Salt Water Wounds (Oyster Cove #1) (4 page)

She begins to sulk. “This was a mistake. We should go somewhere else. I know I’m a bother.”

I quickly take her by the right arm to prevent her from walking away from me. “Hold up a minute. I never said you had to leave. You’re not the only one having a bad day.”

Those eyes meet mine again. “God, you’re right. I’m being insensitive and selfish. Are you okay, Buck?”

I turn around and look at the teenage boy I’m going to have to keep a leash on when Bristol finally shows up. Now that they’re on my doorstep, I feel obligated to let them inside and keep them there for the night so they can be safe. “How do you feel about chicken?”

“What?” She’s puzzled.

“Chicken. I thawed some early this morning. I’ll cook on the grill since it’s nice out. Your boy can put his things in the twin’s room for the night. There are two beds. I’ll get some clean sheets out of the linen closet, because I’m not really sure if they’ve been changed in years. I’ll put you in Dane’s room. It’s cleaner.”

She cackles through a new bout of tears. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah. It’s probably better if I’m not alone tonight. I can use the distraction, so I don’t go insane when my daughter arrives. She brings out the worst in me.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

I’m disgraced when we get in the front door and she gets her first inkling of how we live. My cheeks feel hot and I don’t know if it’s me, but I swear I can still smell dog shit. On top of that, Bristol comes rolling up the driveway on the back of a motorcycle.
A fucking motorcycle.

I look at Perry, my teeth gritting as I do my best to render a positive welcoming smile when all hell is about to break loose in front of them. “It’s about to get ugly.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen worse.” She drives her attention to the tattooed biker kissing my seventeen year old daughter. “Point me in the direction of the linen closet and bedroom. I’ll take care of the sheets. I can see you’re about to have your hands full.”

She has no idea how bad it’s about to get.

This is where I need my wife. I need her to hold me back from killing some punk for putting his hands on my daughter. I need her to take control of the situation before things become disastrous.

I inhale and close my eyes to prepare for this confrontation. If this continues with my youngest, I’ll be joining my wife in the grave very soon.

Chapter 4

Some people spend their whole lives looking for their place in the world
.
For me, I’m well on my way to a complete meltdown, because I fear I’ll never be able to get far enough away from my past to reach for a better future.

Buck may think he knows about my failed marriage, but he hasn’t touched the surface.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had an itch to get as far away from this little island as humanly possible. I know it’s crazy. Most people dream of being able to spend every waking second on such a beautiful island, but it’s not the scenery that makes me hate this place. It’s the people and the memories I’ll never be able to run from.

I can mask the pain, pretend everything is okay and live each day as if the past doesn’t exist, but it’s still on my mind, never allowing me a second to stop wondering if history will repeat itself.

I always thought if I could get away, happiness would fall upon me, and I’d be able to put all the ugly behind me. That’s why meeting Peter gave me hope.

It was a hot summer, and I’d been working two jobs on the island. At sixteen I was determined to be popular. Some would say I was hungry for attention.

Aside from greeting customers at my parent’s restaurant, I managed to snag a job at a miniature golf place. The tourist attraction was always crowded, especially since back then it was the only one on the entire island. Families and teens would come and play, and all I really had to do was take their money and hand them different colored balls.

It’s not uncommon to get hit on, but there was this one guy who stood out among the many. He was tall, wavy dark hair, bright as the sky blue eyes, and a butt that wouldn’t let me look away. It was the nineties, so you can imagine how captivated I was by his Billabong shirt and O.P. shorts. He wore a Walkman around his neck, with the music turned up high enough people could hear the treble loud and clear as he walked around.

The moment our eyes met it was electric. I couldn’t stop staring, catching his gaze and then feeling hot as it continued happening. I made it a point to come out of the cashier box to make sure his family was enjoying their experience, hoping if I made the effort he’d reward me with a number.

At first I was only looking for a summer fling. Most families spend one or two weeks on the island, tops, but not his. They’d rented a chalet for an entire month.

He returned to the miniature golf place two days later and asked for my number. That night he drove me home. For the next twenty two days we were inseparable. Somewhere along the way I fell hopelessly in love with him.

Peter Hawkins was from New York City. His parents owned a chain of bakeries and were well known for their famous commercials. At the age of twenty-four, he was attending college at MIT, in hopes of being an engineer. Peter was the smartest person I’d ever met, but never nerdy. His mind was like a sponge, and I became intrigued by the extent of his knowledge of science and life experiences. Vicariously living through the stories he fed me, I knew if I played my cards right he’d be my ticket off the island.

Our first time was magical. We snuck onto Assateague Island and rode our bicycles to the ocean. He placed a blanket over a dune, and as the waves came crashing in, he confessed his feelings for me. Though he wasn’t the person to take my virginity, Peter was the first man I ever made love to. He was gentle and considerate. He pleasured me before himself. His attention to detail made the encounter forever etched into my memories as the best experience I’d probably ever endure.

Having lied to him about my age from the beginning, only for him to find out from a friend later on, Peter left Chincoteague angry and regretful. He told me I was his biggest mistake. He claimed he was too old for me, and the fact that I’d originally told him I was eighteen was a crime. He returned the letters I mailed to him for an entire month, and refused my phone calls, which back then were from a landline.

Then something happened.

I discovered I was pregnant.

Since he wouldn’t take my calls, or open my letters, I was forced to do something drastic to get his attention. I took my mother’s car and drove from Virginia to New York City with two duffle bags of my belongings and a paper map to guide the way.

At first he wasn’t thrilled to see me. He slammed the door on my face and told me to get lost. I rang the doorbell until his mother answered, and as soon as I saw her I blurted out the news I was certain would change everything.

It did.

Using every bit of emotions I was able to conjure, I played the part, telling them my parents kicked me out and I had nowhere else to go. They reluctantly took me in, forcing their son to take responsibility for the mess he’d managed to get himself in.

I manipulated the situation, using my unborn child to secure a new life far way from the island.

We married that following year. Peter took a long time before he’d sleep with me again. He refused to believe the child was his, even after Nick was born. Since his parents could afford it, they did a paternity test, and once there was no doubt Peter was the father of my son, he started to forgive me.

Despite the fact that I was a minor, my parents never came looking for me. My mom knew I’d never return, and I think in a lot of ways she was happy about it, because she knew the family secrets would never come out as long as I was gone. I’d write to her and even call on occasion, though our conversations were short. I didn’t confess to being married and having a child until my son was two, and even then I wasn’t ready to visit.

Peter got his degree and moved us to Illinois, right outside of Chicago. We purchased a house, him getting a job for the government, and me working part time as a bartender.

We fought constantly. He resented me, and I was desperate to hold onto him because I knew I’d have nothing without him.

The fights didn’t become violent until after five years. He started staying out for days at a time. First it was cocaine, but then the addiction took over. I remember the first time I found the marks on his arm. He swore I was crazy, but I knew exactly what was happening. He beat me so bad, from the neck down, that I wasn’t able to get out of bed for three days.

His apologies came shortly after, and because I knew he was all I had, I forgave him.

As soon as he caught wind that he’d gotten away with it, the beatings started to get more frequent. He switched jobs and we ended up moving to Pennsylvania. I think because he didn’t know anyone, it was difficult for him to score drugs, so after going through withdrawals he became the man I originally married. We talked about putting the past behind us, and I even confided my past to him. To this day he’s the only person I’ve ever told. I felt like we finally had a chance.

I quickly became head bartender at a local pub. We joined a church. Nick started school. For a while life was good, but we all know bad things happen when we least expect them.

Peter got laid off. His parents couldn’t help us financially, because the business wasn’t doing well. They’d shut down three locations and had to let go most of their employees. The drinking became the only thing to cure his depression, or at least take the edge off. While his mood remained the same, the dark side of him came back with a vengeance.

It was a Saturday night. I’d just come home from a long shift at the pub to find him sitting on the front stoop. He never looked at me as I approached him. Unexpectedly, I reached out to touch him, to ask if he was all right. He caught my arm so fast I couldn’t react. One minute I was smiling, but concerned, and the other I was pleading for him to spare my life.

That night I packed my things and took Nick out of the house. I drove distraught for miles, and desperate. The pain ripped through me, reminding me I was married to a psychotic monster. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse I saw the headlights. I’d pulled over at a local fast food joint to see if I could get some sleep. I know now I should have continued driving and never looked back. Haunted by a fate that I feared would be possibly worse than a beating, I knew the only choice I had was to stay.

After two years living in Pennsylvania, we moved to New York City to be closer to his parents. His mother had been diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer. We lived with them while she endured multiple chemotherapy treatments as well as radiation. Unfortunately nothing worked to send the disease into remission. One year after learning the news she died in hospice care.

If I thought my abusive relationship couldn’t get any worse, I’d been very mistaken. Peter’s drinking and drug use spiraled. He’d disappear to go on binges, and only come home to take out his anger on me. When I finally got the courage to report him, he threatened Nick’s life instead of mine. We lived in fear, never knowing which Peter was going to walk through the door.

By the time Nick turned eleven, I’d saved a few thousand dollars. I renewed my relationship with my parents, because frankly I couldn’t keep living in such horrible conditions. A week before we were set to leave and never look back, the unimaginable happened.

Unbeknownst to me, Peter had been spying on my every move. I still have no clue how he knew what I was planning, but he swore I was doing it because of another man.

I’d been working part-time at a bar near the house. I could walk to work, but usually drove since I got off late at night. While walking me out to my vehicle after closing, one of my customers was violently assaulted, while I desperately tried to help them. During the altercation, which still to this day haunts me, I came face to face with the devil.

The police were called, and after discovering he’d assaulted an off duty officer, I finally had hope that my luck was about to change.

Peter was arrested and immediately taken into custody, where he remained in jail until his court date. His father, being an upstanding member of society was ashamed of his son’s actions. With his own health failing, he apologized for his son’s actions, not that it changed anything.

Coming back to the island was bittersweet. I thought this was behind us. With the things Peter knew I figured he’d never suspect I’d move back. I assumed we were safe.

My stomach is still in knots as I stand on Buck’s porch and recall the confrontation earlier in the day. My hands are shaking, and I’m certain that if I don’t sit down I might pass out. The adrenaline has stopping raging through my body, and now I’m left vulnerable and in shock.

This isn’t a place I ever thought I’d be. Buck must think I’m a crazy person. I’ve been hitting on him for years, and since he’s always turned me down, I know there’s probably no hope for a chance now. He’s already having a terrible day. The man is damaged goods. He’s still grieving his wife who has been dead for years.

Buck is a nice man. He’s done right by his children, to the best of his ability. I mean, how many men can step up and be the mother and father to six teenagers?

The smell of the grill distracts me. I watch the buff built man, who has invited us to stay at his home, preparing supper for not only his family but two extra mouths and still manage to smile. I’m grateful, far beyond ever being able to describe. For now I feel safe, but I know as soon as I leave all hell is going to break loose again. I can’t hide forever.

The devil is back. I’m not just afraid for my life. I fear my secrets will come out, and when they do, I’ll never be able to face another person in this small coastal town again.