Hush, Delilah, page 1
Hush, Delilah
Red Adept Publishing, LLC
104 Bugenfield Court
Garner, NC 27529
https://RedAdeptPublishing.com/
Copyright © 2022 by Angie Gallion. All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Red Adept Publishing App
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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Chapter 1
“How long you gonna let him do this?” Carmen’s voice is quiet, not betraying the rage just beneath her words. I let her touch the cloth to the swelling ridge along my jaw and then my nose. I draw in a sharp breath as she dips the cloth into the sink, tinging the water pink.
All I can do is lift my hand in answer. It is such an old conversation, but I have nobody else to go to. At least she will let me lick my wounds and hide until I have to go back home.
“He’s gonna kill you, Delilah.” Carmen’s voice breaks, lifting over the truth of it. She dabs again at my face then sets the cloth aside.
Carmen is right. I know he has it in him. I wouldn’t be his first victim. The thought is through my mind before I can catch it and shove it down. He doesn’t know I suspect him of that killing all those years ago, or I would already be dead. I went along with him as if I hadn’t seen him come into the bar looking wild, as if I hadn’t seen the wet spot on his shirt. I hadn’t wanted to see it. So when he insisted that he’d been in the bar all night, with me, I nodded. Even when the police asked me alone, I said he was with me. Does that make me an accomplice?
Carmen runs her thumbs down the bridge of my nose. I close my eyes, uncomfortable at her scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t think it’s broken. But you should go to the hospital.”
“And say what? I was hit by a car?”
“No. Turn the bastard in. Press charges. Put his ass in jail.”
I shake my head, and it swims. I reach out to steady myself. Getting rid of him sounds so easy, slipping from her mouth. I’ve walked through that scenario before, working out details for an escape that would never happen. I can’t just go into a courtroom and let them fillet my private life for the world to see. I don’t live like Carmen, bold and full of confidence. I need my doors and windows shuttered and don’t want some lawyer airing our dirty laundry. I keep my voice small and my eyes turned away from conflict. Going to the police might hurt Jackson, ruin his childhood. I shudder to think of the media’s headlines on our family—on the sordid life of Chase Reddick, prominent local business leader, and the accusations made by his quiet, nearly invisible wife.
Carmen wouldn’t understand what’s at stake. She isn’t a mother. She won’t keep a relationship past the first bump, let alone through a knockdown.
“It’s not that easy. To just walk away.” My words feel fat coming through my busted lip, past the swelling of my jaw. “We’ve got a son.”
“Yeah, great. What is he learning? To cower or beat people.”
“That’s not fair.”
Carmen shakes her head and moves on to work on my eye. The sting makes me swallow further protests behind my teeth. My mind reels. What am I teaching Jackson? He doesn’t know. He’s never seen. Every time a stray bruise creeps past the edge of my collar or down past the sleeve on my arm, I just tell him I walked into a door or tripped coming up the stairs or that I didn’t know how that one happened. Hadn’t even realized it was there. I had given him each lie with a self-deprecating smile. But he’s not stupid, and he’s not a baby anymore. He has eyes.
“Look. My aunt has rental property up in Blue Divide. You could disappear. He won’t know where to look for you.” Another old conversation, but I listen like maybe I can get away.
“How would I pay for that?” The longer I talk, the more slurred my words become. I lean against the rim of the clawfoot tub and clear my throat. She reaches for me while I push myself up, but I swat her hand away. I turn to look at her, putting my reality front and center for her to see. If I run, he will hunt me.
She is undeterred. “We’ll work it out. You’ll be safe.”
“He’ll never let me go.” I know too much about him. “What about Jackson?”
“Take him. Or don’t. But you gotta get away from that man.”
The thought of leaving my son behind rolls for a second in my mind. To start over somewhere new without any connections. Jackson might move on without me as if I had never been. Chase could be a good father. The idea is seductive. I could change my name and become somebody else, maybe rent a cabin from Carmen’s aunt and get a job in a roadside diner. Become invisible.
The fantasy clears, and shame washes through me at the vulgar thought of abandoning my son. I have to look away from Carmen. She doesn’t have kids. “That’s not the answer.”
“Why not?” Her voice is strained.
“Getting away isn’t worth losing my son. I can’t leave Jackson.” I turn away, hopeless, then catch my reflection in the mirror. My right eye closes to a slit. I tilt my chin up to study the ripped skin of my bottom lip. How did that even happen? Either I bit it during the struggle, or he punched with enough force to break the skin. The tear isn’t big, but it bled over my chin, down my neck, and onto the collar of my shirt, leaving a grotesque burgundy splotch. It reminds me of one of those inkblot tests. What do I see in this one—a shattered life? Regret? Loss? Despair? Trapped?
He never hit me in the face before, and I don’t even know what I said or did to make him angry. The moment evaporates whenever I try to think back.
Somewhere in a distant memory, I see an ambulance outside of the little house across from that college bar. I see the paramedics bringing that boy out on the stretcher. Looking in the mirror, I can’t help but think that he looked a lot like me. I shift away, sick to my stomach.
“Okay,” I whisper, turning to face Carmen again.
“Okay, what?”
“I don’t want to die.” My eyes well then overflow. Leaving him won’t keep him from killing me. It might slow him down, make me forget the death at my side, but only for a time. I collapse on the lid of the toilet, and Carmen folds her arms around me and lets me cry.
How did I become this person?
Chapter 2
I wake with a start, still catching my breath. He came for me in the night and was pressing me onto the bed, his hands around my throat. My eyes scan the dim room as I search for him. The weight on my chest recedes as the shapes of the room materialize.
He isn’t here. It was just a dream.
The moon hangs in the frame of the window like a thin sickle, and I push the covers back to go to it. The cool glass soothes my hot cheek. I press my forehead to the pane and look out at the street below, not seeing the cars parked as I was lost in my thoughts.
I just want to go home. I’m so ashamed at the thought that I close my eyes, blocking out the glow of the streetlamp. He’s the only man I’ve ever been with. We have a son. I just wish I knew what happened. What I did to set him off.
I can’t do it the way Carmen wants me to—run for the hills and spend the rest of my life watching for him in my rearview mirr
I can’t leave my son.
But I know Carmen’s right. Chase will kill me if I stay.
My phone vibrates in the folds of my purse, and I leap for it. Chase’s name glows across the screen as if he could tell I was thinking of him. Even though I know that I shouldn’t, I answer.
“Where are you?” His voice is small, contrite. All of his rage has burned out.
“I don’t think I want to tell you.” My words scrape across my swelling lips, barely audible.
“Oh, babe. Let me come get you. I’m so sorry. Let me make it right.”
Tears roll down my face, stinging the cut on my lip. “You really scared me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just all this shit, you know? I’ll fix it, Delilah. I’ll make it better.”
I don’t know what “shit” he is talking about, but I hesitate to ask. “We have to get help, or I can’t come back. You understand? I think you’re going to kill me.” The last word is lost in a sob.
“Just tell me where you are, baby. Let me come get you.”
“I don’t know, Chase.” I push away from the window when a man walks into the glow of the streetlight. He’s looking up, his hand to his cheek, holding his phone.
I freeze when the man drops to his knees as Chase’s voice comes over the line. “Please come home.”
He knew where I was. He’s already here.
“I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you.” His sob reverberates through the phone, and I watch as he crumples in the street. “I’m such a fuckup. Come home, baby. Give me one more chance. I’ll make it right.” He’s still folded in on himself when I step back to the window, placing my palm on the cool glass.
“Will you go to counseling?”
“Yes. Yes. Anything. Just come home. I need you, baby. I need you.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard these words. I shouldn’t believe him, but I want to. This time will be different.
“I need you too.” After I choke out the words, my tears flow. I’m sick over my inability to be free. But my fear of being alone outweighs my fear of him. “Just wait for me. I’ll be down in a second.”
He sits up, and I can see the smudge of tears on his face, reminding me of Jackson when he was small. They are so alike.
“Okay. I’ll wait. I love you. You know I love you.” He puts his hand up, stretched toward me as if reaching for my palm on the window.
I nod, and I know he can see me. “I love you too. You can’t ever hit me again. You hear me? Never.”
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
I feel wrung out when I hang up the phone and retreat from the window to the middle of the dark room. I knew he would come for me. Running away and trying to hide was never an option. He isn’t going to change. He’ll hit me again.
I brace myself to speak with Carmen, gathering my purse before I step into the living room. Her laptop glows, lighting her face. I join her on the couch, sitting close enough that our legs press together.
“Hey,” she says, “how are you feeling?”
I hurt all over, not just my face. “Like I been hit by a Mack truck.”
Carmen eyes my purse in my lap. “What’s going on?”
“Chase is here,” I whisper.
“I’m calling the police.” She starts to reach for her cell, but I touch her arm, stopping her.
“Listen. I have to do this my way.”
“You cannot be serious. You’re going back?” Her voice rises. “He’s not going to change. Tigers don’t change their stripes.”
“I know, but I have some things I have to put in order before I can leave.”
“Like what? Buying your casket?” An angry red splotch rises up her neck and taints her cheeks. “Come on, Delilah. Look at you!”
“Don’t be mad at me. Please.” I take a breath and keep my voice low, almost inaudible, in case Chase has come up the stairs and is waiting outside. “I have a plan, but it’s going to take a little time.”
“What kind of plan?”
“I know something. I can use it against him.”
The muscles of her jaw flex. I know she’s willing herself to hear me out. Carmen is that rare person who can listen without interrupting or forcing her ideas and opinions forward. She is biting her tongue now, and I love her for it.
“I can’t tell you anything else, not yet. I have to do this my way.”
“You should run.” There is fire in her voice.
“He’d find me.”
She shakes her head even though she must know the truth of it.
I give her my best version of a smile, under the circumstances, and gather my purse. “I have to go.”
She slams her laptop shut, gets up from the couch, then heads into the kitchen. “He is going to kill you. Do you not understand that?”
I’m right on her heels. “Hush, please,” I whisper, pointing to the door. “Trust me. I know what I have to do.”
She shakes her head stiffly.
The silence grows long and uncomfortable, and she stands staring at the wall above the sink, her shoulders so rigid they look like blades. But it’s too late for me to run.
“Please don’t be mad at me?”
For a moment, I think she may not have heard me, but then she turns and catches me in her arms. I flinch then relax.
“I’m not mad at you, goose. I’m scared for you.” She holds me with her hand cupping the back of my head. The way I used to hold Jackson when he was small and wounded.
My body shudders as tension and dread ricochet against one another, relieved she’s going to let me go. Disappointed that she’s going to let me go.
“Thanks for being my bestie.”
“I’ll always be your bestie.” She squeezes my bruised body, and I suck in a breath through my teeth before she releases me. “I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.” I try to smile, but the corner of my mouth tugs down as my effort pulls against the cut. Tears spring over my lashes again.
“He’s a bad guy. You should rent the cabin.”
I nod but have no intention of doing so.
The knock on the door makes us jump.
She looks to the door then back at me. “You sure?”
I blink.
After heaving a sigh, her lips compress in a thin line. We walk to the door, where she stands with her arms crossed as I open it.
“Baby.” His voice is meek and tortured. The dark hollows under his eyes and days’ worth of beard make him look old and worn. He stands with his shoulders hitched forward.
“Chase,” Carmen says from behind me, and it sounds more like a warning than a salutation.
I close my eyes, waiting for him to respond.
“Carmen.” His voice is deep, hollow.
“Let me get my purse.” I say, breaking the tense moment by walking back to the sofa.
Neither of them move. Neither of them speak.
“Take care of yourself,” Carmen says as I pass her and step into the hall.
I nod, but my throat is closed, and I cannot speak.
He drapes his arm over my shoulders, and Carmen closes the door behind us. “I don’t know why you like her. She is such a bitch.”
I look up at him, blinking. His shoulders straighten and he gains two inches of height in the movement. There he is, Chase. Less than fifteen minutes ago, he was doubled over on the pavement, weeping for me to come home.
He steers me to the end of the hall, down the stairs, and back to my life.
Chapter 3
Three days later, on Friday, I look worse. The red along my jaw has morphed into purple, and while some of the swelling has gone down, it only makes my bloodshot eyes more noticeable.
“What if I go pick up Jack alone?” Chase says when he comes into the kitchen.
“Don’t you have to work?”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “We’ll knock off early. Give the boys an early start to their weekend.” He pours a cup of coffee from the press then leans in for a kiss.
“I don’t mind going,” I offer, although I’m embarrassed by how I look. We both are.
