Talkin' the Talk, page 25
She couldn’t let him take anything else away.
* * *
It was a short drive to the shearing barn. One of Sophie’s ancestors had built it in the 1800s when Texas had been the wool capital of America. The sunrise was pink against the sky, and birds raucously sang in a clump of Ashe juniper as Sophie parked around the back next to Beau’s car, grimacing at the smell of a century’s worth of nervous sheep and lanolin that had impregnated the barn’s wooden floors. Dread made her steps heavy as she walked up the stairs, eyes scanning the space as they tried to adjust to the lower level of light. A part of her wished she’d detoured via Hank’s and borrowed his gun, but she didn’t know how to use it well enough and she’d worried Beau would wrestle it from her.
It didn’t take long to find Beau leaning against a wall, playing with his new phone.
A sound suddenly filled the room. It took a microsecond for Sophie to realize what it was, but when she did, bile rose in her throat. It was muffled and distorted, but she could still make out the sound of her crying out as she and Ian had sex. The sound felt obscene in this context, and Beau’s expression as he watched her reaction was even worse.
“Turn it off.” Her words came out strangled.
“You owe me an apology,” he said sulkily.
Sophie stayed near the door, looking at him warily. “Why?”
Beau shoved the phone in his pocket, the movement jerky. Sophie realized he’d lost even more weight, and he looked sweaty, edgy. “Because you destroyed my phone and you hit me.”
“You’ve got another one.” Sophie wrapped her arms around herself.
“I need one that’s the same as the one you ruined. Candy got it for me years ago, and I need to replace it.”
“Show her that one.”
Beau narrowed his eyes. “I can’t. She’ll ask me where I got the money.”
Sophie shook her head in confusion. “This is stupid.”
“Yeah, it is. I spent the night thinking about it.” Beau pushed away from the wall, his footsteps thudding on the boards as he walked towards her, eerily lit by the shafts of light coming through holes in the roof. Sophie took a step backwards, and then stopped herself from going any further, reminding herself she’d managed to overpower him yesterday. She’d fought him off when he’d attacked her the first time. She could stand up for herself. She didn’t need to be scared. She just needed to wait for her chance.
Her eyes darted to his pocket, gauging whether or not she could rush him and do what she’d done yesterday. “There’s no need to do this, Beau. If you’re having an affair with Caitlin, Candy’s gonna find out and divorce you anyway. She’s already upset with you over the lies you told about your mom. She found out the truth, and now it’s not just Candy upset with you, it’ll be your mom too.”
Sophie saw the flicker of panic on Beau’s face. “You’re lying to make me give you my phone. She loves me, and she believes me, and you’re not going to tell her. If you do, I’ll make you regret it.” He sniffed, swiping his hand over his nose in a jerky movement. “And speaking of money, I’m going to need five grand by tomorrow.”
“What?!” Sophie stared at him in disbelief. “Where’s your pay gone? What have you spent all the money on, Beau?”
Beau looked over her shoulder, his features tightening into an anxious-angry expression. “It’s gone.”
“Where?!” Sophie braced herself to rush him. He was erratic, he was distracted. She could do this. She just had to wait for the right time.
“None of your business. It’s just gone. It’s fucking gone, alright? I need the fucking money!”
Sophie watched his features contort until he looked like a stranger—a sweaty, unhealthy, stressed-out stranger. Suddenly the blinders fell off. She’d seen people like this before. The first small accounting firm she’d worked for had been in a seedy part of downtown Austin. The people who used to hang out near the street corners had looked like this.
“You’re strung out. What are you taking, Beau? Crack? Heroin? Coke? You’re a junkie aren’t you?”
Beau flinched, and she knew her hunch was right. “Five grand. I’ll need it by ten this morning. If you don’t give it to me, I’m uploading the video and sending the links to your dad, Hank, and maybe I’ll even send it through to someone in England. This Ian guy you’re seeing’s famous, isn’t he? They’d pay for something like this, right?”
Sophie fought panic, knowing she couldn’t give him the money. If he was asking for five thousand now, he’d be asking for more tomorrow. Addiction was expensive.
She forced her expression to change to something more sympathetic, softening her tone. “Alright. I get it. I’ll help you out. Things have been hard for you since you lost your job, haven’t they? That’s why you’re doing this, right? That’s why you’re taking whatever you’re taking. Right?”
He grimaced, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, eyes darting around the room. “Yeah . . . This whole thing is seriously not my fault. I try to be a good guy. I tried to make you happy the other night. I try to make Candy happy. I’m trying to be a good son, but it all goes to shit. I’ve tried. I fucking tried, you know? None of this is my fault. Mom’s always telling me to get a job, and Candy’s on my back, too, wondering why we don’t have enough cash and why I can’t find work. We’d have enough cash if she’d been there for me more. I wouldn’t have needed to take anything, you know? She doesn’t understand. No one understands. All I want is something for me, and you all act like that’s some sort of crime.”
Sophie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sensing her moment, she launched herself forward, ramming her shoulder into his chest and taking him down to the ground. She reared up and punched him straight in the diaphragm as hard as she could, feeling the oomph sound he made as much as hearing it.
She immediately shoved her hand into his pocket, fingers connecting with his phone, scrambling to get a decent grip.
A punch to her stomach threw her backwards, breath whooshing out of her lungs as she hit the filthy floorboards. Beau clambered on top of her, catching one hand as she flailed at him.
She managed to get a knee up, catching him hard on his tailbone and knocking him up and over her so that he had to brace himself. She wrenched her hand free, nails scratching whatever skin she could.
Beau pushed himself upright, drew one hand back and punched her hard in the chest.
Sophie gasped, unable to react as Beau scrambled off her, holding his hand up to a deep scratch on his cheek.
“Fuck! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you like that. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to do this, but I mean it. I need that five grand today, or I’m uploading everything.”
Sophie tried to talk, but her lungs felt like they’d been compressed by a brick. Instead, she lay on her back listening to the sound of Beau’s feet thudding down the barn’s steps and the skid of his tires as he sped away.
She rolled onto her side, the pain in her body assailing her along with the urine smell of the floorboards. It took her a few minutes to gingerly get to her feet and stagger outside, taking great, heaving breaths of fresh air.
One thought was crystal clear.
She wasn’t going to be able to stop him.
She was going to have to tell everyone.
47
Ian woke to the sound of the shower running. He shielded his eyes against the fiendishly strong sunlight streaming through the window as he rolled over. How the hell had he managed to sleep for so long? He must have been exhausted.
He looked around, wiping sleep-grit from his eyes. The bedcovers looked like they’d been through a war. The suit he’d worn on the plane yesterday was a wrinkled heap in the corner next to his overnight bag.
There were Sophie’s things too. The dresser to his left was now covered in a variety of lotions that gave the room a faintly floral smell. He liked it, and the realization disquieted him. He’d never cohabited with a woman other than his mother, and he had no bloody idea what he was meant to do.
Restlessness overtook him. He needed to move.
He got up, pulled on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt, and made himself a coffee. Moments later he was pacing the porch, feeling the heat like a body slam until he went back inside. Sophie’s bright blue boots were by the door next to her handbag.
Ian looked down at it frowning.
For the first time in his life, he was without a fight.
His plan to resuscitate his reputation after his departure from the Voice was in place, and now he just had to let it run its course. The energy he’d allotted for clearing his name, and before that, advancing his career, was now sloshing around at loose ends.
He looked out the window. It was too hot to run, and his next telephone interview wasn’t scheduled until early in the afternoon. That left him—he looked at the clock—four hours.
He walked back to the bathroom. He’d feel better once he spoke to Sophie. She’d start talking and he’d calm down.
He pushed open the door. “Good morning. Do you want—what the hell happened?”
Sophie shrieked, turning to face the corner of the shower, her hair clinging to her back in ropy strands as she curled her arms around herself protectively. “Ian! You scared me.”
Not caring how much the water sprayed him, Ian walked straight into the shower and spun Sophie around, grabbing her hands and holding them to her side, feeling bile rise in his throat as he looked down at her torso and upper arms.
Ugly, purple-yellow bruises marred Sophie’s biceps and her breast—unmistakably in the shape of fingers. Ian felt self-disgust choking him, clogging his throat as he mentally replayed every time they’d been together, and especially trying to remember that day against the truck. How long ago had that been? A week? A week and a half? Two weeks? Oh God. He felt his knees go weak even as he held on to Sophie’s wrists, stopping her from covering herself.
He was a monster.
“Did I do this to you?” he asked, frantically hoping for absolution but knowing the truth from the small sob that caught in her throat. “Oh God.” He let go of Sophie’s wrist and immediately reached out to trace his hand over her breast, touching each finger-shaped bruise as the water ran over her skin. “I’m so, so sorry Sophie.” He felt tears come to his eyes. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
Sophie flinched at his touch and he felt another crippling wave of self-disgust roll over him. “No. No, Ian.”
He stepped back. “You’re right. I’ll—I’ll let you get dressed.” He blindly walked into the living room, already scanning for his keys, his bag, his things. He’d leave once he and Sophie had talked. He wouldn’t stay. Image after image of his mother covering bruises just like the ones he’d seen on Sophie played through Ian’s mind.
“Ian! It wasn’t you. You didn’t do this. It wasn’t you! Don’t leave.”
Ian barely had time to process the words as he turned to see Sophie hurrying toward him, naked and dripping water. He didn’t have time to prepare himself as she barreled into him, her arms wrapping tightly against his waist.
“It wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.”
It took time for her words to get past Ian’s self-disgust, and when they did, they felt like a red-hot poker.
Someone had laid hands on his Sophie. She’d hidden it from him. He replayed the days they’d spent together before he’d last gone to London. She’d kept her chest covered up the entire time. He’d thought it was some kind of playful thing, but no, instead she’d been covering . . . this. He forced himself to be gentle as he gripped her shoulders, pushing her backwards to take another look. This time he also noticed two large red marks, one on her chest, and the other on her stomach, both quickly turning dark. She’d hidden this from him. Someone had beaten her before and more recently, and she’d hidden it.
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Ian—”
“Who?” The word came out edged in steel. “Who did this to you? Your father? Your brother? Who?”
“No—I can explain. I just need you to calm down.” Sophie snatched a white blanket off the couch and wrapped it around herself. Her body language—the way she hunched over, the shame on in her expression—was so reminiscent of the beaten women Ian had seen as a lad that he had to look away.
“Who?” Ian’s throat hurt from holding back the roar that wanted to escape.
“Ian—”
“WHO?”
“Beau! Alright! It was Beau!” Sophie’s features crumpled, tears pooling in her eyes. “The other night. I went home. He saw you and me having sex against the truck. He saw us, Ian!”
The minute he had the name, Ian started for the door.
“Ian! Don’t! You can’t! Please!” Sophie caught him on the porch, wrapping her arms around him from behind, digging in her heels. “You can’t. He’s got a video of us. He’ll show Dad. He’ll sell it to the press in England. I tried to get it off him this morning, but I couldn’t, and you can’t do anything until I tell Hank and Dad. Please. He’ll show them before I can explain.” Sophie’s words ended in a garbled sob.
Ian came to a dead stop. He closed his eyes tight, calming his breathing, compartmentalizing the rage the same way he’d done before every fight. Putting it away, knowing he could bring it out when he needed it later. When he felt calm enough, he turned around, taking Sophie by the shoulders.
Her sodden hair was covering one side of her face. The blanket she’d wrapped around her body had slipped to the ground, and her eyes were red. There was a fear there that made him feel like howling. Instead he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, letting her cry, feeling sharp pain radiating from his clenched jaw.
When Sophie calmed down to the point where the only sound she made was the odd sniffle, he spoke, deliberately keeping his voice low and calm. “I need you to tell me everything.”
“Promise me you won’t go after Beau?”
“If you give me good reason,” Ian said, unwilling to commit to anything when he felt this murderous inside.
Sophie leaned back, running her fingers under her eyes, nodding. “Okay. Can I get dressed first? I probably should have another shower. So should you. You’ve got my snot all over you.”
“I’ll have one later.”
Ian waited until Sophie left the room, standing stock-still until he heard the sound of water turning on. Then he calmly walked outside, faced the wall of the cabin, and punched it as hard as he could. The pain radiating from his knuckles felt good, adding clarity.
He stayed outside until he’d achieved a deadly sense of calm and could neatly line up everything he knew of the situation and everything he’d need to know to take action. It infuriated him that he’d been so caught up in his own rubbish that he’d neglected to notice that the one woman he’d ever let himself care for romantically had been abused. He knew the signs, he’d grown up seeing them, and he damn well should have recognized something in the way Sophie moved, certainly in the way she’d kept herself covered up. But no, his damn ego and his anxiety over wanting to pick the right time to tell her about himself had gotten in the way. Now he realized that could wait. This was far more important.
He walked back inside and calmly set about making coffee, bacon and eggs for breakfast. Sophie’s needs came first. He’d take care of Beau afterwards.
And once he was finished, there’d be nothing left.
48
“Tell me what happened.”
Ian made sure to modulate his voice as he sat on the too small yellow sofa in the living room. Sophie was standing by the window hugging herself. Her hair was still wet, and she was dressed in one of his white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and the ends hanging halfway down her bare legs.
Sophie drew in a deep breath. “I’ll tell you, but I need to know that you’ll let me fix this on my own. I just don’t know how yet.”
“I’m here for you.” He held out his arms. “Come here. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell need you in my arms.”
The way Sophie hurried across the room, wrapping her arms around his neck, made him feel like he was breaking open, and he held her as tightly as he could without hurting her, swearing he’d find a way to fix this without breaking her trust.
He listened as she told him everything in fits and starts, handing her tissues from the box he’d retrieved from the bathroom. Then he’s stayed with her until she’d fallen into an exhausted sleep, carrying her to bed, making sure she was comfortable.
And then he considered what he’d just been told.
Although Sophie had asked him to promise not to go after Beau, he actually hadn’t committed himself, which gave him a small window of time. She was exhausted, and if he moved fast, he’d be able to fix this before she woke up. She would be angry with him, but Ian knew that he wouldn’t be able to handle this in the way it needed to be dealt with if she was involved.
A lifetime of dealing with bullies had taught him that the only way to win in a situation like this was to appear bigger and meaner than one’s opponent, and he didn’t want Sophie to see that side of him ever again.
Ian’s smile was humorless as he palmed his keys and walked to his car. The bastard had no idea who was coming his way.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Ian parked behind Beau’s car on the side of an isolated path running through the vineyards of Monforte Estate.
Ian got out and looked around, immediately spotting Beau halfway along a row of vines. He narrowed his eyes as he looked the other man up and down, cataloguing the way Beau moved and imagining him attacking Sophie. The way she’d told it, she hadn’t had a chance the first time. The bastard had taken her by surprise. And the second time . . .
He slammed his car door hard to get Beau’s attention.
Beau looked up, and Ian knew the moment he recognized him.
Beau’s eyes became wide and panicked as he looked around. There was no one to witness what was about to happen. According to the woman in the Monforte Estate tasting room, everyone else was on the other side of the estate.
