Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

20

Me:The coast is clear.

Isend the text the moment I’m certain June and Jude are fast asleep.

A reply doesn’t come, but there’s a soft knock on the door ten minutes later.

I open it and let Bailey inside.

“I brought emergency supplies,” she says with a grim smile, holding up a box of wine, and a large, repurposed butter tub. I chuckle softly and follow her to the kitchen.

We don’t say anything as she grabs coffee mugs from the cabinet and fills them with Pinot Grigio, then she breaks open the butter container and pulls out several delicious looking cookies.

“These smell amazing,” I say, then grab one and take a bite. “Oh my god, they taste amazing,” I mumble through a mouthful.

“Thanks,” she says with a proud smile. “Caramel toffee, but I played around with the way I creamed the butter and brown sugar. I think it makes them softer.”

I flash her a thumbs up and take another bite. “You did great. They’re phenomenal.”

We move into the living room and take seats on the couch, and as soon as her legs are crossed in front of her, Bailey levels me with a pointed look.

“Be honest,” she says clearly. “How’d it go?”

I sigh, close my eyes, and drop my head back on the couch.

“It was brutal,” I confess. “He was able to use the pictures.”

“WHAT!” she shrieks, then immediately covers her mouth. We freeze and look at the ceiling for a few seconds. When no sounds come, she exhales. “Sorry. But seriously, what the fuck? How can he use those? They were taken by a literal stalker who is now in jail.”

I shake my head.

“His mom is saying they paid a private investigator. There is no proof Sandra Huntington took them.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“They’re also using those few weeks I wouldn’t let him see the kids. Saying I purposely am trying to keep them from him to turn them against him.”

She blinks. “You wouldn’t let him see them because he drove drunk as a skunk and put their lives in danger. That’s not even hyperbole. That’s fact.”

I shrug. “My word against his.”

“Jesus Christ, he is the lowest kind of scum. Congealed garbage juice at the bottom of a dumpster.”

I laugh because it’s a better alternative than crying. I’m so tired of crying.

“What about the arrest? The gun? He shot three bullets through your door, Joss. Riggs had to replace the whole thing and replaster part of the wall. That should render everything your ex says null and void.”

“You’d think,” I say. “But his parents have money, and money talks.”

“What does Christina say?”

“She says not to worry. To trust her, and that Patrick doesn’t have a leg to stand on. She says everything they’re throwing at me is just a dog and pony show, trying to distract from the reality that he’s not a good person, and that it won’t work.”

“And do you trust her?” she asks, her head cocked to the side as she studies me with concerned eyes. I take a moment to think about it. My lawyer, Christina Pierce, is brilliant. Not only is she representing me in this custody mess for free, but she also found youth counselors for June and Jude, and got me in touch with a therapist who works primarily with domestic violence survivors.

When she first suggested it, I was adamant that I didn’t need it.

Therapy, sure. But therapy for domestic violence survivors? That wasn’t me. I insisted I wasn’t a survivor of domestic violence. Patrick never abused me. He was just a dick.

Then Christina pointedly and clearly set me straight. The way I was treated by Patrick, in every single way, was abuse. He is abusive. When he yanked me around by my hair, pinned me to the wall, and made threats, those were acts of violence. Just because he didn’t break skin or leave bruises on my body didn’t make them less severe.

“I do,” I tell Bailey earnestly. I do trust Christina. “She hasn’t given me a reason not to. But it doesn’t make this any easier.” I cringe. “Seeing those pictures again was hard.”

Sure, they were censored, but you can’t censor the memories. That night with Patrick, when he hurled those photos at me and I watched as they scattered on the floor at my feet, is burned in my brain. I have nightmares about it. Having to relive it today was terrible.

“I’m sorry, Joss. This whole thing is bullshit. It’s all bullshit.”