“We barely missed ’em last year,” one officer says, scowling. “I was so glad when we drafted you.”
“It’s been a good season so far.” Caleb bends to kiss Sarai’s nose, glancing up when my maternal growl rumbles in the quiet. “But it’s been hard on me and my fiancée.”
“I’m not your fiancée,” I spit. “I’ll never wear your ring, Caleb.”
His eyes narrow at me, and the rage he’s kept carefully checked slips its chain for a second. It bares its teeth, and I know if he gets his hands on me, I’ll suffer more than a slap across my mouth.
“Like I was saying, it’s been hard on us,” Caleb continues, a modicum of civility. “New baby. Rookie season. It’s been a strain, and I think my fiancée just had a bad night.” He suspends that statement in the tight circle of us and the cops, taking the time to look each of them in the eye. “But I think she and I can work it out at home.”
His hard eyes penetrate mine. “Or you can take her in, and the baby can go home with me.”
“No.” I choke on my tears. I can’t take my eyes off Sarai, whose little mouth is rooting, searching for my breast. She whines, her arms shooting up from the swaddling. Caleb catches her fingers, folding them into his mouth.
“You hungry, baby?” he asks, his voice gentle, yet still managing to grate on my nerves. “Let’s get you out of here so Mommy can feed you.”
“You sure, Mr. Bradley?” the first officer asks. “If we need to—”
“He’s right,” I interrupt, my hands burning with the need to snatch my daughter away from him, no matter what it takes or costs. “It’s been a bad night. I didn’t . . .” I swallow my pride to clear room for the lie. “I forgot to take my medication, like he said.”
Caleb smiles at me indulgently.
“You see, officers,” he says. “All a misunderstanding.”
“Well, with something like an abduction accusation,” the first officer says, discomfort creeping into his voice and expression even as he uncuffs me, “we still have to document the incident.”
“Of course, document it.” Caleb’s stare mocks and warns me. “I understand, but we won’t be having this kind of trouble again, will we, babe?”
I rub my wrists, crossing to Caleb immediately. I reach for Sarai, but he doesn’t let her go. We hold each other’s stare, a silent war of wills I’ll have to wait for the right time to win.
Caleb finally releases Sarai. I clutch her to me, breathing in her sweet baby smell, burying my nose in her hair to hide my tears.
“I’ll drive.” Caleb opens the driver’s side door.
“But what about your car?” I ask.
“Oh, he’ll drive it home.” Caleb nods toward his Ferrari a few feet away.
Ramone steps out of the car, circling around to the driver’s side. Even in the darkness, his cold stare penetrates my clothes and leaves my skin clammy.
“Our bodyguard was the one who actually first noted Iris’s erratic behavior at the game tonight,” Caleb tells the officers, but his eyes are set on me. He’s making sure I understand that Ramone is his ally in this ruse. “He was concerned days ago but wasn’t sure he should say anything. He actually called social services.”
I freeze in the process of buckling Sarai into her car seat, glancing over my shoulder to catch Caleb’s stare.
“Of course, I’ve told him not to interfere that way again.” Caleb’s voice is chiding. “He thought he was doing what was best for Sarai, but it’ll leave my fiancée some explaining to do.”
This worsens by the second. Every lie Caleb has told is a straightjacket, hampering me, making me look like a madwoman.
How will I get out of this?
I climb into the car, watching through the windshield as the officers get Caleb to autograph their citation pads.
Once the cops are gone, Ramone and Caleb stand outside talking. Probably plotting how to best hold me hostage in that house while Caleb is on the road. I knew I felt a shift between us, but I had no idea how my life would be turned upside down.
In the midst of tonight’s soap opera, the mundane intrudes. My breasts hurt so bad, tight with milk because I missed a feeding. Sarai stares up at me—hungry, alert, impatient. She pats my breast, a sure signal that I have about two seconds before she starts wailing.
I take her in, her face a tiny replica of mine: demanding and defenseless. My whole world swaddled in a blanket. She’s happily suckling, and those feelings of resentment and confusion I had for her, for motherhood, in the beginning are completely foreign now. I barely remember my world when she wasn’t the axis. The soft weight of her in my arms once felt like a burden. Now, she feels like a privilege I don’t deserve. I’m willing to ride through hell on gasoline wheels for this little girl.
I look up and see the devil.
Caleb stands at the hood of the car, the stony lines of his face illuminated by the headlights, his eyes screaming obscenities. My stomach roils. This monster has been inside of me.
He opens the driver’s side door, and in the car’s interior light, his hair and golden skin appear almost angelic, but his eyes are demonic. His stare grows hungry and possessive as he watches me feed Sarai. My mind must like to torture me because it flashes back to the All-Star Game when I fed her while talking to August. Maybe in some parallel universe, I’m still in that room, soaking up his kindness and feeling sexy under the want of his stare.
I glance at Caleb’s implacable profile, the cruel promise of his mouth and the tightening of his hands on the wheel, like he wishes it was my neck. We don’t speak a word, but this won’t go unpunished.
Iris
“It’s not here,” I mumble to the empty bedroom. I rifle through the random items in my bedside drawer, none of which are my journal. I was completely, embarrassingly transparent in that journal regarding my conflicted feelings about motherhood—the resentment of my pregnancy. So many dark, lonely days I turned to the blank pages to pour out my emotions.
And it’s not here.
Did Caleb take my journal? I know how damning the turbulence of that season looks on paper. I’m ashamed to read it alone, much less have it exposed to someone else’s judgment. In Caleb’s hands, my most vulnerable moments are another weapon in his arsenal.
“Looking for something?” Caleb asks from the door.
I don’t answer, but face him, coaxing the drawer closed with my knee. I watch him and wait.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Iris.” His voice sends shivers over my nerve endings. “You shouldn’t have tried to leave me.”
“You left me no choice,” I sit on the edge of the bed, relieved to have Sarai fed and asleep while I deal with this—while I focus on how to untangle all these lies so I can get us away from him. “I told you what would happen if you hit me.”
“I hit you because you insulted me.” He tilts his head, coming to stand directly in front of me. “A dirty play, huh? You seem to have a soft spot for my old buddy August.”
I don’t respond, but wait for him to continue.