Wife in Name Only

chapter Eleven


Rory could see nothing but red as his fist slammed into soft flesh. The man struggled against his hold. But Rory’s fists were wrapped around the man’s throat. He wanted this f*cker to see what it felt like to be afraid.

“Feel good hitting a woman? Is that all you can hit? Can’t take on a guy?” Blood poured from the guy’s nose. He could see nothing but a red haze as he stared down at the man who’d laid a finger on his wife.

“Rory.”

A hand landed on his arm when he pulled back to land another blow.

“Stop.”

His hand was bunched in a fistful of the bastard’s t-shirt, and he vaguely realized it ached. He paused and felt something breaking through the white wall of rage that held him in cold control. He turned. Zoe gripped his forearm.

“Rory, stop. Please,” she whispered.

His breath hissed out of him. He wanted nothing more than to bury the man that had hurt her, but one look at Zoe’s bleeding and deathly pale face stopped him. He dropped the guy, and Toma crumpled to the ground. He took her face in his hands, scanning her bruised and battered face.

“I thought I told you to stay where you were.”

“I had to make sure you were okay.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her whole body shook. Cinderella sat at her feet, where she panted and nudged Zoe’s leg.

Purple finger-bruises stained her neck and darkened as he watched. “F*ck, Zoe. Did he…did he…” His chest tightened and clogged words in his throat. Adrenaline spiked up his spine. He turned to the crumpled, moaning figure on the ground.

“No, he didn’t.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. He pulled her tight, holding the back of her head. She winced. His hand traveled over her head, lightly tracing a lump swelling under his fingertips.

He pulled back and ran his finger down her cheek. “Is that yours?” He stared at her yellow dress, which was pasted to her chest from a sickening amount of still-wet blood.

“No, it’s his,” she whispered.

She looked down and then back up at him.

“I want it off me.” Revulsion colored her cheeks, her voice a grating whisper. “Shower.” She tried to pull away, but he held her tighter. “Not yet,” he growled. “Do you think you can walk?”

She looked at him, confused.

“Gotta take the garbage out.” He ran his hand down her cheek and gripped her hand.

“I’ll wait here.” He knew she was barely holding it together. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her body would be leaking out of her muscles.

“Babe, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Rory, I’ll be fine.” She jutted her chin.

“Not negotiable.” His had gripped her tighter. “We need to call the police.” He glanced around the resort. “Hang on.” He pulled her gently toward a hammock slung between two palm trees. With one hand, he ripped at the knots, grunting with effort, and soon half of the hammock lay on the sand. He made quick work of the knots anchoring the rest of the hammock tied to the other palm.

He walked toward the man lying motionless on the ground. His eyes burned, the hand not holding Zoe bunched automatically into a fist.

“I’m going to let go of your hand for a second.” He noted the lines of pain etched into her eyes. She flicked her eyes to the man on the ground and nodded.

He made fast work of hog-tying the man’s wrists to his ankles.

He glanced back at her, at the tears running silently down her face, and made it to her in two strides. “I’m going to go all caveman on you, babe. You’re not walking. I’m carrying you. What’s the number I need to call?” He scooped her up, and she immediately cradled her head against his chest. She looped one arm around his neck. Her whole body shook. He made it to the office.

She rattled off a number. He grabbed the phone out of the holder and punched in the numbers. Then he tucked the phone into his neck and, while waiting for someone to pick up, held her tighter against him.

After a quick conversation, Zoe struggled in his arms. He put her down gently and cupped her chin. Tears spilled down her face, and her hand rested on her throat.

“My locket.” Her voice shook. “It’s gone. Lost. It was the only thing I had left from my mother.”

He eased into the office chair and tucked her into his chest. His breath blasted out of him. He turned and stared out the window. If he could kill the guy with a look, the dude would be six feet under and feeding worms right now. Zoe had so little to remember her mother by, and it had been particularly special, since her mother had intended Zoe to wear it when she found the man she’d spend the rest of her life with. After wearing it proudly for the first time on their wedding day, she’d never taken it off. “Shit, babe. I’m sorry.” It was hard to swallow. He curled his hand around her shoulder.

They sat in silence. Thoughts, not many of them good, churned through Rory’s head. What if he hadn’t been here to protect her? He was fairly certain of what the outcome would have been. But he couldn’t process that one right now or he’d be sitting in a jail cell waiting for his murder trial. His fingers curled around hers. He sure as hell wasn’t letting her go.

After what felt like an eternity (but was actually only twenty minutes), a mustard-colored car rolled into the resort, sounding like its last tune-up was circa 1941. A serious-faced elderly man and Simi, his face brimming with concern, arrived at the resort. Rory stood, making sure Zoe was to his side. Simi gripped Rory’s arm and hugged Zoe.

“We’ll take it from here,” Simi said. “Island law. We have called a meeting with the elders.” He gripped Rory’s hand. “You care for Zoe?” Simi’s dark, watery eyes held him.

“Yeah, I’ll be looking after my wife.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder. Feelings he wasn’t going to digest right now sat heavy in his heart. The only thing occupying his mind was making sure she was safe.

“Rory, I want to go. I need to get this off me.” She tugged at the dry, bloodied dress. Her face was a sickly gray in the fading afternoon sun.

He scooped her up and walked toward her bungalow, ignoring his throbbing hand, very aware of the pain bouncing around his heart like a pinball unable to find an exit. He walked straight into the outdoor shower. He peeled off the dress and underwear and threw them in a corner. In addition to the bruises circling her neck, the bump on the back of her head, and grazes to her cheeks and shoulders, there were welts on her calves and a massive scratch on her back. Long scratches rose along the front and back of her thighs, and a streak of red arched from her left shoulder across her ribcage. It looked like she’d been snagged by a vine.

Without a word, he turned on the shower, ripped off his clothes, threw them in the corner with hers, and pulled her into the shower. Using her chic frangipani shower gel, he washed her body using gentle strokes. As he cleaned her toes, hands rested on his shoulders, and he looked up. Tears pooled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Utter tenderness washed over her face before she bit her lip and turned her head.

He worked on her hair, massaging the pink shampoo into her scalp. She didn’t move, just relaxed her back against his chest. When he massaged in the conditioner, he thought he heard her sigh but couldn’t be sure over the steady beat of the water. Just as she had back in L.A., she kept a comb hanging off the tap handle. Just as it had back in L.A., it was a reminder of her presence. As he combed the conditioner through her hair just as she’d always done, he realized how much he’d missed that comb.

He stepped from the shower and wrapped her body in a fluffy towel, gently tucking in the edges.

“Don’t move,” he said, propping her next to the sink. “I mean it this time.” He walked back into the shower, soaped up, and rinsed off. A few bruises were forming where he’d hit the ground, but apart from some scrapes on his knuckles, he was fine.

He felt Zoe’s eyes on him. He turned, and their gazes met. He shut off the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist.

She looked so vulnerable. Her bottom lip trembled, and the bruises on her neck continued to darken.

She stared down at her feet. “I thought you were going to kill him,” she whispered.

He ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, the thought did cross my mind. Might have if you hadn’t stopped me. If I hadn’t been here…” The pain that had been bouncing around his heart punched an exit. He slammed his hand against the wall, palm flat. His eyes were raw. He turned and looked at her. She stepped back but in an instant came straight to him.

“If I hadn’t been here, Zoe…”

“I know,” she said softly, laying a hand on his arm.

He blinked, pulled her into his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. Did she? Did she really know? Because he sure as hell was having a hard time processing it.

She pulled back and, on her tip toes, kissed the side of his jaw that ached.

Her eyes were awash with tears. Standing there in a towel, covered in bruises after being attacked, she was strong and vulnerable and all his. She’d always be all his.

Whoa.

“I wanted you to stop.”

She carried on, oblivious to the firestorm going on in the abandoned warehouse that currently housed his brain.

“If you had killed him…” She seemed to find her towel the most interesting thing on the planet.

“What, Zo?” He cupped her chin and looked into her eyes.

“Then everything you’ve worked toward and everything you want would have been gone. Your career would be gone.” She trembled, her eyes glassy. “I know how much that means to you. I’d hate that you’d sit in jail for the rest of your life. For me.”

He closed his eyes. The blood pounded the back of his skull. That wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. F*ck if he knew what the answer he wanted to hear was, but it wasn’t about work, or career shit.

“When I saw him reach out to grab you, something in me snapped. I knew that he meant to hurt you, Zo. Badly. I saw the blood on you, and I knew that I’d break every bone in his body before I’d let him get you. I didn’t think about the consequences or about going to jail. I just couldn’t let him touch you.”

The air seized in his chest, and he had a hard time swallowing.

She touched his arm, and something shifted in him. “Thank you,” she whispered up at him, her eyes all glassy.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He burned her face into his memory.

She tried to smile, but pain flittered across her face. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she winced.

“You’re going to hurt for a few days. I’m sorry about that. Some bruises are going to be nasty.”

“I’ve got arnica cream. I’ll slather that on later.”

He walked with her to a chest of drawers and pulled out underwear, a t-shirt, and shorts.

“I’ll rub it into the bruises later,” he said.

“Where’s Rory Hughes and what have you done with him?”

He turned to see a wobbly smile lighting her face, and he heard a tiny smile in her shaky voice.

“I’m not sure what to make of the Rory standing in front of me. Where’s caveman Rory, who’d rather throw me over his shoulder for a biology lesson?”

“He’s still here, baby. He just needs to know you’re safe.”

She put her hands on his shoulders, and her smile slipped away. “I am. Thank you.” She gently kissed his cheek, and something in him cracked. Something powerful. It rebounded against his ribcage and pressed down on his lungs.

“Get dressed,” he said with a gravelly voice as he went to grab his clothes. “Your muscles need fuel. You need to take it easy for a few days.”

“Until you’re gone.”

He spun around, but her back was to him. She’d slipped on the clothes he’d left out. She finger combed her hair but he caught the tremble in her hands. “Yeah.” That sat in his chest like a lead balloon, expanding outwards and making it hard to breathe.

He shook his head. He couldn’t process that now. Tonight a man had laid a hand on his wife.

His wife.

In a few days, he was going to walk away from her forever.

“This isn’t perfect timing, but I had a conference call with Joe, and bottom line is I have to leave here soon. If I don’t do the face to face negotiations, then the whole deal is off.”

Her face paled, but she looked resolute.

“I always knew you were going to leave, babe.”

Babe. F*ck. He flinched.

He closed his eyes. His hands clenched at his sides.

“We can talk about it later,” he said, unable to keep the gruffness out of his voice.

Right now, right here, he couldn’t deal with it. He’d have to deal with it later, but right now his priority was Zoe.

“There’s really nothing we need to talk about.”

Her fractured smile nearly broke a rib when it caused his heart to slam in his chest.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I’m not very hungry, but there’s some soup,” she said.

He was across the floor to her in two strides. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”

He stilled at the strength and vulnerability shimmering around her. “Thanks, but I’ll go on my own. I can’t be scared here. This is my home. I’ve got to keep doing what I’m doing. I’m not going to live in fear. Besides, he will be dealt with.” She laced her fingers with his and he gripped them tight before she pulled her hand away. He was left with nothing but a memory of her warmth. “See you later,” she said, effectively dismissing him.

Zoe was right. She had to get on and live her life. He wouldn’t be around. Still, it didn’t make pulling a breath any easier. He moved to the window, eyes on her until she flicked on the lights and shut the door. He raced to the bungalow he’d been sleeping in the past three nights and got dressed in record time, and then he joined her for tomato soup and toast. They didn’t talk much, but a comfortable silence lay between them.

She started to rise to clean up, but he cut her off.

“Sit down and do not move a muscle. I can do dishes.”

He loaded the dishwasher, but something was missing. He smiled, walked to her speakers, and scrolled through her iPod until he found the song he wanted. “I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do” drifted across them.

A beautiful smile lit her face. He held out his hand, and she clutched it. He pulled her into his arms.

“Gotta have some happy music.”

He started murmuring the lyrics.

She pulled back, and a snort of laughter barked out of her.

“Are you singing to ABBA?”

He pulled her close and hissed her forehead. “Guess I am.”

“Why’d you choose that song?” she asked into his chest, her hands gripping him tighter.

“Said it was your mom’s favorite, years back. That f*cker took something of hers that belonged to you today. Thought I could give you a piece of her back tonight.”

She didn’t answer, just clung to him tighter. They swayed as song after song bled into one another. When she finally sagged against him without protest, he picked her up and carried her back to her bungalow.

Night had kicked in. The insects that only days ago had annoyed the crap out of him were up to their old tricks, but instead of grating on his last nerve, their song had morphed into a soothing backdrop of hums.

Zoe looked up at him. He couldn’t miss the way she chewed on her lip and furrowed her eyebrows.

“What?” He pressed her hair behind her ear, wincing again at the bruises on her neck.

“Tonight, can you just hold me?” Her knuckles turned white on the doorknob. “I know your views on spooning and all, but—”

He pushed open the door and walked inside.

“Tonight I’ll be a f*cking cutlery set.” He kissed the top of her head.

She did bathroom stuff and changed into a long t-shirt. The red and gold 49ers logo had faded with age.

They reversed. He brushed his teeth, left his boxers on, slipped into bed, and pulled her against him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he kissed her hair.

“Night, baby.” He hooked his leg around hers and was just settling in when she spun in his arms.

“Thank you,” she said in a voice just born out of a whisper.

He closed his eyes, nodded, and pulled her close. As his heart synched with hers, he stared out of the window at the moon until his eyes burned.

He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but it wasn’t good. It was raw. This was so foreign, so far from his happy stomping grounds. He didn’t know what he was feeling.

Something was going down in his heart, and he hated it.

But he knew what it was.

He’d move heaven and earth to keep her safe. Lay out any dude that tried to touch her.

He wanted to give her everything.

His whole body convulsed.

At a cellular level he knew if she asked him to stay today he would. He’d sacrifice everything to keep her safe. But at what cost? Yes, he wanted to keep her safe, but apart from today, she’d been the happiest she’d been in her life here. He’d taken a vacation but could he sacrifice himself to keep her happy?

Could he do it? After the Andrew deal, could he run his company from here and not rain shit on her parade whenever his work got in the way? Because it would. It had in the past. What was different now? He was just as driven, if not more so. Everything that defined him was tied up in his company. Staying here would be the same as their lives back in L.A.

A burn started in his chest and pushed up the back of his throat. He blinked at the realization that Zoe had The Beast that stalked her, but so did he. He’d turned his life into his success being measured by The Dow. He was the epitome of the poor boy from the wrong side of the tracks—with crap parents who’d determined when he was born that he wasn’t worth the price of registering his birth.

His own Beast now sat on his chest and crushed his ribcage under the realization he couldn’t stay here and watch her fade away again, knowing she had no place to go.

She cried out in her sleep and went to move away. He pulled her closer, kissed the back of her head, and with burning eyes watched out the window until night turned into day. Tomorrow he’d tell her that Smithy was en route earlier than expected. Soon he’d be leaving her forever.