Page 112 of Liberating Bells
The following day, I stop at the office for a while and do my daily tasks of going through emails and returning phone calls. Izabel comes with me and lies on my office couch, reading a book. We spend the rest of the day running around.
When we arrive back at the condo, I motion for Izabel to go ahead of me. I see the mailman distributing mail in the boxes by the stairs. I step over to him and wait until he gets to our box before holding my hand out.
“That’s me,” I say.
“Oh, you have a certified piece. Is there an Izabel Sanders in your unit?” he asks, reading off the address label.
I frown. “Yes, that’s my fiancée.”
“She has certified mail. Will you sign for this, please?” He holds out the letter and then the piece of green cardstock he pulled off of it.
I scribble my signature on the line and then take the remaining mail from him. Then I hurry up the stairs, following after Bells. She’s just unlocking our front door when I come up beside her.
Izabel throws the door open, dropping her keys on the entry table, then she kicks her shoes off, giving a groan as she flops down on the couch. “I’m exhausted.”
I watch her amusedly and sit down beside her. “You got mail.”
Izabel sits up straighter and reaches for the envelope. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see the uncertainty hidden behind those sparkling blues. Her fingers sneak under the seal, and she tears it open, pulling out the letter and reading it. I notice her hands shaking as she holds the piece of paper.
When she’s done, she releases the letter, letting it fall into her lap and then sits back against the cushions. I scoot closer and put my hand on her thigh. Whatever it was, it’s not good. I reach for the letter and then read it over. The big, boldwordsubpoenastands out in front of my eyes, and that’s all I need to know.
White-hot anger burns through me, and I give her leg a quick squeeze. “Everything will be okay,” I whisper to her, unsure if I’m comforting her or myself more. A minute later, she takes a deep breath and sits up.
She faces me, and her expression is resolute. “They want me to testify in court against Mark.”
I frown. “But you gave your statement to the police already.”
Izabel stands up and runs her fingers through her hair. “I guess that wasn’t enough.”
“You don’t have to go. We can get a lawyer and figure a way out of this.”
She laughs under her breath, humorlessly, as she paces. “It’s a subpoena, Ryan. I have to go. I don’t think playing hooky is an option.”
I stand up now too and cross my arms over my chest. I’m not sure why we’re even discussing this. “That man has traumatized you enough already,” I growl. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll make sure you don’t have to.”
“I don’t think so. It’s not worth the risk,” I tell her, standing firm.
“I’ll be perfectly safe. We have the order of protection. He won’t be able to get to me. Or probably even say anything to me.”
My pulse is thrumming with anxiety. Why is she being so adamant about this? I’m giving her an out here, so why won’t she take it? All I can picture right now is that moment in Nashville when the water washed away her makeup, revealing the bruises on her neck. The image in my mind leaves my stomach churning. “I don’t care if they have him locked in a cage. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
Izabel straightens her shoulders and hits me with an icy glare. “Well, then good thing you weren’t the one who was subpoenaed. It’s not up to you.”
“The hell it isn’t,” I spit, my anxiousness ramping up. “Bells, I’m trying to protect you here. Why don’t you see that?”
“Because I don’t need protection. Ineedto do this. If I don’t, they’ll hold me in contempt or whatever. Put me in jail. That would be worse,don’t you think?” she snarks.
I glare at her for a second, annoyed that she’s not taking this seriously. “I’ll call the lawyer. You’re not going, and that’s final. We’ll figure out the details later.” I turn on my heel, making a move to leave. I’m completely over this conversation and her random spurt of hero complex. But I falter when I hear the force behind her next word.
"No.”
I turn around to face her and frown. “Excuse me?”
Her expression is now riddled with anger. “No. You do not get to make these types of decisions for me. You can’t bully me into something I don’t want. The minute you start doing that, you are no better thanhim.”
Those words hit me in the chest like a sack of bricks. The frustration and stress whoosh out of me. I let out a wounded sound and then collapse back onto the couch, putting my hands over my face. “Fuck.”
Izabel stays silent for a moment before she tiptoes over to me. I feel her settle on the couch beside me, her hand gingerly coming to rest on my shoulder. She hesitates before whispering, “It’s okay, Ryan.”
