Ace Page 3

  Standing up, I tug the shoulder strap of my purse up and try to walk with my head held high through the waiting room. It’s a blur, as they take my information, and then leave me to presumably wait for the doctor. I’m playing on my phone, to keep myself from going crazy.

  A: Have a good day today. I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary last night, but it needed to be said.

  V: I’m seeing a therapist today, only because I truly want to believe the things you tell me.

  Why is it so much easier to say things over text with him? Lord, I wish I could talk to him as easily as I could text him. My phone dings with a response from him right as the door opens.

  “Violet?”

  “That’s me,” I put my phone back in my purse, and give my full attention to the situation I’m in.

  A woman looking a little older than me enters. “I’m Dr. Whitmer, nice to meet you.” She has a seat, before leaning in to offer me her hand. The grip is firm, and in that moment, I decide the next person I meet I will have enough confidence in myself to give them a handshake like the one she gave me.

  “You wanna tell me a little bit about why you’re here?” She crosses her legs, sitting back in her chair, as she holds her pen at the ready.

  Like diarrhea of the mouth my whole story flows without stopping. I speak so long that my jaw begins to ache, and when I’m done, I feel as if I’ve gone ten rounds with a boxing champ.

  “Jesus.” She takes her glasses off, setting them down on her lap with the notebook she’s been writing in. “After all that’s happened to you, what do you want for you?”

  Not many people have ever asked me that question. Brent never did, that’s for damn sure. Immediately, last night flashes back to me, and I know without a doubt what I want, who I want to be.

  “I want to be a woman strong enough to believe a man loves her, not because he wants to control her, but because he wants to be her partner. I want to be strong enough and confident enough to be that partner for another man.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “Then that’s what you’ll be, Violet.” She leans forward, a piece of notebook paper in her hand. “And this is how we’re going to get you there. We’ll see each other a few times a month until you feel like you don’t need me anymore.”

  Looking at the plan she’s laid out, I feel some things I haven’t in a long time. Excitement and hope – like I just might make it through this after all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ace

  Two Weeks Later

  “You sure you wanna do this?” I question Violet as we stand outside her trailer. She brought me out a drink to where I’m parked in her driveway. Like I am every other night.

  She nods. “I go back to work in two days, and I really want to feel safe when I go there. Trust me, I know this isn’t a fix-all, Anthony, but it’ll make me feel better.”

  “You know I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe, and if showing you how to fire a gun is going to do that, it’s what we’ll do.”

  I’ve tried to be accommodating with things she’s needed, and I completely agree with this request of hers. I believe more than anything, she should be able to protect herself, and if I can help her with that, I’m going to do it. The small can of pepper spray she carries can buy her some time if it ever came to that, but a gun? It could save her life if push came to shove.

  “Can’t we do it here?” she asks, even as she’s getting into my truck.

  I shake my head as I start the engine. “Not here, there’s too many variables I can’t control. If we go to a shooting range, I can make sure you learn how to do it right and have all the tools you need within reach.”

  She’s quiet and I get the feeling she isn’t being completely honest with me. “What’s really bothering you? Is it going back to work?”

  “Will everyone be staring at me? Whispering about what happened to me? That’s my biggest fear about going back to work. Will people look at me with pity in their eyes, Anthony?” She pushes back her dark hair, her eyes cutting over to me across the seat. “I don’t know if I can take it. Everywhere I’ve been, people have looked at me with pity in their eyes.” She licks her lips. “Everyone but you. You’ve never looked at me like you could fix me, and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

  “You’re not broken, Violet. There’s nothing to fix.” I reach over and grab her hand, entwining our fingers together. When I come to a stop sign, I let my eyes drink in the sight of her, see her face for the first time in weeks without the mar of bruises and the tightness of tension.

  The shaky breath she pushes between her lips is the only sound in the cab of the truck. “Thank you,” she whispers, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

  Reaching over, I use my thumb to wipe up the moisture. If I could give this woman anything, it would be my vision of how I see her. She doesn’t understand what a strong person she is. How she’s handled what’s been given to her is nothing short of extraordinary. “No thanks necessary. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see what an amazing woman you are.”

  “I’m not amazing.” She keeps her head down, averting my eyes.

  Trailing my thumb down her cheek, I sweep it under her chin, tilting it to force her to look at me. “You’re everything, and I won’t stop until you realize it.”

  Realization of what she’s doing flairs in those eyes of hers, and I think for the first time, I’m getting through. “Please don’t stop. Give me hope, Anthony.”

  “You got it.” I lean over, kissing her on the cheek.

  One small peck holds our past, our future, and everything in between. Her brown eyes are locked on my green ones, and in this moment, we’re on the same wave-length.

  The honk of a car horn behind us breaks the moment, but as I continue to the shooting range, I know this has been a game-changer. After everything she’s been through, Violet trusts me.

  I’ll never betray it or abuse it, but I damn well will nurture it. And if she lets me, I’ll turn it into the most passionate love she’s ever experienced. I’ve waited to meet her my whole life, and I’ll be damned if I let the damage of the man before me wreck what could become the best thing either of us have ever had. I’ve been patient, I’ll continue to be patient and I’ll put in the time, because she’s worth every bit of the effort.

  * * *

  “Keep your form tight,” I tell her as I stand behind her.

  “Like this?” she asks as she widens her stance, holding the gun in front of her with both hands.

  “Is it okay if I show you?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she nods. “I want to know how to do this correctly. I’m good with pepper spray, but I’d like to have more than that to save me if I need it.”

  If I have anything to say about it, she’ll never have to worry about protecting herself again; that’ll be my job. Stepping up close behind her, I tuck her back into my front. Awareness flashes through my body at holding her for the first time. I’ve wanted to hold her in a million ways since the day she came home from the hospital. If this is the only way she’ll let me, I’ll take it.

  I extend my arms alongside hers, leveling her arms and adjusting her grip on the gun. After I guide her left hand to cradle the butt of the gun, I place her pointer finger alongside the trigger.

  I lean in close, trying to ignore the way our bodies fit together. If this had been any other woman, at any other time, I’d press myself completely against her, let her feel the way I react, but I don’t want to scare her, and she’s tense enough. “Relax. You’re too tense, you’ll be sore tomorrow if you don’t take a breath and loosen up.” My voice is quiet, tone is level. “Relax, line up your sights, and focus on your target. When you’re ready, move your finger on to the trigger. Take a deep breath and slowly pull. You need to get a feel for how the gun fires.”

  She pulls the trigger, staggering when the recoil forces her to lose a bit of her stance. Holding her up, I help brace her body as she adjusts her stance and ar
ms and continues to fire until she empties the revolver we’re shooting.

  “Wanna go again?” I ask, raising my voice so she can hear me above the ear protection. We’re alone in the range, having picked a time when I knew hardly anyone else would be around.

  “Yeah, this time by myself. I get what you’re saying about relaxing, yet being strong.”

  Taking the revolver she set down, I show her how to load the chambers. Placing it back down, I give her a nod. “It’s all yours.”

  I step back, watching her as she assumes the position, lines up her shot, and fires. Her aim isn’t completely accurate, but she’s shooting well enough to injure someone if she needed to. When she empties again, she looks over her shoulder to me.

  “It’s not perfect,” she worries her lip between her teeth.

  “No, but no one ever starts out perfect. It’s just like anything else, you have to practice. Once you practice enough it’s muscle memory and you won’t have to even think about it. We started you out with a lower caliber gun, and when you’re ready, we can practice on something bigger. The most important part is being able to accurately shoot whatever gun you have.”

  Her brain is working, I can almost see it as she nods. “Do I have to be with you to come here?”

  “No, but it helps to have your concealed carry license to rent a firearm and buy ammunition. Plus you’ll be able to carry. We can work on getting it, and then you’ll be able to do this whenever you want to.”

  “Good.” She carefully lays the gun down and takes a step back. “This is what I want to do.” She runs her hands over the back of her jeans, and I try not to pay attention to how well they fit.

  Clearing my throat, I start putting our stuff away. “Are you done for the day?”

  “Yeah.” She gives me a smile. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  Seeing the little bit of pride she has in herself warms a space within me. Since all this went down, she’s been a shell of the girl she was when I first walked into The Café, but today it seems as if she’s gotten a little of herself back. The spark that initially intrigued me, is back today. I’m not ready for us to leave one another, I’d like to spend more time with her.

  “You hungry?”

  “Starving.” Her voice is soft again. I’ve noticed it gets that way when she’s answering questions she may not be used to being asked.

  “Then let’s go get some lunch.”

  We’re leaving the range when she grabs my hand, pulling me to a stop.

  “Not at The Café, right?”

  Even though that was exactly where we were going, I cover it well. “No, we’ll go to my house if that’s okay with you.”

  Again she shows an amazing trust in me. “Sure, sounds good.”

  And now I have to figure out what the fuck I’m going to feed both of us.

  Violet

  “I know you weren’t planning on feeding me and you probably did think of going to the Café, so thank you for not making a big deal out of it,” I speak around the grilled chicken I have in my mouth.

  Ace had covered it well when I asked him if we had to go to the scene of the crime, so to speak. But when we got here, I could tell he hadn’t been planning on feeding me. We’ve done a good job as a team, though. He grabbed some chicken out of the fridge, grilling it to perfection with homemade barbecue sauce on it, while I found some sides to go along with it in his cupboards.

  He laughs as I call him out.

  “Guilty as charged. To tell you the truth, you’re dealing with everything so well, I didn’t even think about it.”

  “You think I’m dealing with things well?” I take a drink of the best sweet tea that’s ever been placed in front of me. When I’d asked him who made it, he’d said his mom with a wink and a smile. By the end of the lunch, I have a feeling I’m going to be trying to figure out how the hell to get her to make me a week’s supply at a time.

  “Hell yeah.” He takes a bite of his baked potato, blowing out a breath. “Damn, that’s hot.”

  It’s comical, him trying to get a drink without spilling it down the front of his shirt, and a giggle breaks its way past my throat. It feels like forever since I’ve had any cause to laugh, but it feels good. Anthony Bailey gives me hope that things in my life can be different.

  For a moment, I let my brain drift back to us at the range, his body pressed up against mine. It had taken everything I had not to show how it affected me, how my hands shook, how my heart pounded, and my breath hitched. I’d done my best to keep it friendly, but one day, that things in my life will be different. One day I’ll know what it’s like to settle in his arms, and not have to pretend like it doesn’t affect me.

  “Anyway. I’m proud of you.” He finally swallows, giving me his attention and directing mine back to him. “You’re getting out of your house, even if I have to drag you out. You’re facing things head-on. That would be a problem if you weren’t. But you’re taking things at your own pace.”

  I give a little nod, showing I’m accepting the praise, and just maybe I’m a little proud of myself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Violet

  My hand shakes as I put a portion of my hair in a braid and pull it halfway back into the locks trailing down my shoulders. Half-up/half-down is one of my favorite ways to style my hair. Brent hated when I would play with my hairstyle like this – anything that was playful, fun, or age appropriate, he would sneer his nose up at. He preferred for me to wear it pulled back in a bun style that was so severe, it made me look like I was in my forties. Given the way I never smiled, never met anyone’s gaze – I probably did look like I was in my forties. Some miser who hated her life, and for a while I did. But I’ve come to realize over the past few weeks that’s so not me.

  Not many people know I’m actually twenty-nine. Much too young to feel this damn old. Isn’t that a song or something? Once upon a time, I was someone who loved life, enjoyed pushing limits, and woke up every day looking forward to whatever adventure might be mine. Of all the things he took from me, that’s one of the things I miss the most, and probably why I’m so attracted to Anthony. The way he embraces every second of every day really does it for me, if I’m being honest.

  “You can do whatever you want to now, Vi.” I remind myself. There’s no one to tell me yes or no, other than myself. Typically, I don’t wear makeup when working because Brent didn’t like that either. He didn’t want me to encourage what he called unwanted attention. Didn’t want another man to hit on me, or make me feel pretty. Just another way he controlled me and kept me afraid.

  Flipping my middle finger up to the memory of my husband and the fear he forced me into, I grab the small bag of makeup I allowed myself to have. Rifling through it, I wish like hell this had been the first thing I did when I’d come home. Maybe that means I’m starting to heal, maybe I’m moving on from being the scared person I’ve been the past few years of my life. Hopefully the Violet I had been before I married Brent is starting to show herself.

  Teenage Violet had been strong until one incident made her feel weaker than she’d ever felt – at least until what I’ve been through now. She’d been searching for something, someone to make sense of a tragedy. To make her feel again.

  Funny, adult Violet is doing the same thing.

  It’s going to take longer than a few weeks, that I’m fully aware of, but just the small glimpse of who I used to be puts a smile on my face. Finishing up my mascara I run the palms of my hands down my jeans and take a fortifying breath. Grabbing my bag, my phone, and my keys, I’m ready to start my first day back at The Café.

  As I step onto the front porch, I take in the sun coming up over the horizon and vow to embrace this new day, the new beginning that I’m being given. Stepping off the bottom step and turning to my car, I sigh and let a small smile spread across my face.

  Anthony is parked there, leaning against his personal vehicle. This is the man who’s quietly been my rock the last few weeks. Between the texts, sitting outside my
house, sharing dinner with me, and just being a presence, he’s helped me more than anyone or anything else has. In the beginning I worried I was leaning on him too much, but the fact of the matter is, there’s no one else I trust like him. For him to know what I need before I ask for it? I’m blessed to have him in my life.

  My heart does this little flutter that it hasn’t done in a long time. Years, if I’m being honest. His legs are crossed at the ankle, encased in jeans that fit loosely enough to show me a little of what he has underneath them. A fitted gray t-shirt stretches across his chest as he braces his palms against the grill of the truck, pushing off and slowly walking toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” My eyes take in his face, covered with stubble, dark circles call attention to the pale green of his eyes, and a sleepiness gives him a sexy laziness as he stops in front of me. “You look tired.”

  He yawns loudly, the chiseled jaw cracking as he puts a hand over his mouth to hold it back. “I am. I worked the night shift. Got off around midnight. Three hours sleep is rough, but I can handle it. I wanted to see you this morning.” He reaches out grasping hold of the end of my braid. “I like your hair like this.”

  The words please me immensely. I try not to look into the fact that I probably did this, not only for me, but for him too. I hadn’t expected him to be here this morning, but I had expected to see him sometime today. “Thank you. Now what are you doing here?”

  Reaching into his jeans with his free hand, he pulls his keys out, flipping them into the palm of his hand. “I’m here to take you to work. It’ll be a rough day for you, regardless of how ready you are to go back. You may need support, and I wanna be there.”

  “You’ve been here a lot.” I swallow against the lump that’s popped up in my throat. When I think about everything he’s done for me, that lump is a constant. Sometimes, I sit back and can’t believe the goodness he’s brought to my life.