Page 66 of Love in Pieces

The outskirts of the field turn into a makeshift running track as everyone starts their laps. Logan near the front, Dallas pulling up the end. I’m not sure if those two have discussed anything from last night yet. They’ve had plenty of time to do so since getting to the field. But Logan has avoided eye contact with me all morning. He hasn’t said a word to me since we ended the initial conversation.

So, while I sit here, waiting for Meredith to join me at the top of the bleachers, I contemplate what to do next. And how to tell Meredith about last night. When she finally joins me an hour into their scrimmage, she strolls up the steps, her clunky heels notifying everyone she’s arrived.

“Who’s winning?” she asks, taking a seat next to me. She gives me a small side hug before plopping her bag on the bench in front of her.

“Logan’s team. They’re up by one. Top of the fifth.”

She nods, placing her hands on her knees. “So, what’s up? Dallas sounded urgent when he called.”

“Uh, yeah.” How do I start this? I stare at my shoes, playing with a loose string from my shorts. Meredith has this habit of going into full parent mode even when little things happen. Lately, it’s been tenfold. Last time, no detail was too small. She threatened to break his hands the next time she saw him. I wouldn’t put it past her to do just that. So now, sitting here, I’m a little apprehensive of how she’ll react.

I almost don’t notice her get up abruptly at the same time that the inning ends. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back. I have to pee.” How she runs in heels like that, I’ll never understand.

I watch Dallas run back into the dugout, disappearing behind a large tarp blocking the sun. A few minutes pass as players take their new positions on the field, and others set up to bat. A whistle blows as tires screech behind me, disappearing down the road past the trees before I can see the vehicle responsible. A few strikes later, I’m wholly pulled from my trance of fastballs and whirling bats.

A female and male police officer turn the corner around the fence of the bleachers, glancing in my direction. The female officer points at me and says something, but I can’t hear her over my already pounding heart in my ears. Meredith and Dallas follow a short distance behind.

My pulse threatens to tear a hole through my chest. My gut says run, but my head says stay, hear them out. But why are they here? Who called them? Ijusthad this conversation with Dallas. He wouldn’t do this to me. Would he? As the female officer makes her way up the bleacher steps, I stare past her to the defeated faces of my supposed friends, my gaze shifting between them. Meredith watches me closely. Dallas hangs his head, pausing at the bottom with the male officer. All of the satisfying sounds of bats and gloves have stopped. The game I’ve been watching now halted, every player staring in my direction.

An audience. Great. I glare at them both, trying to convey just how pissed off I am. Why the fuck would they call the cops? And now of all times. In public. If they were set on calling, why not have a little compassion and call when I’m home so I can have this ridiculous conversation in private? But as her steps grow closer, I realize I have to face the music. I’m shocked the cops even bothered showing up, to be honest. I’m surprised they didn’t take one look at who the call was for and decide it wasn’t worth it. But I guess when someone other than me calls, they take it seriously, at least for now. Once I start talking, they’ll go right back to the police station, file this report away, and let me crawl back into the hole I’ve dug so deep to hide in.

“Abigail Cooper?” the female officer asks, stopping a few steps below me, a hand on her belt, the other on the railing.

I don’t answer. I keep my eyes focused on the two I know are behind this foolish move. The female officer looks behind her at Meredith, who has stopped about halfway up the stairs and at Dallas, who still waits by the bleacher entrance, the male officer standing next to him. They’re talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Dallas won’t look at me. He motions to his coach to keep playing.

“Abby, please,” Meredith speaks this time, taking a tentative step forward. Her eyes are pleading, begging me to cooperate.

How am I supposed to cooperate when my best friends have taken it upon themselves to deal with what should be my problem? They should never have gotten involved. But at the same time, how did I plan on dealing with this myself? The only solution I can come up with at this point is to go running back to Sam. Maybe I should have.

“Ms. Cooper, please come with me.” She holds a hand out toward me. “I will explain once we are somewhere a little more private.” She looks back to the field where the game has started again even though many players are still staring not so discreetly.

Rather than saying anything, I agree by simply standing and making my way down the steps, blowing past the officer’s outstretched hand. She smiles slightly, following closely behind until we get to the bottom of the steps.

Dallas stands next to the male officer, watching me closely, and our eyes finally meet. With a shake of my head, he drops his.

I move past him while the officers follow with Meredith and Dallas behind them. We make our way toward the closed concessions booth, hiding us from the view of the other players. I turn around, arms tightly crossed, not at all ready to have this conversation.

“Well?” I ask, more directed at Dallas and Meredith than the cops.

“Ms. Cooper, my name is Officer Emma Thurston. I’m an officer with the Oxly Police Department.” She gestures to the man standing next to her, his legs braced wide, one hand on his taser, the other gripping his vest. “This is Officer Terry Proud.” I look between them, lips still sealed, trying to focus on my breathing, trying to keep from panicking though I’m almost angrier than anything. “I’m sorry to catch you off guard. I know your friends know what’s going on, but they’ve told me that you may not be aware of what has happened today.”

I look at them, confusion tight on my face. With my brows drawn together, I look back to the officers, waiting for them to explain.

“Based on past reports you have made, and today's call, I understand you are recently out of a relationship. Is that correct?” I nod slightly, shifting on my feet. “I also understand, from what Mr. Kraus has told me, that you’ve been experiencing some stalking from this ex-boyfriend, Samuel Johnson, is it? And that you experienced some physical abuse from him, as well.” She pauses, waiting for me to acknowledge that she’s getting the story correct. I nod again, watching Dallas carefully. He holds my gaze, his eyes apologetic. “Well, today, we received a call from Ms. Vazquez that Mr. Johnson was here in the parking lot. Were you aware of this?”

What?Sam was here? When? How didn’t I notice? Panic is setting in, seeping through the cracks of my anger, my heart almost stopping at the words. I wrap my arms around myself, tightening my grip until I’m sure nail imprints are embedded in my back. I try to take a deep breath, but it gets caught, leaving me taking short sharp breaths. I swallow hard, fighting past the knot in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Warm hands brace my arms, lightly stroking up and down. “Abby,” a male's voice cuts in. It’s muffled from the pounding pulse in my ears. “Abby, you’re okay. You’ve got people here with you. You’re not alone.”

I chance a look, breaking through the heavy tears to see Dallas squatting before me. He smiles, but I take a step back. His features falter with my movement, hands falling to his sides.

“Ms. Cooper, I assure you, we’ve done a thorough sweep of the area. He is gone. He’s no longer here. He left in a hurry when he saw Mr. Kraus approaching.” Officer Thurston doesn’t move from her spot, but she cocks her head, trying to level it with mine.

That’s when it clicks. The screeching tires I heard, that was him. He was sitting in the parking lot. Probably watching me. How did he know where I was? I’ve asked myself that question too many times at this point. I’ve feared getting close to him again. I amsotired of running. Tired of crying. Tired of fighting for basic freedom.

And just as quickly as the scared little girl inside me comes, she disappears, making room for the rage boiling inside. I swipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks with my forearm, focusing on the officers.

“Okay.” I straighten myself, standing up tall, or as tall as I can muster my small frame. Meredith and Dallas look a little confused. Dallas stands up again, moving back to Meredith. She glances at him and mouths something. He shrugs.

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