Tapped (Totaled Book 2) (11 page)

            He knew I was right. He didn’t want to have to deal with that bullshit any more than I did. He began to walk around the table towards the door to go in and I faltered, reigning in my snotty and bitter attitude problem.

            “I’ll go in at four tomorrow morning to clean the equipment and check on everything,” I said, throwing him a bone. “I’ll be gone before anyone shows up.”

            “Very well. I’ll just tell people that you’re busy with school or something,” he offered.

            “And what about Drew? What will you tell people about Drew?” I queried, turning around to face him behind me.

            “I’ll figure something out. Now come inside. The bugs are getting bad,” he said gruffly, quickly going inside and sliding the door shut behind him. Conversation over.

            I leaned my head back onto the cushion of the patio chair and looked up into a dark, cloudless sky sprinkled with bright stars. My mind wandered to Drew, wondering if he could possibly be a few hours southwest of me looking up at the same stars. I said a prayer for things to all work out and for Drew to find his way back to me. I prayed for patience and strength to get through this and for the ability to surrender and trust in my father. Then I got up and went inside. Tomorrow would be a new day.
            I had the idea to send something with my father to the Spaulding’s house. Just a small token of hospitality to thank them and also make Drew feel more at home without pissing my father off. Figuring the way to anyone’s heart was my cooking, I prepared a meal for Mick, Joan, and Drew, and carefully packaged it into the thermal carrying case for my father to quickly grab in the morning. Here goes nothing, I thought.

Chapter Fourteen

DREW

            I was only a quarter mile into my run and already drenched in sweat. Macclenney was a lot further inland than Fernandina and it was August in Florida. Ninety degree temperatures by nine in the morning were commonplace. It truly was “hotter than two rats makin’ love in a wool sock” like Mick said before I left the house. But the later in the day, the hotter it would be, so I went with the early run. I wasn’t too familiar with the small town, so I figured I would stick to main roads and focus on getting a few miles in.

            I needed to sweat. I needed my body to feel alive. Just a few days out of the gym was enough to make my muscles stiff and achy, complaining as I beckoned them to work again. My feet pounded the pavement and I fell into a nice rhythm. Choosing to leave my phone and therefore leaving my music at home was a good choice. I needed to clear my head and think about what Dr. Greiner had assigned for me.
Write your father a letter.
Tell him everything you always wanted to say but didn’t.
I’d never been so discouraged and terrified before. How in the hell was I supposed to write him a letter?

            The rage I felt for that man and everything he had done to me would never quiet enough for me to put it onto paper. Just the thought of him made every hair on my body stand at attention. My feet moved faster, pounded harder, my heart racing. As images of his face flashed across my mind, I felt the anger growing at a rapid speed. I remembered every miserable facial expression like they were burned into me. I recalled every malicious word he growled at me. His scowl when I walked into the room. The squint of his eyes as they bore into me. The slight curl of his lip in satisfaction when something he said or did got to me. The laughing. So much laughing. I was a big joke to him. I don’t ever remember him loving me. I don’t really ever remember him even liking me. He tolerated me and when he couldn’t, he abused me physically and mentally. That sick, twisted fuck got off on it.

            The sharp sound of a car horn snapped me back into reality and I looked up to see a four-door sedan slamming on its brakes to avoid hitting me, the pissed off, blue-haired woman in the driver’s seat yelling, “Watch out!”

            I waved her off and walked forward, out of the intersection. I was so entranced at the thought of him that I had worked myself into a sprint and didn’t pay any attention to my surroundings. I could’ve been killed. The toxic notion that he would actually get some sort of beyond-the-grave satisfaction from that had me even more pissed. I slowed my pace and breathed, just like Dr. Greiner taught me, to settle my nerves and calm myself down. I unclenched my fists and shook my arms, flicking the negativity away. I spit the disgusting taste out of my mouth and took a moment to look around. Where was I? What was I doing to myself?

            There was a street sign at the small intersection but no traffic light. I didn’t recognize the name and didn’t spot another person or car in any direction. Just a small town church building. There were no cars in the dirt parking lot, but the sign caught my attention. A small marquee sign on the edge of the sidewalk read:

Darbyville Baptist Church
Sunday Services at 10:00 am

Forgiveness is not something you do for them.
It's something you do for yourself.
Forgive and be free.

            There I was, circling as I walked, looking for some semblance of familiarity in this small town that I wasn’t from and I literally ran into a sign. An actual sign. A sign that was speaking directly to me. It was eerie and sobering. I must have read it seventeen times before I moved. Is that what I needed to do? Forgive him? How? It seemed impossible to ever see myself getting there. It seemed inconceivable to me that my anger would ever be suppressed enough to find it in my heart to forgive him for being the monster that he was. The world was a somewhat better place without him in it. I just wish he hadn’t taken my mother with him when he left.

            After resolving to turn around and run back to Mick’s house the exact way I’d come away from it, more familiar landmarks started to come into view. I felt physically well enough to briskly jog back despite my brain being at absolute war with my heart and emotions surrounding my father. I didn’t see any hope that I would ever get there—to that place where everything could just be forgiven. Where everything would just be okay.

            I turned down the dirt road that lead to Mick’s house, the trees flanking both sides of me down the long winding single lane path offering welcome shade. And then I saw it. His truck first and then him, standing on the front porch waiting for me. I abruptly stopped my jog and slowed my approach to the house, needing as much time as possible to prepare myself to face him. I could sense the impatience rolling off of him.

            He handed me a bottled water when I made it to the bottom step. I nodded in appreciation and chugged the entire thing, my mouth parched and my muscles screaming to be stretched.

            “Did you have a nice run?” Pat asked casually.

            “It was fine,” I replied. “Hot out, but I got in a few miles.” I propped my foot onto the face of the front step, stretching my calf muscles one by one. I was no longer frightened by his presence, just ashamed, and the exchange was awkward.

            “Well, listen. I wanted to come and see how you were doing. I think we need to talk.”

            “Okay. I’d like that,” I agreed. “Can you give me a minute?”

            “Sure. Just come out when you’re ready. I’d like to speak privately,” he requested.

            I nodded, going directly upstairs. I splashed cold water on my face and switched out my wet shirt for a clean, dry one, even though I was in desperate need of a shower. I quickly made my way back down, not wanting to keep him waiting, and grabbed a large bottle of cold water from the fridge before heading back outside.

            He was seated on the porch swing when I got back, swaying slowly back and forth. I sat in one of the wicker chairs adjacent and drank some more water.

            “Thanks. I needed a dry shirt,” I sputtered.

            “No problem. How are you doing here?” he inquired.

            “Okay, I guess. It’s not home, but Mick and Joan have been wonderful, of course. I’m settling in, but I’m eager to get back to normal life.”

            “I’m not sure life can just go back to normal, Drew.” He looked sorry for me. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want his pity. “I think we need to really talk about how this is all going to work.”

            “So talk. Lay it on me,” I snapped. I didn’t mean to sound so pissed off, but it was frustrating that I’d gotten myself into this position and I was completely at the mercy of Pat and what he dictated to get myself out of it. I had zero control over this entire extremely uncomfortable situation.

            “I spoke with Bree last night. I thought it was appropriate that I speak to you too, so we’re all on the same page.”

            “How is she?” I whispered, feeling like my voice would catch if I asked in my regular voice. I missed her so much.

            “She’s okay, getting better every day. Her face is healing nicely.” My chest hurt at the mention of her face needing to heal. “She’s worried about you,” he continued. “She wants you to know that she’s okay.”

            “Why hasn’t she called? Texted? Anything?” I demanded.

            “I forbade her,” he announced. “She isn’t to contact you in any way.”

            I stared into his eyes, the eyes of a man determined to stand his ground. There would be no argument. No wavering or negotiating. No compromise. He gave me a few seconds to wrap my head around his statement before continuing.

            “I’ve thought a lot these past few days about this predicament that we’re all in and how to handle it all. I’ve come to a decision and it’s important that you understand where I stand.”

            I sat, listening attentively, trying to breathe the nervousness out. My world was falling to pieces all around me and I couldn’t say anything for fear that it would be the wrong thing and I’d lose it all. So I sat. I drank my water. I avoided eye contact so as not to be perceived as confrontational. I stilled my body and readied myself to receive my sentence.

            “Mick tells me that you saw his friend—the therapist. How’d that go?” Pat inquired.

            “It was fine. I like him okay. He seems confident that he can help me.” Please, God, let him be able to help me.

            “So you’re open to continuing to see him?” he probed.

            “O-of course. Why wouldn’t I?” I sputtered.

            “It’s an honest question, Drew. Some men, probably most men, actually don’t want to admit they have a problem. They certainly aren’t always open to seeing a therapist. I’m just trying to gauge how open you are to getting help and how committed you’ll be to the process,” he explained. 

            “Sir, with all due respect, I’m well aware of how fucked up I am,” I scoffed.

            “Drew, I wasn’t trying to…”

            “You think I like feeling this way?” I interrupted. “You think I enjoy not sleeping at night and waking up feeling like a zombie every day? You think I don’t feel like an absolute piece of shit for hurting her?” I paused, not wanting to choke my words with my emotions. “I
love
her. I feel horrible about what happened. And I don’t give a lick about what anyone else thinks or says about me. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her.” I became acutely aware of how emotional I was getting and took a few deep breaths to settle myself.

            “Okay. Then we all need to be clear. She’s agreed to these terms already and I need to know that you agree as well.”

            “Terms?” I charged, genuinely confused.

            “We’re going to do this my way or no way at all. You both care deeply about each other and I’m afraid your emotions will cloud your judgment and cause you both to make questionable decisions. I refuse to let that happen,” he declared.

            “So…?” I was growing more and more frustrated.

            “So you’ll stay here. At Mick’s. You won’t return to Fernandina until your doctor, Mick, and I feel that you are ready to.”

            “Sir, excuse me, but how the hell am I supposed to train? I can’t just put my career on hold. Not now,” I shouted. I couldn’t believe this.

            “No one said anything about putting your career on hold. I’ve been in contact with Chris and he’s well aware of the issue. He’s agreed to be prepared for any public statements that may need to be made on your behalf, but we’re in agreement that this is the best move for you right now.”

            I was flabbergasted. Appalled. “You told my agent that I beat my girlfriend? How could you do that?” I bellowed.

            “No. I told him that you were diagnosed with a sleep disorder and weren’t healthy enough to compete right now. He poked and prodded for more details, but they aren’t my details to share. You can tell him what you want. I made it clear that you’re dealing with some serious health issues and loose ends with your family and I firmly told him that you were in no condition to fight right now.”

            “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I breathed. “This is awful.”

            “It’s not as bad as you think. People compete and rest in waves all of the time. Fighters get injured and have to rehab. We’ll treat this the exact same way. But your injury isn’t a broken bone or a torn muscle. It’s in your head. So you need to steer clear of the island for a while. That’s my condition.” He looked at me, waiting for me to respond, prepared for me to challenge him. But I had no leg to stand on.

            “But why?” I asked. I just wanted to understand.

            “Have you ever known a drug addict?” he grilled.

            I physically couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling in disgust.

            “Just hear me out,” he insisted. “When a drug addict goes to rehab—inpatient rehab—he has no contact with his family and friends at first. He has to detox from the substance and prove that he’s working towards progress little by little to earn phone calls and eventually visitation. This allows the addict to heal without the emotional distraction or enabling potential of his closest people. It also allows the family and friends to trust in the process.”