Page 89 of Stay With Me

“So, when you did that new thing with your mouth, did you learn that from your book?”

“Uh huh. That was from chapter three.”

“Well, shit. Now I don’t know if I should be freaked out that you’re in this book club or give the author a five-star review.” The corner of Charlie’s mouth curves up in a sexy grin.

“Why, Charlie Fitzgerald, did you just make a joke?” I tease.

“I think I did. Go figure.”

Charlie reaches across the console and takes my hand in his and we drive the next several miles without talking.

I get lost in the soothing sensation as he caresses my palm with the rough pad of his thumb. I squirm in my seat a little, trying to reposition myself. Who knew a little thumb caress could be so arousing?

When Charlie spares me a quick glance and I see the smirk on his face, a warm flush creeps up my cheeks.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Before he can say anything else, his phone rings over the Bluetooth on his truck. I watch as his brow furrows, and then he lets go of my hand and presses a button to answer the phone.

“Mom?” Charlie’s voice is laced with concern as the distant roar of a man’s voice yelling in the background echoes through the speakers. I can’t make out his words, but they’re spoken with raw rage.

“C-charlie?” a timid female voice asks. It’s practically a whisper.

“Mom. It’s me. Are you okay?”

Suddenly, the man’s voice sounds much closer. “Who the fuck are you calling?”

I shrink back at the venomous tone.

And then the call disconnects.

“Hell. I’m sorry Em, but I have to go check on her.”

“Oh my gosh. Don’t be sorry. Go.”

Charlie veers into the next turnout on the road and changes direction, heading back to Elladine. Over the next several minutes, Charlie’s shoulders tense, a muscle twitches in his jaw. He’s not going over the speed limit and I suspect it’s because I’m in the vehicle. It’s clear from the way his hands grip the steering wheel he’s eager to get to his parents’ house and I doubt he’d be driving so carefully if it was only his safety at risk on these winding roads.

I want to help, but I don’t know how or what to say. So, I turn off the music and sit in silence.

After twelve long minutes, Charlie jerks the truck to a stop in front of a small bungalow and barely waits until the engine is off to jump out. As if he only just now remembers I’m with him, he throws me a quick look. “You should probably wait here.” Then he slams the truck door and takes off toward the back of the house.

I’m paralyzed with indecision—do I stay in the truck, or do I go make sure he’s okay? But I’m jolted into action when angry masculine voices fill the air surrounding me, followed by a woman—I presume Charlie’s mom—screaming, “No! Stop, please!”

I grab my cell phone in case I need to call the police and leap out of the truck, then run to the back of the house. The voices get louder as I draw near, and I stop dead in my tracks when I get to an open door and look in. The scene unfolding before me is terrifying. A broken glass vase lies shattered on the kitchen floor, wildflowers strewn chaotically around the room. Several drops of blood—enough to worry me—speckle the white tile floor.

And across the room is Charlie, who has an older man—I assume his dad—pinned to the wall with his forearm.

“Did you lay a hand on her, you piece of shit?” Charlie’s growl is ferocious. “How about you mess with someone your own size? Or are you too afraid I’ll fight back now that I’m not a little kid anymore?”

His dad’s face is beet red and though he can speak, his voice is raspy under the pressure of Charlie’s arm on his throat. “Fuck you. She’s my wife and what I do with her is none of your business. If she wants to act like a whore, she’ll get treated like a whore.”

The man grunts as Charlie presses harder with his arm in response to his words.

“He didn’t hit me. Please let him go, Charlie. I’m fine,” his mom begs. She’s pulling on Charlie’s arm, trying unsuccessfully to pull him off his father.

“Jesus, Mom. For once, stand up for yourself. I’m here. You called me. You don’t have to be afraid of?—”

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