Stand and Defend (Lakes Hockey Series Book 4)
Stand and Defend: Chapter 8

I work from home most of the time but have to go in on Wednesdays. So, this morning, I went in like always but took the afternoon off so I could get back to the condo before Bryan came home. I need to load up my stuff and get out of dodge.

I almost told Camden the other night, but I was in a daze, and after seeing how chummy he was with Bryan, I don’t know if I can trust him. They were laughing and carrying on like nothing happened. It’s not like Cam ever said he wouldn’t be friends with Bryan. He just said I shouldn’t take him back.

As soon as I unlock the door, my stomach feels uneasy. There’s a heaviness in this hallway. The condo feels cold and unfeeling—like a cage. I want to be back on Cam’s bike again—free and far away from all this. I want to be with Chicken Salad in my own apartment. My anxiety is telling me to run, but there are a few things I need, and if I’d taken them this morning, it would have looked suspicious.

The first place I go is the bedroom safe that holds financial papers I need. I press my finger to the pad, but it blinks red instead of green. I type in the numerical code. It fails. I run to the drawer in the kitchen for the key, open it, and feel around the back. This is where we keep the spare. It’s gone. Fuck!

I’ll have to worry about it later. I run back to the bedroom, enter the spacious walk-in closet, and pull out a suitcase.

It’s not twenty minutes before the front door opens and slams. My heart drops to my feet, stomach rolling, and I want to vomit.

“Jordana!”

I frantically zip the luggage so I can put it back and not look suspicious. Shit, I’ll have to try another day. Now that I know he’s tracking my whereabouts, the escape plan will need to be adjusted.

It’ll be okay. Keep your head on straight.

I shove it back on the shelf and slide over to the connected master bath, in front of the sink, and pinch my cheeks a few times to make them appear flushed.

“I’m in the bathroom.” My voice sounds dead. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

I know exactly which pointy, square-toed shoes he’s wearing based on the way they clack on the tile. He stomps in. “What in the actual fuck? Why are you home?”

He’s in his gray suit, his ears are red. He’s mad? I’m the one who should be angry!

I splash water on my face.

“I’m not feeling well.”

“You look fine.”

“Are you allergic to dogs?” I want to slap myself, but something in me wants him to know I know. That all his secrets are coming to light. “I ask because Veronica has dogs.” I shouldn’t poke the bear, but it’s like I can’t help myself. This isn’t fair. He can’t keep me like a prisoner.

“What?! Am I . . . Who the fuck cares if I am or not?”

See, that pisses me off. I pat my face dry with a towel.

“I’m not pleased, Jordana.” He advances until he’s at the threshold of the room. “You left work without telling anyone, and I had no idea where you went. I was worried.”

He’s switching tactics. It’s creepy how fast he alternates personas. What’s worse is how I never realized what a red flag it is. Camden’s voice pops into my mind. “Are you safe with him?” Do I even know who this man is? Too many times I brushed off those anger issues as immaturity, but now it makes the hair on my neck stand on end. I’m in real danger.

“I just needed to get some rest. I felt ill.”

He grinds his teeth as he answers, “You should have texted me you weren’t feeling well.” His eye is twitching. “For all I know, you’ve been fucking around with someone else, trying to seek revenge for something you don’t even have proof of. Maybe that was your plan all along.”

That sends me over the edge.

“Because you’re the picture of devotion.” I roll my eyes and laugh. “How long have you and Veronica been fucking, anyway?”

“Oh, I see . . .” His eyes gleam. “This is your bullshit attempt to get out of marrying me, is it? You think you can leave me? Use this as an opportunity to sneak away? Do you think it will be that easy?”

I scoff and shake my head. “God, you’re such a manipulative mindfuck—you were caught, Bryan! It’s over! Everybody can see through you. I see through you. We both know this whole marriage was a sham. Neither of us have been happy. It’s done.”

I’ve never yelled back at him before, and it feels good. It feels so validating.

He wrinkles his nose and sneers. I don’t like it one bit. His eyes are dark and empty as he stalks toward me, and I step to the side. I refuse to let him back me up against a wall. Plan your exit. I retreat into the closet, which is attached to the laundry room, which is attached to the foyer hallway through a sliding pocket door. Just get to the front door.

“You fucking cunt . . . How dare you talk to me that way. You will show me respect.”

Cunt, that’s a new one. My hand casually moves to my back pocket as I take another step. Keys, check.

“You first.” I shouldn’t antagonize, but every memory of him making me feel small flashes in my thoughts, and I hate him for it.

My phone is in my purse, which I dropped next to the front door when I walked in. I have to get to my phone before he gets to me. Shit.

I take a deep breath and hush my voice, staying placid. “We both are not in a good place. You’re angry, and I’m going to stay at my parents’ house until you calm down.”

“I’m calm!” he shouts, and I flinch. “Oh, did I scare you?” His face is getting redder by the minute. “You don’t have anywhere to go. So if you want to smooth things over, stop walking away, and let’s talk like civilized adults.”

Inside the closet, I continue backing up, and as soon as my feet hit the laundry room, he lunges for me. I slam the pocket door, smashing his hand in the process. My eyes bulge. Fuck—now I’m in trouble.

I spin on my heel and run down the foyer hallway, snatching up my bag. Keys, phone, purse. Move.

Out of the corner of my eye, he comes barreling out of the laundry room.

Run.

Just as I grab the door handle, the clothes iron from the laundry room explodes against the wall next to me at eye level. He missed. I don’t scream. I don’t turn around. I don’t breathe. I run.

Past the elevator, I throw open the heavy metal door to the stairwell and pray I don’t trip in these stupid fucking heels, my feet moving as fast as they can, one after the other.

He’s on the stairs now. His strides are bigger than mine. This isn’t happening.

Go, go, go.

He’s coming for me, and if I don’t escape, he might kill me. I’m not sure if the iron he threw at me was to scare, maim, or worse . . . but it would have done the job if he was a few inches closer. I’m such an idiot for even coming back here. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Then his footsteps stop. My spine tingles. Why did he stop? Was I farther than I thought? Did he give up? His feet are no longer slapping the steps behind me. My hand keeps a loose grip on the handrail as I go. Swinging around each landing, I don’t stop to take a breath. My legs are shaking, but adrenaline keeps me focused. Stairs, landing, stairs, landing. Farther and farther, I descend the tower. How many more levels until I reach the underground parking? I can’t tell how much time has passed, and I’m unsure of what floor I’m passing.

Glancing up, I pass a giant seven, but my feet falter and I yelp, clutching the handrail and catching myself from falling and twisting an ankle. Holy fuck that was close.

Slow down! If you trip on these stairs, you’re a sitting duck. The goal is to make it out of here, remember?

“Okay, okay!” I say aloud to myself, then pause for a split second on the next landing to yank my heels off. The cold, damp concrete stairs fight against the sweat breaking across my skin. I shake off the cool relief and thank whatever higher power I didn’t kill myself trying to get away.

I pace myself, worried I’ll stumble again; it wouldn’t take more than one slight misstep. Too afraid to look up, my eyes remain trained on the stairs ahead of me. As safely as I can, I race to the bottom. Fate has given me a second chance. I fear it won’t be as kind the third time.

After what feels like forever, I hit the lower level, yank open the metal door, and freeze. The blood drains from my face when I see Bryan leaning against the security desk. How can I be so foolish? He took the fucking elevator down. He looks up and smooths his hair over and smiles. His likely mangled hand is stuffed in his pocket. The security guard behind him is unaware of the peril I’m in. I slip my shoes back on.

“There you are, honey. Why did you take the stairs?”

I stay closer to the wall as I near the garage. “Wanted to burn the extra calories,” I mumble.

Think, Jordan! If I tell them he was chasing me, he’ll convince them I’m crazy. Maybe he already has. A second security guard walks past me, and I grab his arm.

He swings around and stares at me. I clear my throat. “I, um, I need an escort to my car.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s coming upstairs with me.”

Faking a smile, I wave him off. “Relax, babe. I’m just picking up groceries, I’ll be back soon.” My voice wavers but I remain smiling. “We need milk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, I want to go by myself,” I demand.

The officer looks down at me, and I dare to take my eyes off Bryan for a second to make this man see I need help. He must see the desperation in my eyes.

“I don’t mind, Mr. Davenport. You can return to your residence. I’ll make sure she makes it to the vehicle safely.”

His eye does that twitchy thing again, but he nods with a tense jaw while glaring at me. I follow the officer, and I swear I can feel Bryan breathing on me as we walk past him. My knees are shaking so much, I’m worried I’ll collapse. I hold my breath, as if my own exhale could tempt him enough to get his hands on me and prevent my escape. When we exit the lower level and enter the parking garage, the cool air hits my face, and I realize how much I’m sweating.

I thank the guard and ask if he would mind staying to make sure I get out safely. He nods, and as soon as we reach my car, I scramble inside, locking the doors. As casual as I can muster, I back out of my spot and drive toward the exit. There’s no point in reporting Bryan to him, I’d have to stay and fill out a statement. We’d have to wait for police. I’m not doing that. I’m leaving while I can.

The garage door seems to move in slow motion as I wait for it to rise. I tap the wheel frantically. “Come on, come on, come on . . .”

As soon as the roof of the car can fit under, I hit the accelerator. Sunlight floods the interior, making me squint, and I take a deep breath, heading toward my parents’ house. Shit—I can’t go there. Now that my parents are in Monaco, the house manager is only there a couple days a week, and I’d be alone at night. I can’t go to a hotel, all I have are credit cards. He’d track those too. Fuck!

My hands tremble as I’m overwhelmed with the sensation of dread. Where do I go? He knew this would happen. He said I’ve got nowhere to go, and he’s right. I double-check my wallet. No cash.

“How did you let it get this bad, Jordan?”

I can’t think and I’m stuck, so I call the only person I know to call, the one who’s basically a stranger. I don’t know if I can trust him, but I’m out of options. He said to call if things got rough. I’d say we are well within rough territory.

Unlocking my phone, I tap the screen until I see Camden Teller’s name and hit the call button.

It rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six.

“Pick up. Please pick up,” I whisper into the receiver.

It rings eight times and goes to voicemail. “No!”

Sweat beads at my forehead, and I continue checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, expecting to see his red car behind mine.

“Stop it, Jordan, you’re fucking paranoid. Focus.” Tears threaten to fall as the adrenaline rush wanes. I’ll be a sobbing mess in a matter of minutes. Don’t give up. You can do this. My phone rings, and I look down to see Cam’s name on the screen. I sniffle and clear my eyes, putting a fake smile on my face, hoping he’ll be able to hear it through the phone.

“Hey!” I answer cheerfully. I swallow down my fear, trying to sound normal. What do I say?

“Jordan?” He sounds out of breath.

“Sorry, are you busy?” God, my voice is so fake.

“No, I’m just wrapping up with practice. What’s up? . . . Everything okay?”

No, nothing is okay. You were right, I’m an idiot. I put myself in danger, and now I can’t get out of it. I’m terrified.

My fingers tremble as they grasp the phone. “Yeah, yeah, fine. I just, um—” My voice catches and the tears start to fall. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I pull the car over and hold the phone away from my face, willing myself to be strong. Get your act together.

“Where are you?” he asks.

A sob escapes, my fear and loss of adrenaline hijacking my body. I cover my mouth, hoping to smother my emotions, and look to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears in my eyes. I feel so pathetic. I hate crying in front of people. Even though he’s not here to see it, I don’t want him to hear it either. I feel so weak already.

His voice is calm and slow. “Jordan, take a deep breath and answer my question. Where are you?”

I suck in air and blow out a shaky exhale. Breathing feels impossible. My lungs burn and my chest heaves. Great, now I’m hyperventilating; I’ll pass out and Bryan will find me in no time.

“I’m . . . I don’t know,” I choke out. I take another breath and try to get through my sentence as fast as I can. “I’m driving around, and I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay. Are you near any intersections?”

My gaze bounces around, and I catch a street sign. “I’m on Humboldt.” I know where I am, but I have no idea how to articulate it, so I name things I see. “There’s a grocery store and a repair shop and . . .”

“Do you see a car dealership on the left or right?”

“The left.”

“Perfect, that’s great. I want you to go to my house. I’m going to give you directions, and once we hang up, I want you to turn off the GPS on your phone and car, then put your cell on airplane mode and shut it down. Understand?”

My hands shake again. Bryan’s tracking me. He was just a cheating asshole last week, how did this escalate so fast? Now he’s a threat to my life.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. He calmly gives directions, and his voice sounds like one of those meditation recordings. I scribble down the street names he tells me on the back of an old receipt in my purse. He provides the code to the gate and another code for the door.

“Am I really doing this?”

“It’s gonna be all right.” His voice sounds so sure. “I’m going to wrap up here. I’ll be home soon.”

“Can I stay with you for a night? Only a night until I can figure shit out.” I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, hoping he’ll say yes. Please, one night.

He chuckles “Of course. There’s an apartment above my garage, stay as long as you want. I’ve got a few errands still, but help yourself to whatever.”

Relief washes over me now that I have a plan. I have somewhere safe to go.

“God, thank you so much, Cam. I owe you. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“Uh-oh. Is that you changing your mind about me not being your type?”

I choke on a laugh.

It may be inappropriate, but he has no idea how much I needed the levity. I appreciate him not pitying me or treating me differently. I sniffle and shake my head. “Not even close.”

There’s a slight grin in his voice. “It’s going to be okay, Jordan. Go to my place and hang tight.”

I exhale, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “Thanks Cam.”

“You bet. Don’t forget, turn off GPS on your phone and car.”

“Okay.”

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