Domino by Ivy Black
Chapter Eleven
Ashley
Standing at the window in the front room of the guest house, I watch the kids playing in the backyard. Cole seems to be having a great time with Emma and Elton. The way they’re squealing and giggling as they chase each other around is adorable, and I can’t keep the smile from my lips. I’m glad to see that he seems to be fitting in with them pretty seamlessly.
As I watch them bouncing around the backyard, I can’t help but admire the resilience of children. It was just a few days ago when Cole was scared. When he was sullen, quiet, and seemed so uncertain of everything. And now, watching him run around so gleefully, seeming to be having the time of his life, you’d think none of that ever happened.
“I wish I could bounce back as well as kids do,” I say to the empty room.
The guest house is small, but it is far more than I expected. It has two small bedrooms in the back, the front room, and a small kitchen with a breakfast nook off to the side. It’s clean and tastefully appointed with furniture that’s not quite top of the line, not like in the main house, but way nicer than anything I had or expected. Every time I walk in here, I’m reminded of just how lucky I am to have landed here.
The sound of my phone ringing pulls me out of my reverie, and I realize that I don’t know how long it’s been going. Thinking it might be Keith, I scramble for my purse and yank the phone out, quickly connecting the call and pressing it to my ear.
“Hello?” I say almost breathlessly.
“Where the fuck are you?”
My blood instantly turns to ice and my pulse starts to race. I’ve been ignoring Ryan’s texts and sending his calls straight to voicemail since I left Georgia. Swallowing hard, I steel myself. I knew I wouldn’t be able to dodge him forever, and now that I’m starting to feel a little more stable, like I’ve got my feet underneath me again, I figure that I might as well deal with him now. I’m turning a corner here, and it’s best to make a clean cut and leave Ryan where he belongs… in the past.
“I said, where the fuck are you?” he repeats.
“I heard you the first time. And to answer your question, where I am is none of your business, Ryan.”
“You have my son. That’s my business.”
“I will not let you set the example for my son, Ryan. He is not going to turn out like you. I am not going to let that happen.”
“Bitch, I’m warning you. You had best get yourself and my son back home where you belong.”
“Not going to happen, Ryan. This isn’t working anymore. It hasn’t for a long time, and you know it. Let’s just go our separate ways and be done with this.”
There’s a pause on the line, but when he speaks again, his voice is low and colder than ice. Even from a thousand miles away, it sends chills down my spine.
“I told you before, Ashley. You both belong to me. You’re mine,” he says. “So, you had best get back here, with my son, before you make me do something that we’re both going to regret.”
The threat is so clear it makes me shudder and lances my heart with a spike of fear. My mouth is dry, and I have to force myself to calm down and remind myself that he’s a thousand miles away. More than that, he’s got no idea where I am nor any clue how to find me. I close my eyes and let out a small, steadying breath, letting the logic take control of my mind to soothe me.
Feeling slightly calmer, I open my eyes and focus on the kids playing in the yard, letting their sheer joy wash over me. It infuses me with a much-needed rush of happiness and strength that I so desperately need.
“Did you hear me, Ashley?”
“I heard you. I’m just ignoring you. I don’t respond to threats, Ryan. Not anymore. And I won’t let you teach Cole it’s okay to behave like you.”
“Ashley, I swear to God—”
“Again, I don’t respond to threats. I’m only going to say this once, and then I’m hanging up. You and I are done. I don’t love you, and I haven’t for a long time. And I suspect you haven’t loved me for a long time either,” I cut him off. “I suggest we put an end to this charade and move forward with our lives. If you wish to speak to me again, you will be polite, or if you can’t manage that, then you will be civil. If you threaten me again, I will hang up and change my phone number, and you’ll never be able to call me again. Have I made myself clear?”
“Bitch—”
I disconnect the call, and it immediately rings in my hand again, so I sent it directly to voicemail. It’s a process I have to repeat half a dozen times. Once he gets the idea that I’m not going to pick up the phone, the text messages start. He starts off ugly and threatening and only gets worse from there. Each message is increasingly hostile, filled with name calling and threats.
Needing an infusion of joy and laughter, I drop the phone on the table, I walk out into the back yard. The kids are all too caught up in their game to notice me, but Missy is sitting at a table on the covered deck watching them, and she waves me over. I sit down across from her and she pours me a glass of white wine.
“Looks like you need a glass,” she says.
“More than you know.”
I pick up the glass and tap it against hers, making a high-pitched ping. The wine is crisp and refreshing as it slides down my throat, and I savor the rich, buttery flavor of it. It settles into my stomach, filling me with a warmth that spreads throughout my entire body.
“Your taste in wine is as exquisite as your taste in men,” I say.
Her smile is wide. “I do pick some good ones, don’t I?”
We share a laugh as the sound of the kids playing and laughing fills the air around us. To me, the noise they’re making is as therapeutic as the wine I’m drinking. It’s so pure and so innocent. It’s good medicine to help shake off the case of the icks I have from that conversation with Ryan.
“Rough day, huh?” Missy asks.
“I just got off the phone with Ryan. I accidentally picked up without checking the caller ID.”
She grimaces. “Yikes. What did that asshole have to say for himself?”
A wry expression crosses my face, and I relate the whole conversation to her. She listens, aghast, and when I’m done, she drains her glass and pours another for the both of us. Judging by her demeanor, it’s clear that Missy’s never had to deal with somebody like Ryan before and finds it both shocking and appalling… which is pretty much how I feel about it, too.
“Did he threaten you like that regularly?” she asks.
The feeling of shame that engulfs me is overwhelming. It’s like this every time I think back to the times Ryan threatened me, humiliated me… and put his hands on me. As somebody with a degree in psychology, you’d think I’d be able to understand why I feel such shame when I think about those times. You think I’d be able to somewhat detach from myself and figure out why I feel that way.
But the truth is, when you’re stuck in the middle of it, caught up in the moment and all of the feelings that come with being tormented and/or beaten by your husband, by somebody who is supposed to love you, that degree means nothing. Oh sure, the knowledge of what you learned in getting your degree is handy after the fact. When you dissect things as you do the post-mortem on your thoughts and feelings after taking a beating, having a degree in psychology is handy.
But in the heat of the moment, when harsh words are flying, when you’re being slapped or punched and dealing with all of the immediate fallout, that degree isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. In the immediate aftermath, you find yourself finding reasons. Excuses. You find yourself justifying your partner’s behavior. Even worse, you find yourself finding reasons why you’re at fault. You look back and wonder what you did to touch off such an event.
That sort of thing naturally starts to morph into thinking that you had to have done something to deserve it. As you justify and rationalize, you start to blame yourself, thinking that your partner never would have done something so savage and vicious if you hadn’t set them off. If you hadn’t pushed them to that point. And in the end, you realize that ultimately, you’re to blame. Without meaning to, you start to feel ashamed of what you did to push them to a point where they felt they had no options but to lay hands on you. You start to feel ashamed of yourself.
That train of thought, blaming yourself rather than the one who hit you, is insidious. And once you find yourself rolling down those tracks, it becomes easier and easier to justify the fact that your partner beats on you. It becomes easier to blame yourself, rather than your abuser. The cycle of domestic abuse is pervasive and it’s humbling to know I let myself fall into it, parroting all of the old clichés and stereotypes. It’s especially galling given the fact that counseling victims of domestic abuse is what I’m planning on doing.
But if nothing else, it at least gives me first-hand knowledge and experience for when I do start counseling these women. That has to count for something, and I’m going to make sure that it does.
“I’m so sorry Ash. I had no idea how bad it was. I mean, I knew something was going on, but I didn’t know how bad it got for you. I wish I did because I would’ve insisted on you coming out here long ago,” Missy says, sounding utterly miserable.
“It’s not your fault. I didn’t start talking about it until somewhat recently. Not until he actually started putting his hands on me. After that, I talked to Maggie about it, and she kind of coached me up. She’s the one who gave me the final push I needed to pack up and get out of there,” I say.
“Good. I’m glad.”
“I only did it for Cole. I’m pretty sure if it had only been me, I would’ve stayed, thinking that he’d change or that I could somehow change him.”
“You know how foolish that is now, don’t you? Guys like him will never change. They only get worse.”
I nod absently. “I do know that. I think even before I left, deep down, I knew it, but I wouldn’t let myself do anything about it. There was some small part of me that felt like I deserved it.”
“You do know better than that, don’t you?”
“I do now,” I say, the ghost of a smile touching my lips. “But if it hadn’t been for Cole, not wanting him to grow up with that kind of an example, and not wanting him to turn out like Ryan, I might’ve never found it in me to leave.”
“You’re a lot stronger and have way more courage than you’ve ever given yourself credit for, honey. It’s always been that way with you.”
I look down at the top of the table, unable to say anything at the moment. Everything in my head is so jumbled up and confused that I don’t even know where to begin sorting it all out. The tentacles of abuse, thick and strong, still have me wrapped up tight. And though I have moments where I believe I’m a strong, independent woman, the truth is, those moments are fleeting. They’re gone almost as soon as they come on, leaving me feeling even weaker than before. I’m a hot mess, and like Humpty Dumpty, I have no clue how to start putting myself together again.
“Well, whatever the reason, be it for you, or for Cole, you did it. You got out. And you’re safe here,” Missy says.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, Miss,” I say.
She waves me off. “We’re family, babe. I would do anything for you.”
Her words strike a chord within me and my eyes sting as I feel the tears well up within them. I wipe away the tears that roll down my cheeks and blow out a frustrated breath.
“I’m sorry. I’m just an emotional wreck right now. I cry at the drop of a hat lately,” I say.
“It’s understandable, given everything you’ve gone through. And you never need to apologize for anything.”
Reaching across the table, I take her hand and give it a squeeze, taking a few moments to let the emotional tide ebb again. Slowly, the tears begin to dry and the trembling in my body eases.
“It’s not all gloom and doom today,” I tell her. “I got the job down at the Golden Gate. My boss is a kid younger than me, but at least I’ll have some money coming in. It’s not much, but it’s a small win. And right now, I’ll take all the wins I can.”
“That is great, Ash. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you,” she squeals.
“It’s a start.”
“You’re well on your way. Things are going to turn around for you quick. I’m sure of it. You and Cole are going to build an amazing life out here.”
I bite my bottom lip, a small frown on my face. “Speaking of which, I hate to ask you for another favor, given all you’re doing for us already, but—”
“Of course I’ll watch Cole,” she tells me.
“Really? I hate to ask.”
“Please. Cole is an angel. And the twins love having him around as much as I do. It gives them somebody to play with and keeps them from hassling me all day,” she says with a laugh. “It lets mama sit back with her feet up and have a glass of wine.”
I laugh along with her for a moment. “Missy, I can’t even—”
“If you thank me one more time, I’m going to throttle you. I mean it. You are not burdening me. Having Cole here is as good for him as it is for you, and for the twins. I mean it. Watching him while you’re at work isn’t any added burden, honey. I already have to keep my eye on Emma and Elton,” she says.
A breath of relief passes my lips and I look over at Missy, letting the gratitude I feel shine through in my expression. She seems to pick up on it and gives me a smile.
“I’ll tell you what, though, you can pay me back by watching the kids so Mark and I can get away on a date night now and then,” she says.
“That’s a deal. You guys can go away for a weekend. Take a vacation together.”
“I’ll take that deal.”
Despite the thick cloud of gloom still hanging over my head, I feel an infusion of warmth and happiness. Though I’m scared and still an emotional maelstrom, I have hopes that what she’s saying is true and that I will be able to give Cole an amazing life—the life he deserves—out here. I want him to have a life he could never have back in Erwin, and I want him surrounded by amazing people who will show him how to be a good man. I want him surrounded by people who will set a good example for him to learn from. Basically, I want people around him who will teach him to be the exact opposite of his father.
“Oh, hey, I ran into that biker again. The one we saw driving down the street at the coffeehouse the other day?” I say.
Her eyebrow shoots up and a suggestive smile draws her lips upward. “Oh really?” she purrs. “Do tell.”
“Well, there isn’t a whole lot to tell.”
I hadn’t intended to tell her about meeting Max. It just sort of slipped out. She doesn’t seem like she approves of the Pharaohs necessarily, but she also doesn’t seem entirely put off by them either. She’s ambivalent about them at best, although she was pretty clear about me needing a better breed of men. But there’s just something about Max that intrigues me. He’s… different.
I can’t say how or why he’s different, but I just don’t get the hardcore biker thug vibe from him. He seems kind. He’s got a great smile that really lights up his face and an easy charm that I found intoxicating. Max just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who enjoys killing people as bikers are wont to do.
“There’s obviously enough since you brought him up.”
I laugh. “I did try to stab him with my keys and kick him in the balls.”
“Sounds like the start of an amazing romance,” she quips.
“He’s fast. And strong. I never even got close to connecting, and I’ve taken some self-defense classes. He was a Marine.”
“And now he’s a biker thug.”
I shrug. “I’m not so sure he’s a thug. It might sound strange to say, but he seems nice.”
“Nice? That’s not a word I’d associate with a biker.”
I laugh. “I agree. I’ve seen TV shows where they’re all angry and murdery, too. But Max isn’t like that. He’s quick to laugh and has a smile that can light up a room.”
Missy is looking at me closely, that smile still upon her lips. It’s then that I realize I’m going on like a smitten schoolgirl and can’t help but laugh at myself.
“Sounds like somebody’s got a crush,” she says in a sing-song voice.
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. When we were kids, whenever you had a crush on somebody, you always got that little twinkle in your eye.”
“No way.”
“Way. And I see it right now. Your eyes are sparkling bright, baby.”
“You’re so full of crap. I just find him different. Interesting,” I say, giggling.
“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that.”
That’s exactly what I’m going to do. This isn’t the time for me to get caught up in somebody. The last thing I want to do is develop an infatuation on somebody like Max. While it’s true that he seems different, he is still a biker. Maybe he’s not a killer or whatever, but I don’t doubt that he and his club are into some shady things.
And that’s the last thing I want to expose Cole to.
