Unspeakable (42 page)

He jerked me closer. His hand fisted on the collar of my shirt. He raised his other hand, and I fought the urge to cringe. Realizing where we were, he let his arm fall to his side.

“We aren’t done, Willow,” he said through clenched teeth.

I kneed him in the crotch and pushed him away from me. “I say differently.”

I was lying in bed that evening, staring at the wall, when my phone chimed. I rolled over and looked at the clock. Eleven-thirty. I picked up my phone, pushed the button to read the text, and my heart jumped into my throat. My head pounded in rhythm with my heartbeat, which was racing.

Brody: You ended it with him?

Me: Yes. For good this time.

Brody: Good for you.

Me: Thanks.

Brody: Night, Willow.

Me: Goodnight, Ace.

I knew it was a probably just a meaningless text. He didn’t say anything in it to give me any indication that he wanted to see me or even have any type of relationship. But, still, the butterflies in my stomach gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, it was a sign that he’d let me explain everything. That he’d let me back in.

We might not ever have what we shared before, but I needed to tell him the truth. I needed to tell him I still loved him. Would always love him. It was him. Would always be him. No one else. Brody Victor showed me what true love was and in doing so, he ruined me. No other man would ever live up to the standard he set. I might find love again, but there would always be a piece of me left hollow—a piece that only Brody could fill.

Only he could make me whole.

“You little bitch,” he roared. He knocked me to the ground and kicked me in the stomach. I pulled my knees up to my chest, covered my head with my arms, and waited for the next hit.

That was only the first one. There were always more.

Ralph grabbed my arm and yanked me off the floor. The attack caught me by surprise. He was supposed to be traveling.

He pushed me hard against the wall before backhanding me. I felt blood gush inside my mouth. The metallic taste made me gag as it slid down my throat.

“What do you have to say? Huh? Anything?” he yelled, and I winced.

“Yeah,” I rasped.

“Willow! Just be quiet!” my mom cried from where she sat on the stairs.

“Shut up, Mom. Help me!” I yelled as loud as my voice would allow. She looked away. “You’re the reason I’m here. You did this. If you hadn’t walked away that night.” I turned back to Ralph. “I do have something to say, asshole.” I spit blood and saliva in his face.

I knew I was asking for more abuse. If I’d just kept my mouth shut and let him have his temper tantrum, I would’ve been better off, but the urge to fight back was growing inside me, pushing out my weakness, my fear.

He wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. His other hand darted out and grabbed me around the neck. “Don’t ever do something like that again or you will pay. And the price will be high, dear, sweet Willow,” he whispered, staring in my eyes.

He squeezed my throat so tight I couldn’t draw in a breath. I clawed at his hand. My nails left red scratches on his skin. Stars flickered in front of my eyes, and the room started to spin. I reached out and jammed my thumb into one of his eyes. He howled and dropped his hand. I fell to my hands and knees, gasping for air, and crawled toward the front door.

Ralph yanked me up by my hair. Holding me in place, he punched me. Pain sizzled across my jaw.

“You call us white trash. But you’re nothing more than a con artist. Marrying for money and then hitting her around a little.”

Another quick hit to my face split my lip. “Shut up, you little—”

“Little what? That’s the problem, isn’t it? You wanted her money because you were broke; you even wanted her… but me? Nah.” I could feel warm blood drip off my chin.

A third hit. I could see blood drip from the corner of my eye. I could feel it swelling shut. I started feeling woozy, and it was hard to keep my thoughts straight.

“Yeah, a kid wasn’t in my plans. You’re a nuisance I don’t need.”

Another hit and another. I tried to block the blows, but I was too weak. His fists pushed past my arms, hitting me again and again—the face, the stomach, anywhere he could reach.

I hit back, something I’d never done before. It surprised him and took some of the force out of his hits. When I had a good shot, I kicked him between the legs, hard and fast.

Ralph pushed me away from him before he fell to his knees, holding his crotch. A colorful string of cuss words spewed from his mouth. His face turned different shades of reds and purples that I would have found funny under any other circumstances.

When he pushed me, I slammed into the wall and felt my shoulder pop. I knew the hit had dislocated it. Gripping the entryway table with one hand to steady myself, I held my other arm tightly against my body. I stumbled toward the door and knocked over a vase as I passed the table. It shattered against the hardwood floor, sending Ralph back into a rage.

“Look what you’ve done,” he screamed. A vein pulsed in his forehead. His face was red with fury. “You’re useless.”

He pushed me to the floor. The shards of glass cut into my hands and knees. Blood smeared across the floor as I tried to crawl away from him. He reached down and grabbed my ankle. I kicked at his hand with my free foot. When that didn’t do any good, I tried kicking his knees, anywhere I could make contact.

As he dragged me across the floor, I grabbed a large chunk of the broken vase. I flipped over and sliced his hand. Satisfaction bubbled through my veins when I saw blood ooze across his hand.

My satisfaction was short-lived when he backhanded me with his free hand and I fell backward, my head hitting the floor with a thud. Stars circled in front of my eyes. My head bounced against the wood as he continued down the hall. The pieces of the vase sliced my scalp. Jolts of searing pain shot through my head and neck.

“Look at yourself. You’re pathetic.” He raised his hand, and I braced myself for his hit. “You should have been in that car with him.”

The doorbell pealed through the house. Startled, I looked at the door.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say a word,” he warned through clenched teeth. “Janine, I’m warning you. Don’t get any ideas or I’ll make you both pay.”

I stared at the door. I was closer to it than he was, but I could barely move. I tried to calculate my chances of getting to the door before he got to me. They weren’t good.

The doorbell rang again.

I tensed and made up my mind. Rolling, I pushed myself away from Ralph as hard as I could toward the door and screamed. I reached the door just as he reached out and grabbed my hair. He yanked me backward. I skidded across the floor on my back; my head collided against the wall.

But I’d done it.

I’d turned the knob and when he yanked me backward, I’d pulled the door ajar. I raised my head and tried to see who was there through the haze of blood covering my eyes and dripping from my hair.

“Brody,” I choked. “Run.”

Brody took one look at what was happening and slammed his fist into Ralph’s face. Ralph landed on his back with a grunt. When he pulled himself up from the floor, Brody hit him again and again. Ralph slammed into the wall and sank to the floor.

Brody took his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed 9-1-1 before sliding the phone across the wood floor to me. When Ralph tried to stand, Brody planted his foot on his neck and held him to the floor.

“I need the police,” I whispered when the operator answered my call.

“What’s your address?”

“912 Rose Terrace.”

“They’ve been dispatched. What’s your name?”

She was still talking, but I couldn’t focus. The phone slipped from my hand, and my head dropped to the floor. Then everything went black.

I woke up in the hospital. Every single inch of my body felt like someone had rubbed it with sandpaper until it was raw. My stomach hurt, and I was almost certain he’d broken my already injured ribs. My shoulder had been reset—at least I was asleep during that particular bit of torture. Judging by the way my head pounded, I figured I had a pretty good concussion to go with everything else.

“She’s awake,” someone said. I tried to turn my head to see who it was, but it told me it didn’t like that, so I stayed still.

Two men in suits appeared at my bedside. I looked up at them. One was dark-skinned, tall and broad. He looked like a bodybuilder. The other man was older. He had graying hair and was partially bald, but looked just as fit as the first man. They both had kind eyes.

“Willow Rutherford?”

“Yes.” It was hard to talk. My throat felt like someone had lit a match to it. My voice came out gravelly.

“I’m Detective Renard,” the balding man said. “This is my partner, Detective Samuels. Can you tell us who did this to you?”

“Ralph McKenna,” I whispered. It felt so good to tell someone. Finally, that part of my secret wasn’t my burden to carry any longer. I could be free of it.

“Is this the first time it’s happened?”

“No.”

“How long has he been hurting you?” the bodybuilder, Detective Samuels, asked.

“More than two years. Since my mother married him.”

“Does your mother know he hurts you, Willow?” Detective Renard asked.

I felt my lip start to quiver. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“He’s an important man. No one would’ve believed me. He said my mom and I were just white trash before he came around. No one would believe us over him.”

“No one is that important,” Detective Samuels said. “Is there anything else we need to know? Now is the time to tell us, Willow.”

“Yes.” My throat clogged. It was so tight it was painful to talk around it. I felt like my bed was spinning. I’d never told anyone what I was about to tell them. I’d locked the secret up so tightly I wasn’t sure I could get it out. But it was time to let go.

It wasn’t my burden to carry, and I refused to carry it around a second longer.

“Um, I was there the night Jack Moore died. My mom and I were passengers in the car he was driving. He was drunk and hit the tree.”

“Yes, we’re aware of your mother’s first marriage and her husband’s death. That case was determined an accident. The file is closed,” Detective Samuels said.

I shook my head quickly and licked my dry lips. “If you look in the records, you’ll find that Ralph McKenna was the witness to the accident. He said he’d lie about what he saw if my mother gave him half the life insurance she’d receive. He was going broke, almost bankrupt. He needed money.”

I reached for my cup of water. Detective Renard picked it up and held it while I took a drink. “Thank you.”

He nodded once and said, “So are you trying to tell us Mr. Moore’s death wasn’t an accident?”

I nodded. “I’m telling you that the car hitting the tree was an accident, but my dad’s, Jack Moore’s, death was not an accident.”

I’ve done it. It’s not a secret anymore.

“Willow, I think you need to tell us everything. Starting the night you met Ralph and work your way to today,” Detective Samuels said. He placed a small recorder on the table next to my cup of water. “I’m going to record it so we have all the details when we fill out our report. Okay?”