up,
now.
I'm not leaving. I won't until I make you understand the gravity of your actions!" The banging on the door grew louder.

"I'm calling the police. The station is only a few blocks away, so I doubt it'll be long before they get here." She had the number dialed and it was ringing as she spoke.

"You're just playing those damn mind games. You don't have the guts to turn me in."

The operator answered, "911, what is your emergency?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jemma exaggerated through the door jamb as she recited her name and address. "I have an ex-boyfriend at my door, and he's threatening me. Can you send someone over right away?"

Dalton snorted. "You're lying." He beat on the door again. "Let me in! Now!"

The woman on the phone asked, "Are you in danger?

Tears again flooded Jemma's eyes. Sniffling, she replied, "I don't know."

"We have a car on the way. Their ETA is only about five minutes. Do you need me to stay on the line with you until they arrive?"

Jemma swallowed hard and inhaled a staccato breath. "Not if they're that close. Thank you." She hung up and turned her attention back to the door, screaming over his incessant pounding, "Okay, they're on their way!" Leaning against the door, she slid to the ground, hugging her knees.

Dalton went silent for a split second, sirens howling in the background. "You really did call them, you little bitch!" His heavy foot falls on the steps echoed in the hall as he took a hasty exit.

She relaxed for a moment, but the harsh reality of all that'd happened swirled through her conscious mind. She started shaking. The wail of sirens grew louder and louder. A long rap on the door startled her.

"Police, open up."

Jemma peered through the peep hole to find a bulky officer standing there. She eased the door open.

He looked her over. "Are you okay?"

Jemma nodded.

"Is he still here?" One of his hands dropped to his gun holster.

"No." She opened the door and let him in.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she blurted out more information than one man could ever comprehend, let alone scribble in the little notepad he held. In the end, she was pleasantly surprised when he read back most of the pertinent information.

He tucked the pad back into his shirt pocket. "Okay, Ms. Keith, I think I have everything for your statement. I'll need you to come down to the station tomorrow to sign a formal document, though. Also, I'd highly recommend you file for a Protection Order while you're there. It sounds like you have more than enough against him."

Jemma cringed at the thought of actually going to the police station. Halfheartedly snickering, her snarky nature sprang forth. "Can't I just go to Restraining Orders R Us online?"

His expression never flinched. "Well, there is a similar website, but I'd highly recommend you take the extra time to do it in person. I can't guaranty your safety if you file that way."

"Wow, I was only…" Jemma shook her head, looking in his eyes for any glimmer of humor. Nothing. "Never mind."

"Is there anyone who can stay with you tonight?"

Her gaze shifted to the floor. "I'll be okay." Guilt and remorse prodded her, taunting her. She was too embarrassed to call anyone.

The stone faced officer stared at her, his incessant blinking the only hint at his annoyance. "All right then, I'm on duty until morning. I'll drive by every hour or so. Please call again if he returns and don't forget to come down and sign the papers tomorrow." 

As the officer was leaving, he turned back toward her. "Call someone, please."

Nodding, she closed the door. Falling face first onto the couch, she blubbered, "Tomorrow."

*  *  *

Jemma tugged the throw blanket over her shoulders, exposing her feet. Chilled, she woke, sitting up on her couch with a start, as the memories from the past evening's debacle began crowding her mind. She blinked back the tears as she reached for her phone to find out the time. At five in the morning, it wasn't even the butt-crack of dawn yet. No one was awake, not that she really wanted to talk to anyone. At the same time, she didn't want to be alone either. She shimmied out of her dress, which she'd slept in and nearly ruined, and put on shorts and an old T-shirt. After slipping on flip-flops and running a brush through her hair, she then made her way out the door and down to her car. The horizon glimmered with the soft promise of morning. When she hit the unlock button, the shrill doop-doop pierced the quiet, prompting dogs to bark from all directions.

Driving through town half dazed, she nearly missed several stop signs. Unscathed, at least on the outside, she arrived at her destination and put her car in park. She stared up the walk to the familiar home, the house she grew up in. Light from the street lights filtered through the trees, speckling the front porch, dancing with the gentle breeze. The swing moved ever so slightly, as though beckoning her. She walked slowly up the front walk, her hands brushing against the tall lilies framing the pavement. Scanning the darkened windows for some sign of life, Jemma's hopes for company were dashed. Though the swing was right in front of her parents' bedroom, she still slid into the familiar wooden frame and rocked. Even with no one to share the comforting creaks, she still felt a tiny bit better with each sway.

The light behind her flicked on; her mother's soft voice whispered, "Honey, there's someone in the swing. Get your baseball bat."

Jemma turned sideways, leaning over the back of the swing, and tapped on the window. "It's me, guys."

Her father yanked the curtains open, standing there in nothing but his underwear. "Jemma? What on God's green earth possessed you to scare the crap out of us?"

If she hadn't already been traumatized, the sight of her dad in his tighty-whities would've done the trick. Dropping her head into her hands, she muttered, "Mom, can you come out here? I really need to talk."

Her mother tapped on the glass to get her attention. At least she had on shorts and a T-shirt.

Bras are highly overrated anyway, right?
Not that Jemma really expected her mother to sleep in one.

"Do you know what time it is?" She crossed her arms under her boobs and lifted them to weave her hands through her elbows. It looked like a can of biscuits popped open.

Jemma nodded, really beginning to doubt her decision to stop, which was probably what her parents were going for. "Please, Mom?"

She grabbed the drapes, sliding them shut with a flourish. Jemma listened to muted muttering and random clamoring for a few minutes, and then her mother came out the front door. Thankfully, she'd decided to put on a bra.

With hands firmly jabbed into her hips, she scolded, "There had better be a good reason for all of this."

Tears instantly flowed down Jemma's cheeks.

Her mother's harsh demeanor melted as she rushed to Jemma's side, sliding next to her on the swing. Jemma drooped into her open arms and sobbed as her mother gently rocked them.

No words were spoken, no sounds other than the swing's groan and the rustle of the leaves. Her mother gently stroked her hair, tucking stray tresses behind her ear. As the sun slipped over the horizon, illuminating their surroundings, rabbits and squirrels skittered across the lawn. The newspaper truck drove down the road, tossing papers into driveways. The neighbor across the street wandered down his drive to fetch his, nervously tucking his robe tighter around his body when he spied them on the porch. He flipped his hand in a quick wave before scurrying back into his garage.

Jemma looked up into her mother's face. "I really screwed up, Mom."

She propped her daughter's chin up higher with her fingertips. "I rather doubt that. Was it the wedding?"

Nodding against her mother's hand, Jemma swiped the tears from her cheeks with her arm. "Kate lost the baby because of…" Tears poured down again. With a hiccup-sob, she bellowed, "Me." She tried to turn her face away, but her mother gripped her chin.

"Unless you sucker punched the poor woman in the belly, I find that hard to believe."

"She found out about my relationship with Dalton. The news must have devastated her." Jemma inhaled a staccato breath along with a fair amount of snot. "She collapsed at the wedding reception. Even Dalton blames me."

Her mother's brow disappeared in her bangs, her eyes rounded. "It seems he'll blame anyone to make himself look better. While Kate may have been upset, I doubt that's what made her miscarry. If that's all it took, we wouldn't have very many single mothers out there. Would we?"

Jemma had to admit, she made a lot of sense. It didn't really ease the burden a bunch though. "And Tony won't talk to me, either, because of that and a bunch of lies Dalton told. And, well, he saw Dalton kiss me."

"What in the world?" she yelped, turning and gripping her daughter's shoulders. "Why would you kiss him?"

Jemma emphatically shook her head. "
He
kissed
me
." With her head cocked to the side in disbelief, she muttered, "He caught me off guard. I tried to push him away. Evidently he saw Tony come out into the hall with us and wanted to put on a show for him. It was all kinds of messed up."

"Okay, so I guess the question now is why you were in the hallway alone with Dalton?"

"I followed him and Stacy out there."

Her mother slumped against the swing. "Stacy was at her ex-boyfriend's wedding?" She turned toward Jemma, pointing a finger into her chest. "
Your
ex-boyfriend's wedding." Tossing her hands into the air, she leaned back again. "You weren't kidding about the whole messed up part."