A Perfect Love (9 page)

“Why’d you write?” I had no time for bullshit, just truth.

“It said in the letter. I wanted to make—”

“What? Amends? Things right? For shit’s sake,” I seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You are nothing. Nobody. You had no fucking right.” He remained silent as I strained to keep my voice low. “If you think for one second you will ever say a single word to Jo again, ever, you’re delusional. Either that or you’ll be fucking dead.” My anger rushed to the surface, driving my words forward. I took a calming breath, thinking of Jo, of Mace and his offer. A small part of me was tempted, especially as the monster before me simply sat, looking on with his face devoid of any expression.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in here for the rest of your life. You deserve nothing more.” His gaze never faltered with every venomous word I spoke. “When you’re out of here,
do not
attempt to contact me, Jo, Mace, or anyone who’s mine. You got it?”

He nodded in understanding, his face remaining impassive. I stood up and turned to leave.

“S— Liam.”

I paused shortly, my back to the man whose very existence made me sick.

“I meant every word.”

“I don’t give a shit.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I stopped myself. I just needed to get out of there. Heading to the exit, I signalled to be released, restraining myself from banging on the bars.

Racing through the formalities, as soon as I stepped outside of the prison walls I took a gulp of fresh air, needing the oxygen to calm me. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him again, but I had no idea just how shaken-up I’d be. My heart was at the point of bursting, my stomach recoiling at the onslaught of emotions. I needed to get home. I needed to see Jo.

Before I opened my car door, I pulled the letter out of my pocket for the last time. Unfolding the paper, I read its contents.

Joanna,

How do you start a letter that has been 7 years in the making, and should never have needed to be written in the first place?

There’s no excuse, no reasoning. I need to say I am sorry. I was sick, am sick. I want to go back and make things right. I know I can’t, but I want to.

I need to let you know I am being released soon. In just 6 weeks, I can try to make things right.

Just let me try.

David

I scrunched up the paper and threw it in the bin in the parking lot, feeling my stomach recoil once again. There was no way to sum up the gut-wrenching anger whenever I read his words. How in the hell did he ever expect to make things right? He’d raped her, damaged her, and destroyed a piece of her soul. He was screwed up in the head thinking he could even reach out to her. The letter was just another example of the selfish bastard he was. Forcing the events back on Jo once again, a long seven years after he’d smudged her heart, was a step too far.

Clenching my fists and breathing out deeply, trying to shake my anger, I took a moment before climbing in my car and driving off. I refused to look in the rear-view mirror. As far as I was concerned, there was no more looking back. I had my perfect life waiting at home for me, growing our family and no doubt preparing to kick the crap out of me since the fifteen missed calls on my phone indicated she’d found my note.

Chapter Seven

Jo

When I got my hands on him, I was going to throttle him. Seriously. The chicken-shit had left a half-hidden note telling me he’d gone to the correctional facility, which made me sick to my stomach. Not only because Liam was having to face David, the man whom he hadn’t seen in all these years, but it also made reality hit me smack in the forehead.

It meant the letter was real, which also meant that his release was scarily real, too.

I refused to pace the floor. And thinking it best to be out of the house when he arrived home—I was liable to pounce on him if I stayed—I grabbed my car keys and headed to my parents’ house.

It didn’t take long before I was sitting in my folks’ kitchen, the air-conditioning pumping out delicious cool air as I sipped an ice tea. I relaxed and sighed in contentment. I had moments when I would react to situations without fully thinking things through, and I was never more aware of that than over the last few weeks since I found out I was going to be a mum. Which was one of the reasons I knew it was best to calm down and attempt to behave like a grown-up when Liam returned.

I was still pissed, but not really at him. I knew why he’d gone. I also understood why he’d gone without telling me. I was unbelievably angry at the situation, so much so, I could barely get my head around the audacity of David, but that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I was really feeling. All I wanted to do was vomit. A persistent ball of nausea sat heavily in my stomach since I read his letter. My reaction didn’t help me at all, as every time I felt close to vomiting, I thought about the baby growing in my belly. And every time I thought about my baby, I then felt even more nauseous, worrying my upset stomach may harm my unborn child. It was a vicious bloody circle, and, I was sure, an irrational one at that. Of course, my anger, fear, sickness and a whole heap of other emotions I dared not put names to, rushed through my stupid brain and body regardless.

Sometimes, I wished I could rewind, but I never knew where exactly I would pause and press play. I wondered if I hadn’t read the letter would that have made any difference. I knew I wouldn’t be on the edge and feeling sick, but I also knew if I hadn’t and instead discovered he was released without me knowing, then it would have been a whole lot worse.

I considered whizzing back to all those years ago. That night at the party. The night when my life tore apart. Life was filled with ifs and buts and what ifs; it was an aspect which I hated. There was no point. Turning back the time would not have made me the woman I was to become. Despite the shit I had been dealt, I’d also been given some pretty amazing moments, too. It was the need to focus, and look at the positive, that always managed to keep me grounded.

Forgetting was impossible. It was the moving on which had been the hardest. Dealing with the reality of the pain and heartache had been destructive. Love was the only glue able to provide the strength to put me back together. I wasn’t like new, and I wasn’t exactly shiny and sparkly, but I was solid and whole.

I was so caught up in trying to ignore my feelings and reality, which I completely sucked at, that I didn’t even see my mum sit next to me.

“I spoke to Liam.”

My awareness of Mum knowing about the letter sent a jolt of pesky reality through me. I nodded without looking at her and took a sip of my tea. I crunched on an ice cube, enjoying the coolness, and the fact that the volume blocked out the world around me, even though it was for a fraction of time.

“I’m here when you’re ready.” I nodded once again and returned the squeeze of her hand she gave me. “Just know, we’re here and we’ll do whatever you want or need.” I gulped, swallowing my bubbling emotions. “You know Tony Trovalusci from your dad’s old work?”

Turning to her, I raised a brow in question. I knew who he was. Tiny Tony was a funny, old Italian guy. He was crazy tall and really sweet. I had no idea why she made the bizarre subject change.

“Well, I’m pretty convinced he has mafia connections.” I coughed on the fresh ice cube I was chewing on. “No, truly,” she continued, ignoring my choking. “If I need to, I can always talk to him. I’m sure I could organise a hip or something on him.”

Hysteria swept through me. Visions of old Italian guys taking people out with their steel-reinforced hip replacements filtered through my mind. This was a complete contrast to my horror of my mum being deadly serious. Containing the laughter bubbling in my chest, I managed to speak. “Holy crap, Mum.
Hit
. It’s called a hit.”

“A hit? Right.” She grabbed her bag off the side, rifled through and pulled out a pen and her notepad. “
Hit
. Okay, what else do I need to know? Is ‘pop a cap’ right?”

“Shit, Mum. No.” I tore the notepad out of her hands, this time my laughter flying out of my body. It was loud and high-pitched, and it made me jump and clamp my hand over my mouth. “God, Mum,” I wheezed. “You can’t go round saying Tiny Tony is mafia just because he’s Italian.”

She raised her brows at me. “No, Jo, I’d never do that. But I’m pretty sure I overhead him at the office once saying something about needing his driveway concreted. He ended it with ‘capiche’. I’ve watched a few movies in my time. I know that’s code for something.”

It was too much. I grabbed the tea towel off the side, shoved it between my legs and raced to the bathroom. I had no idea if I was going to make it in time, but holy shit, my mum was making me piss myself.

Sitting on the toilet, remarkably relieved I wouldn’t have to ask to borrow any spare undies or maybe a Tena Lady, I called out to Mum, “All it means is ‘do you understand’, Mum. It’s not code.” I shook my head as I flushed the toilet and washed up. I had no idea where my mum came up with half of the stuff she did. She was far from unintelligent. She’d had a really successful business over the years, so much so, she had been able to sell and retire early. Nope, she was far from dumb. A genuine smile plastered my face. This was exactly the reason why I needed to see Mum. My wonderful, crazy-arsed mum.

“Thank you,” I said, bumping shoulders with her as I sat down.

She leaned over and pulled me into an embrace, tight and familiar. Kissing my head, with her lips against my hair, she whispered, “Anytime, sweetie, but you think carefully about what I’ve said. Anything.” I nodded as she moved away, a smile still sitting contently on my face.

“So…” she said, standing and making her way to the cupboard. She opened the door and removed a VHS. “This looks like a perfect time to me. What do you think?”

My smile slipped and I was sure my face had turned white.
Hell, no
. It was time to get out of crazy town.

It wasn’t like I was opposed to grotesquely bright colours and Disney characters painted on the wall, but staring at the sad-face Eeyore made me want to pull out the magnolia and repaint the waiting room. Liam was antsy. His knee bobbed up and down and it was pushing me over the edge. I had no idea what to expect when we arrived for my twelve-week scan, but it most definitely wasn’t the level of anxiety sweeping through my system. Having a full bladder ready to explode wasn’t helping, either.

“If you don’t still your knee, I swear on Eeyore’s pinned-on tail, I’ll find a pin to stick on your arse.” I stood and re-paced the room, hoping the movement would distract me enough to ignore Liam, who was more nervous than I was, and stop me from opening my bladder in front of the young couple to my left. I was reaching the point of squatting in the corner of the room. Hell, right in the centre was not beneath me.

The loved-up couple looked horrified at my sneer. The damn woman wasn’t even jiggling on the spot. I grimaced and was on the edge of a disparaging remark, which would no doubt get me kicked out, when a nurse entered the room and called our names.

Sighing in relief while still clenching my pelvic floor muscles—it was the only way to stop my pee from trickling—I sped ahead of Liam, not looking back to see if he was following. I needed the scan over as soon as humanly possible. I’d already eyed five possible routes to the toilets.

Lying back on the hospital bed, the doctor talked Liam and me through the procedure and explained what she was looking for. Fingers brushed against mine, drawing my attention to Liam. He looked down at me, a nervous smile flickering across his face, and his hand found mine more securely. At the contact, I released a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, glancing back at the screen just as the sound of what was undoubtedly a heartbeat filled the room.