by Kennedy Ryan
I dreamt of Iris last night. We were by the water, surrounded by trees, and the sun was high. The sky was an explosion of color, vivid, vibrant just before sunset.
We were happy.
How can I dream about Iris when, in a roundabout way, she’s the reason I’m here? I’m flat on my back, staring at the same spackled ceiling I fell asleep under when I was ten years old. And just like then, my mom stands at the door, ready to take care of me.
“You hungry?” she asks, walking in to fluff the pillows behind my head. “I can make those crab cakes you like so much.”
“Nah.” I shift my left leg on the bed and the right one on the small platform that elevates and stabilizes it.
“You need to eat,” Jared says from the door. He was an athlete in high school and still carries traces of a baller’s swagger, though it’s usually hidden beneath a suit these days.
“Okay,” I say, more to get my mother out of the room so I can talk to Jared than because I’m hungry. “Your famous crab cakes would be great, Mom.”
Her face lights up. She’s felt helpless over the last few days, like she wasn’t doing enough. Laid up and barely able to leave this damn bed for the next few weeks, I feel helpless, too. I wish making me feel useful again was as easy.
I study the walls, still plastered with childhood heroes, the idols who shaped my game: Jordan, Magic, Kareem, Kobe. I’ve been staving off depression ever since I hit the floor, and the thought of Kobe Bryant and the Lakers makes me think of the first night I met Iris.
“What’s the league saying about Caleb?” I ask Jared, balling my fists on the bed to contain my anger. “They rule it dirty?”
Jared grimaces, pulls a chair beside my bed, and flips it around to straddle. He rests his crossed arms on the back. “Everybody knows it was a dirty play,” Jared says. “But his dad is a Hall of Famer, part-owner of a team, and a front office executive. That’s a lot of power and influence. It’ll always be hard to make shit stick to Caleb even in a shit storm.”
“Are you kidding me?” I point to my leg. “I’m missing the end of this season and part of the next because of what he did. I knew he wasn’t the saint everyone thinks he is, but even I didn’t know how low he’d go.”
“What’s up with you and Caleb anyway?” Jared tips his head, his look probing. “I mean, I knew you were never fans of each other throughout college, but it seems to have gotten worse since you guys turned pro.”
Jared is one of the best agents in sports. If we hadn’t needed to keep our family connection on the low, there’s no way I would have chosen Lloyd as my agent over him. Part of what makes Jared so good is his BS detector. He sees through bullshit excuses and lies from a mile away, but there’s no way I’m telling him I jeopardized my career over a girl, much less one I barely know.
“Same old shit, I guess. Just higher stakes.” I shrug. “We’ve been going at it for years. You know that.”
“You sure that’s all there is to it?” Jared asks. “He doesn’t live far away from here. You rehabbing at home doesn’t have anything to do with him, does it?”
Maybe subconsciously I did stay here with the hope of running into Iris, but I won’t make it happen. If our paths are supposed to cross again, they will. I have other things I want to accomplish while I’m sidelined.
“We need to talk about Elevation.” I’m hoping the abrupt change of subject will pull my stepbrother away from talk of Caleb. Thinking of her with him makes my head hurt worse than my leg does.
“Exactly what do we need to discuss?” Jared asks. “We’re in year one of our five-year plan. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“I don’t want to wait five years.” I plow my fingers through the tangled hair that’s longer than I typically wear it. “I have the capital. You have the expertise. Let’s get it off the ground.”
“We planned to wait until you had a few seasons under your belt.” Jared rubs the five o’clock shadow covering his jaw. “A little more credibility and time to focus.”
I gesture to my busted leg. “I don’t anticipate having more time than I do right now, and you have enough credibility for both of us,” I say. “You’re a great agent with a stellar reputation. And you understand sports marketing. You can start signing clients now. I think having my name associated with the company at this stage decreases credibility. We want these athletes to take Elevation seriously. Some rookie ball player anywhere near the helm wouldn’t reassure me. I’ll be a silent partner for now.”
“You may have a point,” Jared admits. “If you’re rehabbing here for the summer, where do I set up the office?”
“As far as I know, I’m still in San Diego, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” Jared’s face closes off, his agent’s mask falling into place.
“Bruh, what aren’t you telling me?” I ask.
“They’re already talking about using a disabled player exception,” Jared says. “They’re eyeing mid-level free agents who can take your place until your rehab is done. Especially if it ends up being more like a year than eight months.”
I drop my head into my hands. It’s pretty standard to find a temporary replacement when a high-dollar contract player like me is injured, but I’m barely out of surgery and they’re already doubting my comeback? Already working on a contingency?
I get it. That fall, this injury, reminded me of my own mortality. It shattered the illusion of invincibility that soaring through the air gives you. We may soar, but we land. Not always on our feet, and sometimes so awkwardly that our bones break.
“Well it sounds like I got something to prove,” I finally say, flashing Jared a determined smile. “Dr. Clive projected at least eight months before I’m game-ready, right?”
“Yeah, at least eight months.”
I nod decisively, smiling at the man who’s been a brother to me, blood notwithstanding. “Then I’ll do it in seven.”
21
Iris
“I unequivocally deny ever doing harm of any kind to my daughter.” My voice remains steady with truth, but my body trembles with outrage. “I would never.”
The social services case worker, Ms. Darling, scribbles on her little pad, her brows knitted and her lips thinned. She practically vibrates suspicion and disapproval.
“Who accused me of this?” Of course, I know it was Ramone, but I want to hear her say it.
She looks at me from behind the glare of her glasses, sharp eyes taking in everything from my hair to my tennis shoes, and moving back over me like she wants to make sure she didn’t miss anything.
“We maintain the anonymity of those who come forward to report suspected abuse,” she says.
“That’s not fair.” I press my palms to my thighs.
“It is when you have the child’s best interest at heart, which we do.”
“So do I.” I draw a deep breath. “I’m sure you can imagine as a parent who has never harmed my baby and would do anything to protect her, an accusation like this is really frustrating. Insulting, actually.”
“Iris, let’s just cooperate,” Caleb says from the bottom of the stairwell. He has Sarai in his arms, and she blinks at me sleepily.
“We woke her from her nap for this,” I tell Ms. Darling, my tone one-third apology and two-thirds accusation.
I shift on the couch, trying to get comfortable, searching for relief. I’m still raw and throbbing from Caleb’s invasion last night. I thought he would hit me, but apparently, he believed a gun to my head and shoved between my legs was enough to keep me in line.
He was not wrong.
For now. At least until I can get my journal back and start demolishing this wall of lies he’s trapped me in. My word against his isn’t enough to get me out of this.
My chest goes tight at the sight of Sarai in Caleb’s arms. I walk over and take her.
“Hey, princess.” I smile into her sleepy eyes. “Did we wake you up?”
She gurgles happily, even though her eyes are sleep-hazed. She’s such a happy baby
, and I’m determined she’ll stay that way.
Ms. Darling’s face softens into that lady-putty women always melt into around Caleb. I get it. The shell is pretty impressive—six foot six inch, toned, tan, blond. The man is practically gilded. Not to mention those violet–blue eyes he’s passed onto our daughter. When you get to the center, though—when you peel back the golden overlay—at his core he’s nothing but a rotting side of meat. Spoiling and crawling with maggots. And I’m the lucky girl who gets to snuggle up to that every night.
“Mr. Bradley,” Ms. Darling breathes, her eyes admiring. “Thank you for bringing her down.”
“Please call me Caleb.” He adds the megawatt smile. “We want to get to the bottom of why anyone would say something like this about us.”
I roll my eyes. If I want to get to the bottom of anything, it’s the lies he and Ramone told to bring this woman here in the first place.
“Well technically,” Ms. Darling says, darting me a quick glance, “the complaint wasn’t filed against you. Just your fiancée.”
“I’m not his fiancée.”
The words spew out before I think better of them. The glacial look in Caleb’s eyes makes me wish I had kept my mouth shut, but my chin still tilts to a defiant angle.
“I’m sorry.” She looks at MiMi’s ring on my finger. “I thought—”
“No problem,” Caleb cuts in, smooth as a knife through butter. “We’re a family, the three of us. Natural mistake. What do you need to do? We want to cooperate fully.”
I suppress a frustrated sigh. His false solicitousness frays my nerves.
“With older children,” Ms. Darling says, “we interview them on their own, but since Sarai is a baby I’ll just need to examine her.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, fury bubbling under my skin. “I haven’t done a thing to hurt her, and these accusations are completely unfounded.”
“Of course they are, babe,” Caleb says soothingly. “So we just get this over with. Ms. Darling is simply doing her job.”
He reaches to brush the hair back from my shoulder, and I flinch. His eyes narrow, but the smile he offers is a thick pomade smoothed over his anger, slicking back his displeasure.
“May I see her?” Ms. Darling extends her arms, and it takes everything in me to hand Sarai over to her. I know she won’t find any marks or bruises, but this process is humiliating. I’m adding it to the list of things I’ll never forgive Caleb for.
Caleb and I watch as Ms. Darling lays Sarai on the couch and strips her clothes off, leaving her in only her diaper. Tears sting my eyes while she combs my baby girl’s plump little arms and legs for marks I’m supposed to have left on her. The painful irony is that the real abuser is standing right beside me. Until I find that journal, Caleb’s right. I don’t trust our legal system not to award Caleb joint, if not full, custody after the tower of lies and circumstantial evidence he’s stockpiled against me.
“I think everything is in order here.” Ms. Darling slips Sarai’s footed onesie back on. “I don’t see any evidence of abuse.”
“Of course you don’t, because I would never,” I snap.
Her brows lift at my sharp tone.
“I’m sorry. This is just all awful and disgusting. To think someone would accuse me of something like this, and we are . . . I am being subjected to this, is just a sore spot for me, as you can imagine.”
“I’m sorry for any inconvenience,” Ms. Darling says. “But when we receive a call like that, we have to make sure.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would lie about this?” I demand, at least wanting her to consider someone is out to get me, to tarnish me. I wish I could spill Caleb’s diabolical plan, but I have no proof and would only look like I was trying to deflect attention. I don’t look at him, but I feel Caleb’s stare boring into the side of my face as surely as the barrel of his gun did last night.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Ms. Darling says, a small frown knitting her brows. “Regardless, we’ll stay in touch.”
“Stay in touch?” My voice skips up a few octaves. “Why? You’ve seen that she’s fine. Is this not over?”
“Just as a precaution, we’ll schedule one more visit to ensure conditions remain consistent.”
Dammit. I have enough to worry about without having to suffer through this useless farce again.
When Caleb walks her out, I’m already halfway up the stairs and in the nursery by the time I hear her car pulling away. It only takes a little humming, several walky-bounces, and a few minutes before Sarai’s little eyes are drooping and she resumes her nap. I close the nursery door quietly and turn to go back downstairs, only to collide with a wall of muscle.
“Oh.” Anxiety at being this close to him corsets my torso, making breathing difficult. “I didn’t see you there.”
He doesn’t reply, but grabs my elbow roughly and herds me down the hall toward our bedroom. I’m tripping over my feet, trying to keep up. As soon as we’re in the room, he closes the door.
“So this visit was a sore spot for you, huh?” he asks. “I’ll give you a sore spot.”
“Caleb, I—”
The back of Caleb’s huge hand slaps the words from my mouth. I touch my lips, the sight of blood on my fingers transfixing me for only a second before I spring into action. I take off for the bathroom, but only make it a few steps before Caleb’s arm, ungiving bone, tight sinew, and hardened muscle, hooks around my waist from behind, hauling me off my feet. He flings me to the bed so hard I almost bounce off. I sit up, determined to make it to safety, but his fist slams into my face. My teeth rattle, and agony blossoms over my jaw and cheekbone.
Now I understand why he didn’t hit me last night. He knew Ms. Darling was coming and saved all this rage for after she left. His violence is not uncontrolled. It’s a thing of cold calculation, which in some ways makes it even more dangerous.
“Caleb, please,” I manage to say, though I can barely get the words past my swelling lips.
“Don’t you ever defy me in front of other people again,” he grits out, his expression made of stone, his eyes nearly black with rage.
His fist flies at me like a missile, but I duck and roll off the bed, landing in an undignified heap. I scramble to my feet, but he shoves me from behind, and I crash into the bedside table. It tips over, the lamp shattering against the wall. From the floor, I see him loosening his belt.
Oh God, no.
I raise my hands to protect my face from the leather strap hurtling through the air. It snaps against my wrist and fingers, cutting into the skin. Before I can process the first lash, several rain down on my arm, a deluge of terror that reddens my flesh with livid welts. In quick succession, the belt falls time and again, a wave that never ebbs, but just keeps coming, keeps crashing over me. The leather slashes into my back and my legs. The buckle nicks my knee, and I howl like a wounded animal, but there’s no one to rescue me. I am the dumb lamb that wandered from the fold, and I’ve stumbled into the razor teeth of a hunter’s trap.
“Oh, God. Caleb, please.” Pain steals my breath, and my words barely make it out before another punch slams my head into the wall. The room spins and tilts, and the edges darken.
I slump against the wall, too disoriented to respond. The belt keeps falling, seeking any tender flesh it has overlooked, and I stop fighting the darkness because it’s the only place I’ll find mercy.
22
Iris
“Sarai!”
Her name cannons from my mouth, and I jerk up on the bed. Pain slices under my breasts. I grab at my midsection, disoriented for a moment. I know I’ve been unconscious, and the last thing I saw was that monster’s face. My daughter’s been alone with him for as long as I’ve been out.
I fling my legs over the side of the bed, wincing when my muscles scream in protest. I’m naked, and I have no idea how I got this way. My stomach whirs at the thought of what Caleb may have done to me. Welts, cuts, and bruises crisscross my bare leg
s and arms. Shame builds in my chest and burns my eyes. How did I let this happen? How did I become this battered woman? A sob shakes my chest, and pain ricochets through my rib cage.
“Careful,” a deep voice says from the corner of the room. “Your ribs are probably bruised. There are painkillers by the bed.”
The face is familiar, but my head is still fuzzy. I do my best to assemble the features into someone I recognize.
“Andrew?” I ask, my voice hoarse from my screams.
“Yeah.” Caleb’s cousin stands from a chair, and averts his eyes from my bruised, naked body. “You might want to cover up.”
I snatch the bedsheet over my breasts. All my responses feel delayed as I drag pieces of this grisly puzzle in place.
“Sarai?” I ask. “Where is she?”
I hold my breath held while I wait.
“She’s in the nursery. I checked on her a little bit ago. She was fine. I fed her one of the bottles from the fridge.”
Relief is quickly followed by anger, fear, and trepidation.
“And Caleb? Where is he?” I ask.
Andrew’s cheeks redden, and he clears his throat.
“He, uh, had a game.” He grabs the bottle and a glass of water from the bedside table. “You’ll need these for your ribs maybe the next few weeks.”
I stare at the pills, afraid to take anything anyone in this house offers me.
“It’s just naproxen,” he says. “An anti-inflammatory painkiller.”
“You’re a doctor,” I say dumbly, as if he doesn’t know, but pieces of information are lining up in my head to make sense of why he’s here and why he’s so calm when it’s obvious Caleb’s beat the shit out of me.
“I’m still in med school.” Andrew shakes two pills out of the bottle into his palm and offers them to me. “Remember?”
“Is this part of the Hippocratic Oath?” I pop the pills and gulp water, tearing up when the jerky movements hurt my jaw. “’Do no harm’ actually means ‘only aid and abet?’”