Forever & More: The Friend Zone series Read online

  I can’t keep sitting in this damn chair, so I get up and pace the room. There is no way I can sit in here and do nothing for God knows how long. Harley’s ability to read me has always amazed me. Most of the time, he can tell what I’m thinking before I even know, and today, I appreciate his perceptive skills.

  His head leans to the right, and when I follow the direction of his nod, I see my guitar resting against the wall. I head straight to it. I don’t bother going back across the room, I sit in the seat closest to me and immediately begin strumming the strings randomly. I play with the chords for close to thirty minutes. A new melody is slowly coming to life and for some reason, I’m stoked about it.

  I can hear voices rise above my guitar and when I look up, I see the nurse that was in Chloe’s room earlier walking down the hall. I grab my guitar and head toward the hallway. I’m getting closer to the nurse when I see Doctor Jacobs at the nurses’ station.

  “Hey, are y’all done?” I ask.

  “We are. With everything going on, I don’t think I’ve asked how you were holding up. How are you?” he inquires.

  “I’m okay. Is the baby really okay?” I’m scared to ask, but I have to. My biggest fear in this moment is that something has or will happen and I will lose my little peanut.

  “The baby is perfectly healthy. It’s a miracle it made it through all her stress and then the situation with the meds and alcohol. The kid is definitely tough.”

  “Thank God,” I breathe in relief. “Can I go in and sit? I won’t bother her; I just need to be near my kid and out of that waiting room.”

  He studies me for a moment before granting my request. As soon as the word “okay” left his lips, I was down the hall in a flash.

  When I get to Chloe’s room, she’s asleep. I’m thankful because I don’t think I can look in her eyes right now. Chloe’s bag is sitting beside me on the floor against the wall. The nurse or Sara must have brought it in. I dig until my hand touches what I’m looking for. I know this is a huge invasion of her privacy but right now I don’t care. Someone needs to invade her mind and figure out what’s going on up there.

  I scan to the back of the book until I get to the last page. Before I start reading, I look up at her peaceful face. Her pouty lips are redder than usual and I lick my lips, desperately wanting to touch hers with mine. She smiles slightly and I have to turn away from her. The urge to touch her is growing stronger by the second, and if I don’t separate myself, I’m going to give in to the temptation.

  I give my attention to the book in my hands. The fifth to the last page is a short, simple cry of desperation.

  They don’t understand and they never will. How do I cut through the ropes of despair when the blades of hope are dull?

  I flip the page.

  Lord, help me. Give me hope. I just need one tiny spark of happiness to flicker within me to set the rest of me ablaze. How am I supposed to make him happy if I struggle to do the same for myself? How is my heart supposed to be filled with love for someone else when it’s black from deceit? Will it ever end? Will I ever find my happy ending? I found my prince, but as soon as I found him, I was poisoned. I always did want to be like Snow White. Can I be cured with a kiss from my true love? That would be just too easy, wouldn’t it?

  Jesus, how the hell did I miss all of this? I knew she was hurting, but I never knew how much. I glance at Chloe’s still smiling face. I set her book next to her on the stand for her to see. I feel like she may need this right now.

  I grab my guitar and begin playing “Hush Little Baby.” I sing as soft as possible to my little peanut. I can’t help but wonder if it can hear me. I hate calling my child it; I wonder when we can find out the sex. I need to make sure I ask the next time I see Doctor Jacobs. I near the end of the song and notice Chloe begin to squirm. I don’t want to disturb her so I quickly finish the song and grab my guitar.

  Once everything is in hand, I exit the room. I felt her gaze on me as I walked out of the door, but maybe she’ll be able to drift back off. When the wall separates us, I lean against it and let out a heavy sigh. My heart is breaking for her, for my child, and for us as a family. Family, wow that word feels so odd circling around in my mind. My eyes flood with tears, and I slide down the wall until my head’s tucked between my knees.

  I cry, attempting to drain the sadness that’s crept into my heart. I feel empty without her by my side. I feel lost without her love. Have I lost it for good? I don’t want to be without her for one second, but how can I be with someone who’s tried to kill a part of me? Can’t she see that this isn’t just about the kid? She’s a part of me, she was the best part of me, and she tried to take that away.

  I sit on the cold, hard floor for so long that my ass starts tingling. Someone drops down to my level, placing their hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?” I look up to see Doctor Cox squatting next to me.

  With my sleeve, I wipe the tiny drops from my cheeks and nod. She gives me a sad smile before saying, “You don’t have to always be so strong. You’re doing the right thing, you know.” I look at her in confusion, so she clarifies her statement. “You’re making Chloe do this herself. You’re not petting her, which is forcing her to face her demons. You’re doing the right thing, Skye.”

  I don’t respond as she checks her watch and stands. She reaches into her pocket and hands me a white card. “She’s not the only one affected by this situation. If you need to talk, you have my number.” She walks into Chloe’s room, leaving me to think over what she just said.

  Have I been petting Chloe? Hell yes. I’ve been enabling her behavior. So is part of this my fault as well? Shit, I don’t know. I run my hands over my face, trying to alleviate some of the stress. I sit back and rest my head against the wall. I stare at the other side of the hallway with my mind in a far off place and numb to my surroundings.

  I eventually hear Chloe’s door open and shut. Lazily, I turn my head in the direction of the door to see Doctor Cox exiting Chloe’s room. I sit up a little straighter.

  “How is she?” I blurt.

  She smiles softly before responding, “She’s fine.” I watch as she walks off. A thousand questions roll around in my mind, begging desperately for me to add a voice to them so they can be heard. It’s no use though; I know the doctor won’t divulge any of Chloe’s comments during their sessions.

  I resume my zombie stare at the wall across the hall, my mind lost on tomorrow’s trial. It’s in the bag so I don’t worry about that. It’s the sitting in the same room and not fucking killing him part that’s getting to me. I pull out my phone and notice it’s already eight p.m. I don’t want to leave, but I know that if I don’t get any rest, I won’t be worth a shit tomorrow.

  Reluctantly, I climb to my feet. I don’t feel like talking to anyone so I track down the hall until I find an elevator that I know won’t lead me to run into Sara and Harley. I will just send Harley a text when I get home. That’s another problem; do I want to go to Chloe’s place? If I go to my apartment, there’s no telling what sort of shit storm I’ll be walking into with Brady and Kasey staying there with no supervision. Fuck it, Chloe’s it is; I will just sleep on the couch.

  I finally find a door exiting the hospital; I must have walked farther down than I thought because I have to walk all the way around the hospital to get to my Jeep. I climb in and take the familiar roads to Chloe’s apartment.

  I take the stairs two at time until I reach my destination. I walk in and the place is deathly quiet. It’s such an eerie feeling to walk into a room so quiet you can hear the clock ticking on the wall. I’m being paranoid, I tell myself. I plop down on the couch and shoot Harley a text, letting him know that I’m home.

  When my head hits the small square pillow, I’m out cold. Lost in the land of dreams that used to be filled with Chloe. Now it’s filled with a family I’m scared I will never have. A life of love and happiness, filled with tender touches and warm childish giggles.

  I sit straight up on the couch. My
mind is foggy; I don’t know why I woke up like that. It must have been a bad dream or something. I look at my phone and notice its half after six. I have to be at station by seven, fuck. I just stand up and get into action. I’m showered, dressed, and out the door in fifteen minutes. That’s a record, even for me.

  When I climb in my Jeep, I call Harley. His sleepy voice sounds pissed when he answers.

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Good morning to you, too, asshole,” I say with a chipper tone.

  “Where the hell did you go yesterday?” he asks again.

  “I left, I had something to take care of this morning. Actually, that’s why I’m calling, man. How’s Chloe and the baby?”

  “If you fucking cared, you’d be here!” he yells. My heart drops.

  “Did something happen?” I send a silent prayer that they’re okay.

  “Yes, they’re fine. Where are you? Sara wouldn’t come home last night because you were fucking MIA. I had to sleep on this nasty ass floor.” I laugh at his whining, I can’t help it.

  “Today is Todd’s trial. I’m going to testify, I don’t know how long I’ll be. Don’t say anything, though. I don’t want Chloe stressing and hurting the baby, okay?” I turn into the station parking lot.

  “Shit, dude, that completely slipped my mind. Do what you need to do, man. I’ll stick around here till ya get back,” he lowers his voice.

  “Thanks. I’ll call ya when I get out of here.” We end the call as I exit the vehicle.

  I walk into the station, casually looking around. Officers adorned in their uniforms are milling about, carrying on with their day-to-day operations. Detective Sanders exits an office to my right, spotting me before I see him.

  “Skye,” he calls to me.

  “Detective,” I say by way of greeting. We meet in the middle and shake hands.

  “Are you ready? We need to get over to the DA’s office so he can go over the preceding. And what your role will be,” he states matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, sir.” I follow behind him. My hands are shoved into the pockets of the only black, dress slacks I own. The moment we step into the autumn air, the sun gleams off the high gloss of my black dress shoes. The crisp air seeps through the stiffly pressed white button up shirt. I should have worn a jacket. I haven’t been outside in so long that I’ve forgotten how chilly Georgia can get this time of year.

  The gold and amber leaves have fallen from the trees and are lying in heaps at the tree bases. The streets are lined in Halloween decorations, getting ready for the childhood celebration that’s only a week away. I don’t have long to take in the scenery around me before the detective pulls my attention back to him.

  "Are you riding with me or are you driving?" He looks from me to the Jeep.

  "I can drive." I answer.

  "What's the matter you scared to get in the cruiser? Scared it will ruin your rep or something?" He jokes.

  I tell him that have somewhere to be after the trial so he doesn't press the subject any further. I climb back into my Jeep and wait for the detective to get into his vehicle. My hands nervously fidget in my lap, wringing together frantically as if they were trying to grasp the situation. Finally he pulls his car onto the street and I follow in behind him. In a few short minutes, I will be face to face with the man that started this whole mess. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to keep myself together so that I don’t wring his neck.

  My phone rings pulling my attention from the road momentarily. I'm a little confused when I see the detectives name lighting up the screen, I quickly answer. I glance into his back windshield and notice his eyes are trained on me through the rearview mirror.

  “Look, I wanted to say this before we reach the court house so just listen. I can imagine what you’re feeling right now. You have to keep yourself together. The trial has been going on for over a week now, and it’s been an easy ride for the prosecution. The only reason we’re asking for an eyewitness testimony is because we don’t want any wiggle room for the defense. You get up on that stand, tell your side, and return to your seat. If you can handle that, then we have no worries. But, if you get in there and act out, it’s going to make our side look bad. We don’t want that, even if his fate is already sealed.”

  I nod and meet his eyes in the mirror, then respond. “I got this, I can control myself.”

  We end the call and the rest of the drive is short and silent. He pulls up in front of the courthouse and I copy his motions. The air around me becomes stifling. This is all happening so fast; I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not very confident that I’m going to be able to walk in there, look that asshole in the eye, replay the gruesome scene I witnessed, and pretend to be calm. How am I going to be able to go in there and lay out the emotional trauma he’s caused the one person in this world I care about most in front of a room full of strangers?

  “You coming?” the detective calls from the sidewalk. I hadn’t realized he’d left his car. With a steeled breath of determination, I climb out of the vehicle. Every step I take, leading me closer to the giant building, causes more and more unease to creep into my body.

  Entering the main lobby, I walk through the metal detector and am led down the hall away from the main entrance. We stop in front of a frosted glass door with black lettering that says, “John Catledge, District Attorney.” The detective knocks, and when the door opens, we are met by a man that stands a head taller than me. His large, round frame takes up the entire doorway. He steps back and we enter the room.

  The wood-paneled walls are lined with awards and degrees. Everything looks new and shiny. The smell of lemon pledge is so thick you can taste it. A large cherry wood desk sits in the middle of the room, covered in papers. Behind that is a wall-to-wall bookcase, housing what I assume are legal dictionaries and law references.

  “Skye, I’m John Catledge. It’s nice to meet you.” He extends his hand and I take it.

  “You, too,” I state.

  “Skye, we asked you here today to testify against Todd Lucas. I need you to state for the court exactly what happened that night. Both the defense and the prosecution will ask you questions regarding your relationship to Todd and Chloe. If you are asked a question, I want your answer to be a simple yes or no. Do not elaborate unless instructed by the judge. When prompted, you are to tell exactly what happened. Be thorough with your testimony. Do not leave any room for doubt. Usually, we rehearse these sorts of things, but with this last minute change, it’s hard to do that. I didn’t know if the judge would even allow it, thank God he did. Now, do you have any questions?” he asks.

  “Absolutely none,” I declare confidently. “Wait! How much longer until we go in?” I question.

  “We will enter the courtroom in a few minutes. I want you to sit directly behind me, understood? You will be away from the jury as well as the defendant.”

  “Understood.” I rise from my seat and stand near the door while John gathers his things. After he stuffs a stack of papers into his briefcase, he joins the detective and me by the door. The moment he swings the door wide enough to exit the office, flashes of light blind us.

  People begin yelling various forms of the same questions at us. The throng of people are shoving against each other to get the perfect shot, and the answers they are seeking.

  “Where is Ms. Thomas?” “Will she be appearing today?” “What’s your relationship to her?” The faceless voices shout over each other. I can’t see from all the tiny white spots that float lazily in the space before me. I’m not sure who it is, but someone grabs me and leads me out of the pack.

  “Jesus! Fucking vultures, you would think they would have to wait outside,” The DA barks.

  “I knew shit was going to hit the fan when they found out that the prosecution had a live testimony,” the detective declares.

  I let them talk because my mind is still reeling from all the excitement back there.

  “You ready?” Sanders asks.

  “Yep, le
t’s get this shit over with.” We enter the large courtroom. The rows of oak benches are already filled up. As we descend down the aisle, people stop their chatter and gaze at the three us of with questioning eyes. I slide into the first row, directly behind where the prosecution sits as I was instructed, the detective slides in next to me.

  I watch with fascination as the DA discusses the trial with his entourage of paralegals. Their legal jargon sounds like gibberish to me, but I remain focused on conversation to distract myself from the ball of nerves that are working their way through my system.

  Nausea wiggles its way into my stomach and makes itself home. I’m not sure what I’m so nervous about, I’m not the one on trial, but the entire situation is intimidating. A group of tailored suits enter the courtroom and take their place at the defense’s table. Shortly after they get situated in their seats, two bailiffs enter with a cuffed Todd. My fists ball up and the bout of nerves I was suffering from are replaced with blinding, white-hot rage.

  My nails bite into my skin, but the pain does little to distract me from the urge to jump up and pummel him over and over again. Images of different ways to kill him flash through my head. Never in my life had I wanted to kill someone so badly before.

  Todd looks at the district attorney with a sneer, his cold, black eyes glance in my direction only to look back at the table of people in front of me. He does a double take and I smirk at the horrified surprise that overshadows his face. My spiteful smirk is returned by the vile person mine was meant for, and I know he’s baiting me. It works as it sways my last second decision to leap over the waist high petition and beat him senseless.

  I’m just about to move when a firm, callused hand grips my wrist. I look down at the offending hand and then to the face that owns it. “You don’t want to do that, son. I know it’s hard; hell, between you and me, I’ve fantasized about killing the S.O.B. probably just as much as you have. But, not here; let the law do what it’s meant to do. At the end of the day, he’s the lucky fucker that gets to rot in jail.” His voice is low and slides past his slightly yellowed teeth. The level of infuriation in his tone matches my own. I don’t respond, I can’t because if I do, I may just tell him to go fuck himself and do what he’s advised me against doing.