Totaled Page 16

  Her screams reached my ears and it felt like knives stabbing into my heart. When I twisted the front doorknob with shaky hands and walked in the house, I entered a war zone. The coffee table was shattered, broken glass everywhere. An entire casserole dish of whatever my mother had dutifully prepared for supper that evening had been thrown against the wall of the dining room; chunks of food still fell from the wallpaper onto the floor. The television was on, blaring some awful game show, but the screen was cracked. I vaguely recall seeing bloodstains on the shag carpet as I ran down the hallway to the master bedroom. With each and every smacking sound of his hands and blow of his fists, I winced, willing my legs to get me there faster.

  I slammed open the door and saw him. The monster that was my father was straddling my mother, who was lying on her back, so bloody that I hardly recognized her. His right fist came at her head, followed by his left, and repeated over and over and over again. She wasn’t even fighting him anymore. I lunged at his back, catching his punching hand in mine before he could connect again. He turned his face to mine; the image of his enraged scowl will haunt me until the day I die.

  He smirked, recognizing that it was me, and even laughed a little in my face. He looked as if he was possessed. I screamed for him to stop and let her go. He turned his fists to me and I saw red, only red. I heard nothing but muffled, blurry noise, like I was underwater. The image of the bedroom rapidly morphed into me staring down a tunnel, and at the end of it stood my father. I gathered every memory of every pain this man inflicted from the deep archives of my brain and turned it into fuel.

  I hit him.

  Wailed on him.

  With every connection of my fist to his skin, every crunch of my bones against his, I felt empowered. I felt like an animal that had been caged up for years and was just set free. I released all of my angst and hurt and turned it around on him. Every insult, every snide remark, every smack upside the head, every rude comment spewed to me for years was bouncing back to him in full fury. I could taste the metallic flavor of my own blood in my mouth from the few hits he was able to land and I just couldn’t get enough of it.

  I have no idea how long I fought him. I have no idea how many punches I threw or how many times my elbow landed.

  I. Just. Couldn’t. Stop.

  I snapped.

  I started hitting him with every ounce of strength I could muster and didn’t stop hitting him until I physically couldn’t lift my arms anymore.

  I was told afterward, during my interrogation with the police, that I had broken his nose, fractured his right orbital bone, shattered his right ocular globe, fractured his skull in three places, broken his jaw, dislocated his left arm at his shoulder, and broken five ribs, one of which punctured his left lung. I don’t know when he died exactly, but I know that I killed him. I killed my own father because he was killing my mother.

  I called 911, but I couldn’t even talk through the sobs. All I remember is watching my beaten, close-to-death mother being rushed away in the ambulance as I was placed in handcuffs and loaded into the back of the police cruiser. It was almost twelve hours later, when I was finally released, that I was able to check on her in the hospital. Walking into that critical care unit and entering the room to see my bruised and swollen mother with tubes down her throat to help her breathe rocked me to the core. I was overwhelmed with guilt and sorrow for this woman who did nothing but love and was given nothing but grief and abuse for it. I would’ve given my life for hers in a heartbeat.

  But that wasn’t the plan.

  I sat at her bedside for two days. At first, the nurses and doctors tried to get me to leave during shift changes, but I firmly and adamantly told them all to go fuck themselves. I was never leaving her again. I didn’t eat. I didn’t shower or even change clothes. I don’t even think I slept. I just sat and held her hand and prayed. I prayed a lot, like I had never prayed before.

  The doctors came in twice a day to see her and rant their medical mumbo jumbo to me, none of which I understood. Intracranial bleeding, brain swelling, and fractured ribs were a few things that stood out. The nurses were sweet and tried to engage me in conversation when they cleaned her wounds and changed her dressings, but I couldn’t have been less interested. I just wanted her back, smiling, full of life and love.

  It was sometime after 4:00 am on the third day of my bedside vigil when I was startled by alarms and beeping, quickly followed by multiple medical personnel rushing into her room, yelling things and ripping open equipment. I was pushed out of the way at first but strong-armed my way back to her, close enough to hold her hand. They pumped and pounded on her chest and inflated a balloon of air into her lungs all while pushing medicine after medicine into her IV line. I was losing her and I could do nothing but watch. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless. They tried for exactly twenty-nine minutes to save her life. I was holding her hand when she slipped away.

  She was gone.

  She was gone, and he had taken her from me.

  That evil, insecure bastard killed my mother in front of my eyes, and then I killed him. At twenty-three years old, I was an orphan.

  And a murderer.

  Fortunately, my mother had taken photographs of every injury he ever inflicted upon her and entrusted them to a lawyer friend of hers as evidence. I supposed she’d been trying to build up a case for a little while, gathering the courage to finally leave him. She was always so scared of him bringing true the promises to kill her or me if she ever said anything to anyone. Between that way-too-thick file, at least two separate documented visits from policemen to our house for “domestic disturbances” over the years, and multiple neighbors’ statements to the police, including the one eyewitness who saw me running into the house well after the noisy fight started, law enforcement never brought any charges against me.

  The physical evidence throughout the house and my alibi of being at the gym when I was helped the investigators see that entire night as self-defense gone bad. I will never forget the look on Officer Abraham’s face that night as he placed the handcuffs on my wrists. As a regular at the pub for years, he knew my father well. He knew everything. He shook his head back and forth with pity for me, knowing good and well that I shouldn’t have ever been cuffed. But he had a job to do and I understood, despite wanting to follow my mother to the hospital.

  My mother passed away due to injuries inflicted by my father. My father died due to injuries inflicted by me. Regardless, as their sole heir, I got everything. I received the full benefit of my mother’s life insurance policy, which she had through her nursing job and was four times her yearly salary, roughly $250,000 total. I also was able to sell the pub for about $450,000, which was really good considering the amount of outstanding debt my father had the business entwined in. Luckily, we owned the building outright and the pub was nestled in a prime real estate location in the heart of downtown Phoenix. I settled all of my father’s debts and had started the process of closing on our house. I could never go back there anyway.

  The majority of my mother’s medical expenses were covered since she had excellent insurance coverage through her job and selling her car was easy enough. I gave my father’s car to a guy that I trained at the gym with who needed it more than me.

  The most shocking revelation was when I discovered the secret bank account that my mother had secured in my name. The family lawyer that I hired assisted me with tying up all of the financial loose ends. Apparently my mother had been putting away money since early in my childhood, unbeknownst to my father. I had a substantial college fund and over $150,000 in CD accounts that had just been rolling over term after term, earning interest. In comparison to other guys my age, I was a rich man. Though I wouldn’t hesitate to forfeit every last cent if it meant not feeling this pain anymore.

  It’s been three months, one week, and two days since my mother passed away and my life changed forever. I had no choice but to leave Phoenix. There was nothing but pain and heartache there.

&nbs
p; ***

  I stopped talking and found myself in a sort of trance, brought back into the present by Mick shifting in his seat and clearing his throat to break the awkward silence.

  “So there you have it. All of it. You can see why I needed a fresh start. I just thought, with a new place and a new life, maybe I could start over. I thank God every day that I broke down on the side of that highway. I thank him that he brought you into my life, Mick.”

  “I’m thankful for that too, son. And I will always be here, no matter what,” he assured me. “No matter what.”

  I started the car and pulled back out onto the road, heading towards the beach house. Once we got there, Mick turned in almost right away and I was relieved. I was happy he was here and relieved that if someone knew my secrets, it was him. The day had left me both physically and emotional exhausted and I needed to unwind and rest. I made my way into my master bathroom and took my t-shirt off. The peas, no longer frozen, needed to go back into the freezer. I carefully unwrapped the bandage and rolled it back up. My ribs and abs looked pulverized and I felt stupid for subjecting myself to that needless abuse. I looked at my chest in the mirror, recalling her face when she noticed the wording over my heart. I wanted to hurt whoever broke her heart. I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her that I would never break her heart, but that would be a lie. I couldn’t guarantee that. And that’s why I had to stay away.

  I lay down in my bed, hoping that my night wouldn’t be restless and plagued with nightmares.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  BREE

  I felt as if I’d only actually slept for twenty minutes. This day, shrimp festival day, which was historically my favorite day of every year, was destined to suck. I couldn’t believe what had happened the evening before with Drew. Seeing his bruises made my own heart physically constrict with pain. I wanted to take all of his hurt away. When he finally let me help, I felt so bonded and connected with him. Just the simple act of wrapping a bandage around him had me nearly panting with desire. His skin was warm and smooth under my touch, his sinuous muscles taunt and contracting slightly under my fingertips. His scent was strong and masculine, sharp and clean, and so enticing. Wrapping my arms around him felt so intimate and right. And the way he held my hands, firmly but gently at the same time—I didn’t want him to ever let go. I could feel that my every move was affecting him the way it was affecting me and it was a huge turn on. Even more of a turn on was that he was standing still, so vulnerable, and I was one hundred percent in control.

  But his tattoo. Seeing those words in permanent ink over his heart shook me to my core. How is it possible that this man, whom I’m so strongly attracted to, had come out of nowhere into my life and had something etched into him that I had always thought of as mine? Well, not mine, but my family’s. It was ours!

  Oh my God. What if it’s there for some girl?

  Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to calm down. I wasn’t going to let another awkward run-in with Drew Dougherty ruin yet another day for me. This disturbing pattern of occurrences was exhausting. I was determined to get myself together and enjoy this day. I decided that I was going to make an effort today, picking out a brand new, never worn before coral halter maxi dress out of my closet. I called Sue, and she was so excited that I couldn’t even understand half the words she rattled off before she hung up the phone. Thirty minutes later she bursting into my room holding wedges, sandals, three Vera Bradley accessory bags filled with costume jewelry, and her entire case of makeup.

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” she asked with an eager smile.

  She finally decided that I should wear her jeweled sandals, which had light turquoise gemstones in a crisscross pattern over the top of my foot. They were comfortable and flat, so I didn’t argue the selection. She insisted on me also wearing a pair of her drop earrings that had a similar colored jewel in the center. I was confused as to why we were “matching” turquoise with a coral dress, but she assured me that the colors contrasted perfectly and the pairing was very on trend for summer style. Whatever. It did look kind of cute, I supposed. I refused to allow her to do my makeup though. It was supposed to be 84 degrees today with enough Florida humidity to make it feel like 95, and I didn’t want to sweat off three layers of mask before two o’clock. I put my normal SPF 75 sunscreen on my face and finished with my normal, natural looking makeup. I let her brush a little bit of sparkly, subtle pale pink shimmer onto my eyelids to appease her, and was actually thrilled with what it did to bring out my eyes. The maxi dress fit me perfectly and the halter style squeezed my breasts together just enough to be a little sexy without looking too provocative.

  Sue put on a navy blue tank top with small white polka dots and a pair of white shorts. She looked amazing as usual and finished her look with a pair of absurdly high heeled sandals, turning towards me with a look on her face as if to say, “I know you think I’m crazy, but these are cute and I’m comfortable.” I shoved my license, cash, lip gloss, a hair tie, and my cell phone into a wristlet and we were on our way.

  Sue drove us almost to 8th Street and parked her car at a friend’s house. We walked the rest of the way. It was a beautiful day and the festival was already crowded and chaotic, but it was the best kind of chaos. Vendors lined the streets on both sides, selling crafty knick knacks, handmade jewelry, boutique clothing, and artwork of all kinds. The smells were conflicting and overwhelming, but spectacular. On one corner was the candy shop, luring you in with the mouthwatering aroma of fresh fudge and cotton candy spinning in the window. Ten steps down, the hot and spicy Creole flavors drew you in as the gentleman passed out sample cups of his jambalaya and shrimp étouffée. There were beer stands everywhere and the kegs were flowing. The closer you walked to the river, the stronger the smell of fried seafood got. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a skewer of Mama Tammy’s blackened shrimp. Her fried coconut shrimp was almost as good as the blackened shrimp. Before I knew it, I had a whole Styrofoam box full of shrimp and a tub of parmesan cheese grits. Sue had wandered away a few minutes ago to say hello to some of her old friends from school, so I continued to walk, looking for somewhere to sit and eat.

  As I meandered around the throngs of people leading to and surrounding the dock where I’d just sat a few days ago with Drew, I finally found my way to an empty spot to eat my shrimp. My stomach was audibly growling in protest, as if to say, “What the hell are you waiting for already? FEED ME!” I sat down, folding my legs underneath me and settling my long dress over them, and situated my meal. I audibly moaned at how good the first bite was. Seriously, like heaven. And then to wash it down with my crisp, refreshing, ice cold beer—perfection. The cocktail sauce was smooth with just the right amount of kick, and the cheese grits were pure heaven. My moans and groans of pleasure while I chewed would’ve been embarrassing if anyone else was around.

  The people watching was always entertaining, so I turned to observe my surroundings. Cute families of two and half were abundant, even some with the cliché golden retriever in tow on a leash, bandanas wrapped around their necks, a part of the festivities. There were plenty of teenagers, some way too young to be holding the plastic cups full of unidentified beverage that looked like beer. Beautiful women in their forties or older were wearing clothing that they obviously stole out of their sixteen-year-old daughter’s closet. Shirtless men, some magnificent, some grotesquely overweight with bushy chest pubes creeping out were everywhere. As usual, there was pirate-themed attire for the true Fernandina regulars and residents. But everywhere I looked, I was hard-pressed to see anyone alone, like myself. Who walks around shrimp fest alone? I turned back around to watch the water off my little dock location instead of the festival. At least the water was peaceful. It even looked as though a few rain clouds were approaching. I finished most of my shrimp and was half way through my foam tub of parmesan cheese grits when I heard Sue’s voice coming down the dock towards me.

  “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for forever!�
� she yelled giddily, alcohol obviously lacing her words.

  “Here I am. I’ve been here for a while,” I responded coldly. “You left me a while ago to go say hi to the Keizer twins.” I attempted to limit my eye roll to no avail.

  “Oh, right. Well, Brock and a couple of his buddies have a boat docked over on the side of the seafood restaurant and they invited me to come party with them,” she explained. “I told them I was with you and they said it was fine if you came too.”

  It was awful to feel like the outsider in any situation, but especially wretched with Sue, who was the life of the party wherever she was, no matter who she was with. I wasn’t looking forward to having to stomach Brock Woods all day long.

  I looked behind her to see him waiting impatiently with two of his douchebag friends for her to come along. “Oh they said it was ‘fine’ if I came too, huh?” I said, laughing. They looked anything but “fine” with me joining them. “That’s okay, Sue. You can go ahead. I’m good here. I’ll catch up with you later or grab a ride home with someone else.” I made sure she could pick up on the obvious disdain in my tone.

  “Are you sure? Thank you so, so much, Bree! You’re the best!” she squealed as she bent down to hug me and trotted down towards Brock. So much for caring about my disdain.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes in annoyance. My bitchy girl brain awoke in a fury.

  Seriously? Who does that?

  Who just ditches their best friend that they planned on spending the day with at the first sight of a cute guy?

  Well, she has been crushing on him for a while now.

  But it’s HIM.