Page 15 of Rescued By Midnight

He snatches his phone. “That's not what this text says.”

CODY - THEN

As Brayden went to get his truck, Landon and I faced Alice from across the table at Blackberry Bar.

“So?” She was practically bouncing in her seat. “Do you like him?”

No, I hated him. I hated his smarmy face, his punchable chin, and the way he always had a hand on Alice. I hated the way he decided what she would eat and drink.

I also hated that Landon and I never made a move. We thought she was too young, that she thought of us as dirty old men.

Fucking Brayden Meeks was close to our age, just a year off. He wasn’t worried about coming off as a creep.

We should have pursued her. We’d have done it in a way to see if the three of us were right for each other. Gently. Patiently. Not this love-bombing shit Brayden was doing.

Alice was still waiting for us to tell her what we thought of Brayden. I decided to keep my mouth shut because I was in danger of telling the truth. And the truth was, He sucks, he’s too controlling, he’s bad news all around.

Landon said, “He seems eager to impress us, and you.”

“He is, he really wants you guys to like him.” She beamed. “He knows how close we are.”

Less than a year later, they were engaged, and Alice left us a tearful voicemail explaining that it was better we cut contact out of respect for her relationship.

Brayden played the long game, and he fucking won.

6

ALICE - NOW

I station myself at the kitchen sink to wash the dinner dishes. We’ve barely spoken to each other, Brayden and I. There’s too much sitting between us, clogging the air. I haven’t told him that I’m not going back to Elder Wattle for therapy. He won’t like it, and it’s an argument I’d rather put off.

He hasn’t told me what he and Jericha are planning for their baby. Joint custody? How would that even work? I’m the stay-at-home wife; childcare is expected to fall on me. But what if it isn’t my child?

I am still wearing this disgusting sweatshirt and sweatpants, although I wore Brayden’s robe while I ran everything through the washer and dryer today. That promised shopping trip for more clothes never happened. Brayden’s been “so busy with work,” he usually doesn’t come home until nine or ten o’clock at night.

I don’t leave the house. In the Before, there would be church study groups, women’s coffee meetings, and parties for various chores like sewing and canning.

Now, nobody calls. Nobody comes by to ask for some sugar, or a certain color of embroidery thread. The church hasn’t reached out with a schedule of upcoming meetings. Jericha doesn’t come over to see if I want to go for a run, or ask if I need help with chores. That makes sense, at least. She probably hates my guts, now.

And since she started sleeping with Brayden as early as she did, she must have hated my guts all along.

I finish washing and drying the big pot, and place it carefully on its rack. My shoulders hurt. I force them down and back, trying to make myself relax.

Not for the first time, I wonder where Abe is. I wonder why he unlocked my chain and allowed me to go free. I think back to the night before my escape. Did he act any differently than usual? I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary. No lingering glances, no strange conversations. He never spoke much, and he didn’t talk more or less that night.

Does he regret setting me free? If I were to go for a run tomorrow, would he be waiting to grab me again?

I run my hands up and down my arms, trying to smooth away my shivers.

“Alice?” Brayden steps into the kitchen.

I turn to face him. He looks like a grandpa in his plaid, cotton pajamas. Suddenly, I can picture my life with him fifty years from now. For the first time, I don’t like the feelings this creates.

He says, “I’d appreciate it if you would return to our marriage bed. I’m trying to be patient with you, and an attempt at our usual routines might help you feel more at home again.”

I shiver again. “Right. Okay. But I’m not—not ready for more.”

“Of course not. I understand.” He holds out his hand.