Inked Armour

4 TENLEY

The sound of my cell pulled me out of a dream. I resisted, Hayden’s beautiful face fading as I blinked in the darkness. I grabbed the phone before the call went to voice mail. The clock on the nightstand read close to five in the morning.

“Hello?” I said, my voice gravelly with sleep.

There was a soft exhale. “You answered,” he said in disbelief. “I didn’t think you would. I called before and you never did. But this time . . . why didn’t you answer before?”

At his distress, I curled around the phone wishing I could hug him through the device. “I wanted to.”

“Then you should have.”

Over the past three weeks I almost had, a number of times. The ache in my chest, which grew worse every day, had become a stab of agony. If I’d answered his calls, I would have gone back to Chicago, instead of taking care of things in Arden Hills, regardless of whether I deserved Hayden.

“I know. I wish I had. Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I had a bad dream.” He sounded so small, as though it shamed him to call for such a reason.

“Oh, Hayden. I’m so sorry.” My eyes welled with tears. “What was it about?”

Another soft noise came through the receiver. Some rustling. A low thud repeated twice, a third time, a fourth. A choking noise, followed by a loud slam. The distance made me powerless. I wanted to reach through the phone and take away the pain, as he’d done for me so many times.

“Hayden?”

“Sorry.” He coughed. “I dropped something.”

I wasn’t fooled. “Was it a nightmare?”

“I thought it was real. When I woke up I thought—” There was another low thud.

“Was it about your parents?”

“No.”

“Was it about me?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “You were, you were, you were— Fuck!” Hayden stumbled over the words.

“It’s okay, now. I’m right here. I’m right here and I’m fine. Nothing bad happened to me.” I hoped if I kept talking, I could calm him. “It was just a dream.”

“I couldn’t get to you. You were dying and I couldn’t—the bleeding, there was so much blood and you were, and you were—” He started to hyperventilate. “I was so fucking empty without you. I’m so empty.” He broke then. His words bled together, becoming nonsense. “I didn’t know it was going to feel like this. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have let you—I want, I want—”

I clapped a palm over my mouth to stop my sob, horrified that I’d done this to him. I thought when I left, he would see what a bad choice I was. Instead he was falling apart.

“Shh, it’s okay, Hayden. I’m so sorry. I wish I was there with you,” I said softly.

“Then come home,” he pleaded.

“I will. Leaving you was so hard. I know I should have called and explained. But I only have a few more things to take care of.”

“And then you’ll come home?”

“Yes. As soon as I can.” I wiped away tears with the back of my hand.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

During a long stretch of silence, I listened to him breathe.

“Tenley?”

“I’m still here.”

“I—nothing is the same without you.” His breath left him in a rush. “Come home soon, okay?”

“I’m trying. It’s been really complicated.”

“How much longer are you going to be?” His voice rose with panic.

“I don’t know. I’d leave right now if I could—I swear it, Hayden.”

“But I need you here. I miss you. I can’t—” There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his tone was flat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m glad you—” There was a click. “Hayden?”

The line was dead. I looked at the screen, confused as to what had happened. I pulled him up in my list of contacts. The first picture I ever took of him in my apartment appeared on the screen, the one of his feeding icing to TK. I smoothed my thumb over it. I missed her almost as much as I missed him. I hit call. It rang and went to voice mail. I tried again. This time it dumped me straight into voice mail.

“No, no, no!”

I should have told him I missed him when I had the chance. I tried again; got voice mail again. He’d given up on me. The realization made me sick as I hit redial over and over, hoping I could undo some of the harm. But it was more of the same. He didn’t pick up.

“Damnit!”

I hurled my phone across the room in frustration. The second it left my fingertips, I dove after it, but it was too late. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor. I snatched it up, praying I hadn’t damaged it in my moment of stupidity. The screen had spider-webbed on impact.

“Shit! No!” I punched the button violently, keying in my password, but it was no use. I couldn’t get past the first screen. I threw open the door and ran down the hall to the office. I fumbled with the landline, punching in Hayden’s number.

“Please, please, please, please . . . ” I begged, crossing my fingers he would pick up. He didn’t.

Tears blurred my vision as I tried to call my own phone. It let out a weak ring, then died.

I needed to get to Hayden. I should have tried to explain long before now, even if it didn’t make any sense. He could be mad at me for having a poor excuse. Anything was better than this. His refusal to talk to me made me hyperaware of what my silence had done to him. I’d been so caught up in what I thought I needed to resolve here, I hadn’t realized the impact it would have on him.

I ran from him because I was in love with him. That, and I feared I’d never be enough. Right now, I wasn’t—but staying here wasn’t going to fix that. I had to get home to Hayden so I could make things right.

I ran back to my room. This house was just a holding cell of loss now; I couldn’t stay here anymore. I’d have to force myself to accept that I suffered enough.

I needed to accomplish so much before I went back to Chicago, but my departure would be nothing like my arrival. I would leave on my own terms.

I jumped into the shower before the water had a chance to warm. I shivered my way through washing my hair and was in such a rush to get on with things that I almost forgot to rinse it. Once dressed, I pulled my hair into a wet ponytail and crammed my belongings into my suitcase. I had to sit on it to get it to close. Then I lugged it down the stairs and out to the garage.

Connor’s car was full. The backseat and trunk were packed with the boxes of his belongings I intended to donate to various charities. The few things I couldn’t bear to part with were in a tote box on the front passenger seat. I’d planned to drop it off at my parents’ place last night, but I’d been exhausted after my visit to the cemetery.

I took a deep breath, willing myself not to break down, and took my suitcase back inside. I left it in the kitchen and grabbed my purse.

On my way out of the garage, I almost took off the passengerside mirror. At least I’d managed to leave before Trey showed up. If I was lucky, I’d be able to avoid another confrontation.

I made it to my parents’ house in record time and carted the tote inside. My plan was to dump it in my old bedroom closet and deal with it later, whenever I felt capable of returning. The house was as cool inside as it was outside, so I dropped the tote in the hall and went down to the basement. The pilot light in the furnace had gone out. That wasn’t the real problem, though; it was the burst pipe and the slick of ice pooled on the floor. I’d have to call in a plumber. It was barely seven in the morning, though, and I didn’t have a phone. Nothing would be open until nine and I didn’t have that kind of time.

I pressed my palms against my eyes, weighing my options. Arden Hills was a small town. I knew lots of people whose doors I could knock on, even at this early hour. I left the house and drove to Lake Johanna. One of my dad’s old friends lived out there; he’d be able to help me. The farmhouse was as I remembered it, except the paint was faded by the sun and the porch worn down by time. The inhabitants were the same.

They invited me in, made me breakfast, and talked about the farm and their eight grandchildren as we ate. I sat there, smiling and nodding, because he’d agreed to drive out to my parents’ house and fix the pipes.

My next stop was the Apple store at the Rosedale Center just outside town. Everything was going fine until I tried to pay. My Visa was declined. So was my MasterCard. I had to use the phone in the store to call the bank. My accounts had been frozen first thing this morning. Trey had to be involved; it was the only explanation.

I called my lawyer, Frank, then spent the next two hours at the bank, sorting things out. Trey had given himself signing authority over my account after he’d illegally forced me into signing the power-of-attorney papers. I was fortunate he hadn’t drained the account, and that this wasn’t the one with the bulk of my money. Eventually Frank worked things out, but no one could find Trey, which meant he had to know about the house sale by now.

I lost it when I got back in the car. It took me another twenty minutes to get myself under control before I could return to the Apple store to get my new phone.

Once I had it, the first thing I did was call Hayden. He still wasn’t answering. I retried at every stoplight.

It was four in the afternoon by the time I finished dropping off Connor’s effects at the Salvation Army. Snow had started falling earlier, and the daylight had faded to dark gray by the time I returned to what would soon become Weston’s house. My tires squeaked over the blanket of white as I pulled up to the front door.

Before I went inside, I called Frank to make sure the keys were ready to be passed over. He assured me everything was in order and promised to let me know when the key drop was official. They still hadn’t found Trey, which was worrisome, but at least his car wasn’t in the driveway. He’d left several messages on my phone but I hadn’t checked them, knowing it wouldn’t be anything I’d want to hear. I kept the car idling in the driveway since I only needed to leave my key on the kitchen table and grab my suitcase. I couldn’t wait to go home.

I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The waning sun left the main floor in gray, looming shadows. I flicked on the light and stopped short. Trey sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped on top of a stack of papers, as still as a lake at dawn.

“I didn’t see your car.”

His face was like stone, betraying no emotion. He didn’t look at me when he replied, “I parked in the garage.”

He wore a suit, but he was utterly disheveled, his tie loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone, the collar askew. Stubble covered his chin and cheeks; his hair stuck straight up at the front; and the circles under his eyes were rimmed in red.

My suitcase sat where I had left it, halfway between him and me. He swept a hand toward the bag. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m heading home,” I said, my voice amazingly steady.

“To your parents’ house?” His hand returned to the tabletop, smoothing over the glass surface.

“No.”

“No?” He cocked his head to the side. “You’ve decided to stay at the main house, then?” Trey had moved there after the death of his family and had tried to make me stay there with him when I first returned. It lasted three days before I got out from under his thumb and the constant stream of antianxiety medication he snuck into my food.

“No, Trey. I’m going home. To Chicago.”

“Back to the degenerate. How lovely.” He smiled with malice.

I took a step closer to my bag. The fifteen feet of tile floor between me and it seemed like miles. I didn’t want to get any closer to Trey than I already was. A seething undercurrent of fury lurked beneath his veneer of calm.

“I should give you some credit—you’re smarter than I thought.” With a sweep of his hand, he spread the stack of papers out like a card dealer. “I see you managed to have the power of attorney reversed.”

My heart kicked in my chest. I’d hoped to be gone long before the papers for the house reached him. “I did what I had to do.”

“I’m sure. But did you think I wouldn’t find out before you left?” His voice rose, gaining momentum and volume until it was a yell. “That you could go behind my back and give the fucking house away and then run again?”

In one swift move, his chair screeched across the tile floor and he upended the table. The papers flew into the air and rained down, red ink and yellow highlighter flashing amid the white. The table landed on its side, the tempered-glass top shattering into a wave of sparkles. Trey stepped through the debris, glass crunching under his soles, hands cranked into fists as he stalked toward me. “I was still able to have your accounts frozen. I’m sure that made your escape a bit more of a challenge.”

“The problem is fixed now.” I stood my ground, though all I wanted to do was bolt.

He stopped right in front of me, his expression still flat. “I will undo this.”

“You can’t, Trey. It’s out of your control. I won’t give you the house so that you can destroy it. Your father wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“My father is dead. What he wanted doesn’t matter.”

“To me it does. I’m done here, Trey. I won’t allow you to tear me down anymore.”

I turned away; nothing good would come of this conversation. When he grabbed me, I wrenched my arm away. He came at me again and I pulled my sleeve up to my forearm, exposing the bruises he’d created during our last altercation.

“I’d advise you to keep your hands to yourself, Trey. I’ve already documented these with my lawyer.”

“I-I didn’t—”

“Weston will have the keys to the house shortly. I’m guessing you won’t try to bully him the way you’ve bullied me. But if you feel physical coercion is necessary, at least he’s on a more level playing field. Good-bye.” I stepped around Trey, grabbed my bag with a trembling hand, and wheeled it to the door.

Trey recovered from the shock of seeing the damage his temper had done, his response scathing. “You don’t think I’ll permit you to take Connor’s car, do you?”

“I don’t need your permission. Connor’s car is mine now.”

There was nothing else he could take from me. The thing he wanted had been signed over to his cousin; Frank had made sure the agreement was airtight. Trey’s hands were tied and if he’d been through the documentation, he knew it.

I opened the door, ready to leave this all behind me.

“I never should have let you leave in the first place,” he said.

As if the choice had been his to make? I turned, the icy wind prickling the back of my neck. “What did you say?”

“You should have been mine,” he said bitterly.

Trey had always been callous, unrepentant for the hurt he inflicted on others. But in that moment the façade dropped and I saw someone crippled by narcissism.

“Is that what you thought would happen when you brought me back here?”

“I took care of you, and now you’re leaving me with nothing. You owe me.”

As though I were a possession to be passed along.

I left without another word. There was nothing to say.