The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (122 page)

T
he alarm goes off at six o’clock.  We’re naked, tangled in soft white sheets.  Evan moves slowly as he reaches over to turn off the alarm.  I can tell his body is sore from yesterday’s physical punishment by the way he moves.  He cautiously swings his legs off the side of the bed and he groans as he tries to sit up. 

My eyes follow the ray of sunshine streaming through the window as it lands on his body.  His broad shoulders beg for my touch.  I can’t help but notice the gentle curve of his spine leading to his trim waist and round ass.  The perfection of his frame is the subject of many a blog post and fan page.  This is the stuff Calvin Klein underwear models are made of.

I scoot over to his side of the bed, lean up on my knees, and massage his aching shoulders.  I pepper his spine with kisses as I work my way down, moving from his upper back to between his shoulder blades, and easing my way down to the base of his spine and his hips.  He tilts his frame forward, encouraging me.

His body is chiseled to perfection, with gloriously toned muscles, firm and defined.  But today those muscles are as hard as bricks.  No wonder he aches.  As I work my thumbs up and down his spine, he winces from the pain.  “Evan, you need to loosen these muscles.  Do you want me to run you a hot shower?”

“I don’t know, Juliette.  I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to exercise these muscles to keep them from tightening up too much.”  He swings around and sweeps me up in both arms, depositing me playfully on his lap. 

I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze.  I love this man with all my heart.  After a little playful canoodling, I peel myself off him and start his shower.  He should be off on Monday, but because of yesterday’s loss, the team is expected back at the stadium by eight o’clock.  They’ll do some conditioning, maybe a little weight training, and review the game footage. 

Evan doesn’t beat himself up too much over the loss.  He once said to me that the quarterback gets too much of the blame and too much of the credit when it comes to wins and losses.  Evan is competitive, and I just know that he will take his frustration to the next game and do everything in his power to secure a victory on the road.

After he leaves, I throw on my running clothes and go for a pounding run on the beach.  Evan doesn’t want me out on the beach alone, so I decide to send a text to Auggie so someone knows where I am.  I also have Maddy with me and I know she will protect me and keep me safe.  It seems like a reasonable compromise.

I dress in layers, clip on my iPod and head out.  The beach is uninhabited by humans and creatures alike.  There are no dirty seagulls, which I prefer to call rats with wings.  The surfers are absent, as are the fisherman. 

When I run, it’s just me and my playlist.  This is the time I give to myself and no one else.  The first song to play as I begin my run is OneRepublic, “If I Lose Myself.”  It’s exactly what I plan to do – lose myself completely.  Release my worries, my concerns, my fears, and just run.

I try, I really do.  I focus on the wind blowing in my face and hair.  My hands are clenched into fists so tight that I can actually feel my nails digging into the flesh on the palms of my hands.  My breasts, which have always been larger than I would like, bounce rhythmically up and down with each pounding step.  I no longer get winded as I used to, so instead I concentrate on the feel of my heart pounding in my chest, pumping the blood to my extremities as I move farther and farther from home.

Eventually the lactic acid builds up, leaving me with burning muscles.  My body is screaming, telling me it’s time to stop.  I’m at a threshold.  Can I continue?  Can I push through?  Can I control the pain?

Control
. 

I stop thinking about my body’s physical pain and find something else to think about – the bail and arraignment hearing of Ryker Donovan scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  My imagination is in overdrive.  I wonder how many people will be there.  I try to anticipate what the judge will do.  Will Ryker be given bail?  Will he change his plea?

The faster my mind churns with possibilities, the less pain I feel.  Before I know it, the pain is nearly gone, replaced by pure elation.  The endorphins my body releases take over and all I know is the buzz of excitement that lifts my spirits.  Running has always helped me clear my mind, but this is different.  I feel a new high I’ve never felt before.  It’s intoxicating.

E
van and I arrive at the courthouse early Tuesday morning.  I knew it would be a madhouse.  Reporters, photographers, and curious on-lookers fill the sidewalks as far as the eye can see.

I am packed tightly in the back seat of Adams’ SUV, with Adam on my left and Evan on my right.  Derek is driving and Marcus is in the passenger seat.  These men are our unofficial security team.  I trust them with our lives.  Adam warned we would need it, and he wasn’t kidding. 

Evan has come to trust Marcus nearly as much as Adam.  It makes me happy to see Evan’s relationship with Derek improving too.  We needed a driver today, and when Derek offered, Evan did not hesitate. 

Evan is a bundle of nerves.  His foot is tapping a mile a minute and he’s glowering out the window.  He hasn’t spoken a word for most of the ride here.  He scans up and down the front of the courthouse and puts his hand on my lap, squeezing my leg.  I don’t know if he’s trying to comfort me or himself.

Marcus and Adam hop out first.  They shield first me, then Evan as we emerge from the vehicle.  Flanking us and keeping close, they escort us toward the courthouse, waving off the questions being shouted at us from all directions. 

The crowd is relentless.  I can feel them pushing to get closer to us.  Some just want a better look.  Others are throwing questions at us like torpedoes.  They ask Evan if news of the arrest is the cause for Sunday’s loss to Miami.  Questions about the fire and rescue follow.  Then the worst – they want to know if it’s true that Ryker and I had an affair.  That is the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.

The flashing lights and screaming voices are overwhelming.  An involuntary tremble surges through my body.  Evan holds my hand tightly in his, squeezing me for comfort and assurance.  I just focus on walking in a straight line, heading directly for the courthouse doors.

Our group is escorted into one of the smaller courtrooms.  The press is lined up along the back wall.  Their cameras are set up on tripods and reporters are on their best behavior.  Here, in this room, they can only watch and observe.

We will not testify today.  Our statements are not necessary.  But we want to be here.  We need to be here.  Evan’s attorney arrived some time ago, and waves us to join him in the first row.  The room quickly fills up and there’s a palpable buzz in the air.

The prosecutors enter the room and sit at the long wooden table right in front of us.  An elaborately carved bannister separates them from the rest of us.  They notice Evan’s attorney and turn back to shake his hand.  They mutter something inaudible into each other’s ear, and all I see are heads nodding in agreement.  A quick pat on the shoulder, and Evan’s attorney turns to us.

“They’re asking he be held without bail.  It should be pretty quick and painless.”  I may not know much about the court system, but I do know this much – whatever happens today, it will
not
be quick and painless.  That would be entirely too easy.

Derek makes it into the courtroom just in time.  Two armed guards escort Ryker to the table where his attorney is waiting for him.  He’s dressed in an orange jumpsuit.  His hands are handcuffed and he looks like hell.  There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks defeated. 

Good.  He’ll never receive an ounce of sympathy from me.  Ever.

I notice a couple in their fifties sitting behind Ryker.  There’s a woman holding a tissue and wiping tears she seems helpless to contain.  Her husband is rubbing her back, but it’s not helping.  Ryker whispers in his attorney’s ear and receives a hesitant nod.  He walks to the railing and immediately the couple jumps to their feet.  The woman wraps her arms around Ryker while the man stands back, stoic.  They must be his parents.  What could possibly be going through their minds right now?  Could they have ever imagined they would wind up here?

A loud voice bellows through the room, ordering all in attendance to rise.  The judge enters and takes his place at the bench in the front of the courtroom.  He adjusts the microphone, bangs his gavel, and orders the proceedings to begin.

First he reads the charges.  Ryker is being charged with aggravated arson, with a maximum penalty of ten years, and aggravated assault, also with a maximum penalty of ten years in prison.  If found guilty, he could be facing twenty years behind bars.  His rights are explained to him in great detail.  The judge asks Ryker how he wishes to plead.

Ryker looks to his attorney for approval, then responds, “Guilty, Your Honor.”  Ryker turns around and looks directly at me.  His expression is sullen and he silently mouths the words, “I’m sorry.”  I do not acknowledge him. 

I glance over toward Evan and what I see frightens me.  The veins in his neck are bulging.  His breathing is slow and deliberate and he’s got a murderous look in his eye.  He is staring – no, glaring – directly at Ryker, and I think if he could, he would wrap his hands around Ryker’s neck and end it all right here and now. 

I place my hand on his leg, and every muscle in his body is as hard as stone.  I place my hands directly on his cheeks and gently turn him to face me. “Hey Chief, relax.  You’re scaring me.”

Evan immediately snaps out of it.  He kisses me softly and apologizes. “I’m sorry, baby.  I can’t help it.”  He takes a deep, cleansing breath and I can see some of the tension leave his body.

The judge moves the discussion along and agrees to hear each side’s position on bail.  As we anticipated, the prosecutors ask that he be held without bail due to the violent and egregious nature of the crime. 

Ryker’s attorney has been suspiciously quiet up until now.  At this point, he begins to argue the extenuating circumstances surrounding the “event”, as he calls it.

“Corporal Donovan has voluntarily turned himself in to the proper authorities.  He was under the misconception that the home was vacant and had no intention of causing any bodily harm when he committed his crime of arson, to which he has pled guilty. 

“The court should be aware of Corporal Donovan’s service in Afghanistan and his diagnosed PTSD, incurred during active combat.  This condition was exacerbated when Miss Fletcher began her campaign of deceit and betrayal by using the defendant’s feelings toward her as a weapon to gain back the affections of another man.

“Miss Fletcher was fully aware of her actions when she knowingly and willfully, without regard for the mental state of Corporal Donovan, made false promises and misrepresented her intentions toward him, resulting in extreme emotional distress.  Her actions contributed to, and resulted in, the events that occurred on that fateful night.  But for these acts, the resulting criminal act would not have transpired.

“Both Corporal Donovan and Mr. McGuire are the victims of Miss Fletcher’s misconduct.  It is the defendant’s intent to provide financial recompense to Mr. McGuire for his property loss in a timely manner.  In order to do so, the defendant must be granted an opportunity to find gainful employment while also receiving ongoing treatment.

“The defendant has a stable and supportive family unit and intends to spend his time contributing to society and attempting to fulfill his obligations while waiting for sentencing at their home in Beachwood.”

I cannot believe what I’m hearing.  I’m having trouble breathing while his attorney speaks.  His acidic words feel like a knife tearing into me.  My hands are shaking uncontrollably.  This is a nightmare.  I’m too afraid to look up at Evan.  How he is able to control himself is beyond me.

The judge ponders the assertions of the defense attorney before speaking.  “I see here that the crime took place on the ninth of August.  Today is the third of December.  I would like to know where Corporal Donovan has been during those four months when there was an outstanding warrant for his arrest.”

Ryker offers an explanation.  He tries to stand straight and tall as he speaks, but his shoulders hang low and his voice is weak.  “I’ve been in a residential inpatient facility in Georgia to deal with my PTSD, which had gone untreated since my discharge over a year ago.  During my ninety-day stay I worked on my coping strategies, and I’m ready to take full responsibility for the mistakes I’ve made.”

I watch as he speaks, trying to find a window into his state of mind.  He tells me he’s sorry, and then his attorney lambastes me and paints me as some sort of vixen.  I’m torn in two.  A part of me wants to talk to him and try to reason with him.  But there’s also a part of me that wants to hold him down while Evan tears him limb from limb.

After considering his admission, the judge is ready to assign bail.  I’m literally on the edge of my seat.  My grip on Evan’s hand is so tight that he has to pry my fingers off his hand to restore blood flow.  We both take a deep breath to steady ourselves for the judge’s decision.