Texas Heat Ch. 03: Redemption

It was over seconds later. He stopped. Just stopped. We watched each other for a moment and I saw realization dawn on him. But when he moved toward me, maybe to see if I was okay, I scurried away from him, finding my way to a corner of the kitchen and trying to disappear as I shrank from him. He hesitated for a moment, looking around as if he wasn't sure where he was. He glanced down at his scratched and bloody hands, took a deep shuttering breath, and then left the apartment.

*

I sat there for a long time. A very long time. In fact, it was dark when I finally moved from that corner. My entire body was stiff, yet trembling at the same time. I could only think of one thing. I had to get the hell out of there. I needed to leave before he returned. I had unpacked the night before, but I rushed into the bedroom and tossed my travel case onto the bed, thoughtlessly shoving clothes into it. I hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a few toiletries. Then I closed the case and searched for my purse. I moved quickly and was almost at the door when I heard a key in the lock. Terror seized me and I froze, wishing myself invisible, angry that I hadn't left sooner. I couldn't bring myself to move, couldn't think logically as the door opened slowly...

"Evy?"

Michael! It was Michael! I let out the breath I was holding, running to him and collapsing into his arms and crying hysterically. He held me, rubbing my back, soothing me.

"Shhhh, it's okay Evy. It's okay."

He said the words over and over again, but nothing could ever convince me they were true. We stayed in my dark apartment, my boss, my friend, holding me, trying to calm me down, for quite some time. When I finally had been reduced to dry sobs, he led me to the sofa and sat with me for a few minutes. He then went to the kitchen, rummaging around until he found a bottle of Puerto Rican rum someone had given us as a gift last Christmas. He poured a hefty amount into a glass, bringing it to me and encouraging me to drink. I gulped some down, appreciating the immediate warmth it offered my chilled frame. He switched on a light and then sat beside me, inhaling sharply.

"Shit, did Bruce do that?"

I hadn't looked in a mirror so I wasn't certain what he meant. But considering he was staring at my neck, I could only imagine that Bruce had left an imprint of his fingers around my throat. Not that it would surprise me, I did bruise pretty easily and he had squeezed and squeezed...I stopped thinking about it, drinking heartily from the glass in front of me again. I looked over at Michael.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice rough and scratchy from the tears.

"Bruce called me. He told me something had happened...that you needed me."

I nodded, realizing for the first time what they meant by 'crimes of passion'. If Bruce had not come to his senses, he would have killed me. I was sure of it. I took in a deep, cleansing breath. I looked over at Michael, realizing he must have a million questions, but glad he didn't ask them. He was watching me carefully, not sure what to do next. I stood shakily.

"I need to get out of here."

"He told me he's not going to come back tonight, just in case you want to stay."

I shook my head. I would never be able to sleep in this apartment alone, worrying about whether or not he was coming home.

"No. I have a bag packed, could you get it for me? And then I—...I just...I just need you to take me to a hotel."

"Don't be absurd Evy, you'll come home with me. Cindy would love to—"

He stopped as I shook my head emphatically. Going home with Michael, to his live-in girlfriend, meant questions. I couldn't handle questions right now.

"I need to be alone Michael...please. But thanks."

He didn't insist, standing to retrieve my bag. I grabbed my coat and followed him to the front door. He stopped abruptly and I almost walked directly into him. He turned suddenly, dropping my bag and hugging me to him again. I smiled shakily, relaxing against him.

"Evy," he spoke over my head as I pressed my face into his coat, "if Bruce did this...I mean," he swallowed. "I mean, this is serious, Evy. Do you want me to call the police?"

I shook my head, holding onto him tightly for a moment before pulling back. "No. Let's just go, okay?"

He nodded, holding my hand as we left the apartment. Something told me this would be the last time I would think if this apartment as home and my heart was heavy. Not because my life was changing, drastically, yet again, but because of the pain I had inflicted on someone who had genuinely cared for me once. I sighed, watching as Michael locked the door for me and then following him down the stairs.

*

Michael took me to a moderately priced hotel on the lower east side, insisting the company would pick up the tab considering "moderate" in New York City was still $200 a night. He asked if I wanted him to stay, asked if I wanted him to call anyone, asked if I wanted him to get me something to eat...and then he finally left. I closed and bolted the door after him, crawling into the bed and burying my head beneath a pillow. What had happened to my life in the span of 48 hours? I was tired of crying, tired of feeling exhausted, tired of feeling confused. And yet, what was left? I wasn't angry. I didn't care if he'd tried to kill me, maybe he was right, maybe I had killed his baby. Maybe I should have talked to him about it. Maybe...I don't know. I only knew he was not a bad man. He was a decent man. He hadn't meant it. No one would convince me otherwise.

And I knew I would not fight him in any way about the divorce. I hoped he would want to divide our joint accounts equally, but if he insisted on keeping all the money, I probably wouldn't challenge him. The apartment was a rental, our only car was in his name...there wasn't much else to divide. I wasn't really connected to the furniture. Most of it had come from Bruce's place anyway. I sighed, wondering why I was thinking so logically. When my phone rang, I hesitated, not wanting to talk to Bruce, yet wanting to assure Michael that I was okay if it was him. But when I glanced at the phone it was neither of the men in my life. It was a new number I had yet to add to my address book. I answered the phone, forcing myself to sound calm.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

I swallowed. Calm, I told myself, calm. "Are you here? How was your flight?"

She didn't respond. I thought maybe she hadn't heard me. "Dee? How was your flight?"

There was no answer and I thought maybe she'd been disconnected. I was about to hang up when she finally spoke.

"What's wrong Evelyn?"

I sighed. Clearly I had not masked the tension in my voice. I took a deep breath, ready to assure her that everything was okay, when my voice broke. I couldn't swallow back the tears quickly enough.

"Dee."

It was all I managed to squeak out for the next few minutes. She let me cry, not saying anything until I had calmed down a little.

"Where are you? Are you at home?"

"N-no. No." I told her the name of the hotel.

"I'll be there in 30 minutes."

*

True to her word, she was knocking on my room door 30 minutes later. I slipped into one of the hotel's robes, pulling up the collar before opening the door. She looked me over as I locked the door behind her, those chestnut eyes seeing right through me. When I turned from the door, she immediately went for the collar of the robe, turning it down. I could see her face harden as she looked at what were probably pretty evident bruises around my neck.

"Tell me what happened," she demanded softly.

I sighed, "it was nothing—"

"Don't Evelyn. Don't do that. Just tell me."

So I did, carefully emphasizing that it was my fault for letting the information about the abortion slip, for having the abortion in the first place without talking to him about it. She was silent as I spoke, watching me closely. When I finished, she didn't respond. Instead, she reached into the brown paper bag she'd brought with her and removed a sandwich, a bag of chips and an iced tea. She set them on a small, round table and then pulled out the chair for me.

"You need to eat."

I smiled, realizing I hadn't eaten all day. The food helped with the nausea caused by the rum I'd drank earlier. And afterwards, I grew quite sleepy, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. She lay me down in the bed, settling in behind me and pulling me close. I sighed, relaxing against her warm strength, and fell asleep almost immediately.

***

She spent the weekend with me, lying beside me every night, making sure I ate, watching over me as I slept. It was nice. She didn't even put up too much of a fuss when I insisted on going to work on Monday. To be honest, I needed some time away from the issue of my marriage and work would distract me. Even Michael seemed to understand that, obliging me to the letter by keeping me busy for most of the morning. Then he took to me lunch to make sure I ate.

After lunch, I waved as I walked past our relatively new receptionist, a cheerful, older woman who did a remarkable job of keeping our lives more organized. She was on the phone and instead of waving, pointed emphatically toward my office. I had no idea what she meant and I wasn't sure I cared. I desperately needed a few minutes of alone time.

But when I entered my office, I suddenly knew why she'd been pointing. Bruce stood from a chair and turned to face me. His face was a chalky white and he appeared shaken. Actually, I would say he seemed downright petrified. I raised a brow.

"Hey," I began neutrally, more than a little anxious as I closed my office door.

Hey simply stared at me, his eyes angry and...filled with something else I couldn't really read.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked.

"As if you didn't know?" He spat.

I looked at him, thoroughly confused, "know what? What happened?"

He looked at me as if I'd grown a second head, "you're gonna stand there and tell me you didn't send that, that...that gorilla to threaten me?"

I flinched at the word, already pretty sure who he meant, but I shook my head, still uncertain, "Bruce, what are you talking about?"

That made him pause and he stared at me for a moment. It finally occurred to him that I may not know what he was talking about. "You don't know? Really?"

I nodded, indicating he should sit back down. "What happened? Who threatened you?"

"Some woman. She was huge, tall, with muscles...and those braids, you know, like the rappers wear. I thought you—...because of what I did, I thought..." He dropped into one of the chairs.

I shook my head again, "why do you think I sent her?" I asked.

"Because she told me if I ever put my hands on you again, she'd kill me." He answered solemnly...and clearly more than a little terrified.

I sighed, "she's a friend. I'm sorry."

"Pretty good friend," he muttered under his breath and I smiled just a little. We grew silent and he stared at me for a few moments before standing again.

"She said I...that I..." He didn't finish. I tensed a little as he approached me, folding down the collar of my turtle neck to see the blue and purple outline of his hands around my throat. He closed his eyes.

"Jesus Evy, I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking...I'm so sorry."

I nodded, removing his hands from my collar and holding onto them, "I'm sorry too Bruce. I really am."

He kissed my hands and then we hugged for a moment before sitting down across from one another.

"Now what?" He asked.

I squeezed his hands tightly, "Michael called a friend. He's already getting started on the paperwork. You'll get it in a few weeks." I told him softly.

He sighed, bringing my hands to his lips again. "You're sure about this? Sure this is what you want?" He asked.

I nodded, "Bruce, you have a chance to be with someone who will make you happy. And I want you to be happy, okay?"

He smiled again, standing. "Okay, I better let you get back to work." I stood and he hugged me once more. "Oh, I took a couple thousand from our joint account, but I left the rest for you. I know you'll need it."

I smiled, "thanks."

I walked him to the door, hugging him again before he left. It was not an ideal ending, but I felt good about it all the same.

***

When I left the office and began the trek back to the city, I was drained. The talk with Bruce, while good, had been taxing. And Michael thought I still needed to be distracted, so he kept me pretty busy for the rest of the day. Not to mention I was not looking forward to the chat I needed to have with Dee...I sighed at just the thought. I slept most of the train ride home, climbing the subway stairs and slowly walking toward the hotel. I was ready to just drop when I reached the room door, only to have the keycard rejected. I tried a few more times, sighed, and then headed back to the elevators.

I had to wait online at the front desk. When I finally reached the counter, I informed the clerk that my keycard wasn't working.

"Oh, that's because you checked out earlier today," he said.

I frowned, "no I didn't. I was at work all day."

He nodded, "yup, you did. And there's an envelope here for you." He handed me the sealed envelope.

I stepped off the line, more than a little confused, and tore the envelope open. It was a short message that read 'Waiting for you out front. Dee'.

Still confused, I exited the lobby and stood out front. The only thing I noticed was a huge, black car with tinted windows that was double parked. It was a nice car, something I could scarcely afford, with a huge silver, rectangular grill in the front. I didn't see Dee and I was getting annoyed. I was tired and I really wanted to rest.

I was considering going back inside to ask for another room when the driver's side door of the double-parked car opened. I glanced over only because it was something to do while I contemplated my next move. I never expected it to be Dee. She stood from the driver's seat, walked around the car and opened the passenger side door for me. More than a little surprised, I hesitated for just a moment before I slid into the warm interior, sinking down into the soft, bucket shaped, smooth leather seat. I watched her walk around the front of the car and slide in behind the wheel. She pulled away from the hotel and headed uptown. I sat beside her in silence for a spell, watching the buildings pass us by. Then I cleared my throat.

"What kind of car is this?" It was a nice, safe question.

"A Bentley Continental."

I nodded, sinking further into the ultra comfortable seat. I waited another moment before asking the next question.

"What happened to your Toyota?"

"Scrapped it...five years ago."

The answer surprised me. Actually, it totally shocked me. What did it mean that she'd let go of the last thing her father had given her five years ago? In fact, that seemed to be only one of a number of monumental changes she'd made in her life five years ago. Were they related to me? To her feelings for me? Or had I simply shaken her out of her frozen state? I shook my head, that wasn't what I wanted to talk to her about.

"Why did you check me out of the hotel?" I asked instead.

"You're not staying there."

I raised a brow, "well, I'm not ready to go home yet, so where am I staying?"

"With me."

"With you?"

"I have space. You can stay with me."

Her voice was a little tight as she made the statement. I guess she was bracing herself for the possibility that I would not want to stay with her. I didn't feel like arguing with her about it though. As long as I had my own room and there were no assumptions made, staying with her was fine by me. I decided to change the direction of the conversation again.

"Bruce came to see me today." I offered.

She didn't say anything. I sighed, "Dee, you can't go around threatening people who hurt me."

"Actually, I can."

Her answer dumbfounded me. "No, you can't. That's just nuts."

"He's lucky I didn't smash his fucking face in," she bit out.

I didn't have a reply for that comment, so I just sighed again and changed tactics once more. "What's going on here, Dee?"

Again, she didn't say anything.

"I mean, you can't just come back into my life and start making decisions for me. You can't defend me. You can't—" I stopped, shaking my head. I could feel myself beginning to panic, wondering what I was doing with this woman. This is the same woman that wasn't there for me before. So why was I in her car, whether it was a new car or not? And why was I allowing her to make decisions for me?

"I...I just...I don't know if this is going to work. I mean...I don't see what's different here, Dee." I choked out, trying to stop the impending tears.

"Easy Princess."

Of all the things she could have said, that was probably the worst. I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. I remembered when she'd said that to me five years ago. I would never forget those words actually. I was so upset my chest was getting tight and my head was starting to hurt. I tried, once again, to swallow back the tears I felt coming.

"Fuck you, Dee."

I spat my standard response at her. And I decided to ignore the tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn't need this bullshit. I didn't need her bullshit. My entire life had just been turned upside down in multiple ways, for the second time, and it was because of this woman! And all she had to say to me was 'easy Princess?' I was so angry I didn't even realize she was pulling the car off the road. I sat there stewing, wondering if I should bite her really hard before I left her precious, fancy car, slamming the door hard enough to break the window. Even when I realized the car was no longer moving and we were sitting in the dark, it didn't calm me down. And I wondered if she knew how close she was to having a permanent bite mark on her arm when she finally turned to me.

She sighed. It was a heavy, resigned sigh. It made me feel a little better that she wasn't as calm as she pretended to be.

"Evelyn," she started, her voice raspy and...a little unsure. That surprised me considering she always seemed in control...detached even. She sighed again. "Evy..." But she stopped again. Whatever she was trying to say, it was difficult for her to get the words out. I heard her swallow before she started again.

"You want to know what's different?" She asked softly.

I didn't respond. If she knew me at all, she would know I needed to know what was different. I was surprised, however, when she turned to me, pausing for just a moment before she reached for my hand. She brought it to her lips, kissing the knuckles tenderly...and then she placed it over her heart.

"This is what's different," she whispered.

I could feel her intense gaze on me and the anger melted. I closed my eyes, feeling the strong, steady beat of her heart beneath my hand, my arm zinging with the electricity that typically coursed through me at her touch. We sat like that for...it seemed like an eternity. Her deep breathing the only sound in the car as my hand rested over her heart.

She cleared her throat before she spoke again, "you want to know what's different?" She asked me again, just as softly, her voice a little more passionate, "I know I don't want to live without you anymore."

Those words...the way she said them...I felt the tears start again. I'd dreamt of hearing those words, said in that thick, raspy voice of hers... My hand began to shake as she moved it from her chest and brought it to her lips again.

"You want to know what's different?" She asked me again, her voice still tender but filled with a desperate, powerful emotion. "I love you, Evelyn."

She squeezed my hand as she said it. I wasn't looking at her, couldn't seem to bring myself to look at her. I was terrified. Terrified this was another dream, terrified this wasn't really happening...just plain terrified. It didn't seem fair that I would get what I wanted, what I needed, from this woman. This strange, isolated, withdrawn, moody, intelligent, talented, wonderful human being. And so I must be dreaming. For Pasadena Williams to tell me she loved me...I must not only be dreaming, I must be in a coma. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible...was it?