Page 40

MERIT

Holy shit.

Why did I think I could do this?

I press my nose against the window of Ridge’s truck. The parking lot is filled with media. There’s even a tent set up. A couple of reporters and paparazzi are milling around on the sidewalk in front of the store. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the handle, cracking open the door.

“Merit,” Ridge nudges my shoulder, “wait for Crutch.”

A split second later, Crutch parks caddy-corner in front of us. Jumping out, he immediately starts yelling and pointing at the crowd. His hand protectively hovers over the weapon on his belt. “Y’all need to back up. This parking lot is private property, and the development owner has a tow truck on standby. You need to back up to the small strip of grass in the right of way next to the road.” They all moan and grumble. Crutch shrugs. “I don’t know why y’all are complaining. I’ve said the same thing to you multiple times a day for the past two weeks.”

“Yeah, but it actually looks like she’s coming to work today.” A small lady with perfectly coifed hair points in our direction with her microphone.

A guy, videoing with his cell phone, breaks through the crowd and starts to yell. “This is a free country. We can go wherever the hell we want.”

Crutch doesn’t back down. Instead, he walks right up to him. He towers over the guy by a good seven inches. His voice lowers, and I can hear his intimidating growl from here. “Wanna bet.”

Eventually, the majority of the crowd is back where they’re supposed to be, after a couple of other deputies and officers join Crutch. With trembling hand, I climb out of the truck. Shoving my bags higher on my shoulder, I look at the short distance between us and my storefront, and it looks completely insurmountable. Like I’m climbing Mount Everest. Like I’m about to crawl across shattered lightbulbs on hands and knees.

Ridge comes around, meeting me. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

I don’t have any other choice. The store has been closed for more than two weeks. Which means no income for more than two weeks. Sure, I lost three employees—Emily, Kim, and the fucking lying bitch—but I still have Kyra’s salary and rent and utilities and everything. Plus, I still have Holt to pay back. I have to do everything I can to get him some money; his legal fees are going to be astronomical.

So, there’s not a choice. Not really.

With wide eyes, I nod. “I’m ready.”

The moment we step out from the shelter of the truck, all hell breaks loose. The masses start yelling and screaming, vying for my attention. Ridge wraps his arms around me and holds his hand over my face, trying to shield me from their cameras.

“ Merit! Did you know? Did you know he was cheating on you?”

“Merit! How does it feel to be sleeping with a pedophile?”

“Merit! Did you hire the victim so your boyfriend could be close to her? Are you an accomplice?”

“Merit! Are you staying with him? Why haven’t you left?”

“Merit! Is it true that you’re sleeping with his best friend?”

My heart thunders in my chest so rapidly I think I’m having a heart attack. I focus on the ground, focus on putting one foot in front of the other. When I stumble, Ridge keeps me upright.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kyra’s car in the distance. “Ridge, it’s Kyra.”

Following my sightline, he spots her. Hollering at Crutch, he motions for him to get her. I’m relieved when Crutch jogs over and gives Kyra the same treatment. It feels like it takes an hour for us to reach the door. I’m shaking so badly I can’t even get the keys in the lock. I fumble, dropping them to the ground. Wordlessly, Ridge grabs them and opens the door. Kyra and I stumble through the threshold like drunks looking for a beer. I haven’t seen her in person since before Holt was arrested. Flinging my bags to the floor, we collapse into each other’s arms. When she whispers that she’s missed me, a few silent tears fall from my eyes.

When we finally separate, I look around, taking stock of my store. I’m assaulted by the Christmas inventory that never had a chance to be sold, including what’s left of the beautiful handcrafted ornaments. Which did, in fact, sell like hot cakes and were lined up to completely sell out in the week before Christmas.

In the week my life fell apart.

There’s no point in beating around the bush. “Fifty percent off,” I tell Kyra. “We have no choice.”

“All the Christmas stuff, right?”

I blow a raspberry, thinking. “Fifty percent off everything.”

“Everything!”

“Yep. We need customers and good rapport. The sale will get them in, and then we’ll rebuild the rapport.” I smile holding out my hand for her. “Me and you.”

“I’m gonna do a perimeter check before I leave. I’d stay, but I’m in the middle of a robbery investigation.” Crutch points to my cell phone on the counter. “Call my cell if you need anything at all. Understand?”

I give him a quick hug. “Thank you so much. I’m sure things will settle down in a few days.”

He and Ridge share a knowing look, making me uneasy.

After he leaves, Kyra and I get busy working. Thirty minutes later, Ridge is still pacing around the store. He’s clearly babysitting us. I slap my hands on my hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You know, I remember a time when Holt said you were meek and wouldn’t talk.”

I snort. “A lot of things have changed, huh?”

He drags a hand down his face and then taps his chin. “You can say that again.”

“Ridge, you’re exhausted. You just got off from your shift at seven this morning. You need to go get some sleep.”

“And leave you here alone?”

I look around. “This is my happy place. We’ll be completely fine here.” I smile weakly. “But what we really need are customers. And they’re not gonna come in with some big dude stalking around the store.”

“She’s right,” Kyra chimes in.

There’s a low hum in the back of his throat. “Fine.” He points at the crowd. “But promise neither one of you will set foot outside without calling us first.”

I have to make twenty promises, but eventually he leaves.

Kyra sighs. “If I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would totally be into Ridge.”

The look on her face is so damn funny, I can’t help but laugh.

And laughing feels really good.

***

Five hours.

We’ve been open for five hours, and no one has come in.

Not one single customer.

Kyra’s behind the front counter, working designs on her computer, and I’m sprawled on the floor, watching an Elvis movie on the big-screen TV. Scrambling to my feet, I stretch my back. I can’t just sit here anymore, waiting for something to happen that we both know won’t. What customer in their right mind would want to fight a pile of photographers just to get a pair of kids’ tennis shoes at fifty percent off?

Plus, my nerves are wearing thin. I feel torn. I want to be here, but I also want to be home with Holt. Watching over him. Protecting him.

This is a never-ending nightmare. It’s like I’m dying a slow death. Every second of every day another piece of me crumbles. I don’t know how much more I can take.

The man I love is walking around with an ankle monitor.

“I’m going to the back.”

Kyra nods, not even glancing up from her screen.

I stop in the doorway, unable to take another step. It feels like I have a two-ton anvil sitting on my heart, weighing me down. My feet are frozen in place. “Do you believe him?” My question shocks even me.

Sighing, Kyra carefully considers her answer. “I never saw anything inappropriate between them. Nothing. Ever. I’m mean, sure, she might’ve had a little crush on him, but I never saw him encourage her.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” she says honestly. “The messages. The phone calls. You even said yourself that you have no idea how they got on his phone.” She taps her fingers against the countertop. “But I know that I believe in you. And if you believe him, that’s the only thing I need to hear.” She shrugs. “For what it’s worth, I know he loves you. Without a doubt, he is totally and completely in love with you.”

Unfortunately, that does little to comfort me.

Sitting at the table in the back, I stare at my bag, listening to the whispers of the paperwork lurking inside. It calls to me, like a siren calling to a sailor. Pulling the packet in front of me, I flip to the first page and start reading.

Holt: So… last night was interesting.

Heidi: Definitely.

Holt: Did you get your car?

Heidi: Yeah. My uncle finally got it started.

Holt: Good.

Holt: I just wanted to apologize again for kissing you last night.

Heidi: Why? I’m not sorry.

Heidi: In fact, it’s all I can think about.

There’s a five-minute break before the next message is sent.

Holt: When can I see you again?

Heidi: Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? You’re the one with all the power.

I read until my eyes are blurry. I read until I’m sick and twisted in knots. The messages range from common chatter to highly sexual content. Some would even be considered too vulgar for your average pornographic flick.

I know Holt’s in touch with his body, aware of his sexual prowess. But this? This is a whole new level.

What the hell am I talking about?

Holt didn’t write these messages.

Did he?

Unable to control myself, I collapse in grief. Burying my head in my hands, I cry. I cry like I did the day he got arrested. When he came home, I vowed not to lose it in front of him. I vowed to be strong. But how strong can one woman be? How faithful? How loyal?

I cry until I’m empty. Until there’s nothing left of me. Nothing but a shell. My eyes are swollen, my throat is raw, and my chest is sore. I close my eyes, praying for clarity. I want someone to give me the answer. I want someone to tell me what to do.

Because I don’t have a fucking clue.

So, I do what any rational adult woman would do; I call my mom.

“Hey, sweetie. How is your first day back?”

I have to clear the snot from my throat before I can even talk. “It’s terrible. No one’s come in. And by no one, I mean not one single person. Not even our mail lady. She opened the door—literally an inch—and put the mail on the floor. I mean, it’s like I have a contagious disease.”

Mom takes a deep breath. “Well, we’re talking about some serious charges. We’re not talking about running a red light, Merit.”

I mumble, telling her I know.

“You have some people who are scared. Scared for their children to go to school. Scared for what our young women have to experience as they grow up. It’s like our society—our world—has just resigned itself to the fact that sexual assault and inappropriate sexual behavior is the norm. When it’s a horrific and hideous crime that should be fully and appropriately punished. Others are upset, thinking they’ve been fooled all these years by a celebrity who they thought was a good guy. And then there’s always those who love to hear bad news, whether it’s true or not. Wicked chaos is their lifeline. They cling to the evil because it gives them a target to cast their stones.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I have a pounding headache. “I read the messages.”

There’s nothing but silence on the other side of the phone.

“There’s so many of them,” I continue. “And there’s a log of phone calls. Some are an hour long.”

“So, the leaked messages on the news? On the Internet?” Mom asks.

“Yep. Verbatim. I have them in writing.”

Mom exhales. “Oh, Merit, that’s not good. Those messages are…” she pauses, trying to be diplomatic, “very suggestive.”

I snort. “It’s not much of a suggestion, Mom, when nothing is left to the imagination. ‘Your tight, young, virgin pussy makes my cock throb’ isn’t exactly a secret code.”

“How’d you get them?”

“Holt. He had everything downloaded from his cloud account. We all have copies—me, his parents, all of us.”

“And he didn’t write them? But they’re on his phone?”

“That’s what he says.” My voice wavers, putting me on the edge of tears again.

“And do you believe him?”

Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it.

I’m surprised Mom can even hear my whispered answer. “Should I? Should I believe him? Tell me what to do, Mom.”

“Honey, I can’t tell you what to do.” She waits a few seconds, thinking about what she wants to say. “Follow your heart, Merit. Follow your heart, and we will support you no matter your decision or the outcome.”

Follow my heart.

How can I follow something that’s breaking?

***

Just as promised, Ridge is there to escort us out. Crutch is working so Cullen is Kyra’s assigned protector for the walk back to her car. I set the alarm, and as soon as we’re on the sidewalk, we’re assaulted by a brash reporter and a guy with a camera.

A reporter I happen to know.

“Merit! Has Holt confessed to you? Are you moving out of his house? Leaving him?”

Chloe’s voice rings in my ears. Ridge shields me with his hand, blocking the camera’s view as I lock the door to the store. “What the hell, Chloe?” Exasperation pours from him. “Get the hell out of here. The other reporters are gonna think it’s okay to block the store.”

Sure enough, from the corner of my eye, underneath the glowing parking lot lights, I see several of them jump up. They meander back and forth, trying to decide if they should race over.

Ridge buries me against his side, navigating me across the sidewalk.

“How much has he told you, Merit? Is the guilt eating him alive?” Chloe halfheartedly tries to shove a microphone in my face.

I’m looking down, watching my tennis shoes take step after step. When suddenly, an unexpected wave of calm washes over me. It actually takes me by surprise, and my legs falter, jostling me against Ridge’s shoulder.

The feeling is new. And completely welcome.

The past few weeks I’ve been walking on a glass bridge. A glass bridge filled with cracks. Slowly wobbling from side to side. Just waiting on it to shatter and send me plummeting to the ground.

And now?

For some reason, I feel steady. Strong. Powerful.

In control.

Ducking away from Ridge, I spin around, facing Chloe head-on. My movements catch everyone off guard. Cullen and Kyra stop walking. Even Chloe takes a little jump back.

Lifting my head, I take a deep breath. “The guilt isn’t eating him alive because he did nothing wrong. He’s not guilty.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. With an almost imperceptible movement, she shakes her head, secretly telling me to stop talking. Just like her text said, she wants me to ignore her. She wants me to say ‘no comment’ and keep moving.

But I’m done with that.

Ridge grabs my elbow. I ignore him.

She swallows and begrudgingly asks another question. “What do you mean, he’s not guilty?”

“I mean, he’s not guilty. Completely innocent of all charges.”

Her face almost looks pained. “What about all of the evidence?”

“Evidence isn’t evidence until it’s fully investigated and vetted by all parties.”

“Meaning what? You’re saying Holt Hill was framed?” The cameraman takes a step closer, getting a better angle.

“What I’m saying is… Holt Hill is innocent. Anyone who actually knows him knows the truth. Holt could never—would never—do what he is being accused of. And we will fight until the whole world knows that.”

“So, you’re staying with him? Supporting him?”

I nod firmly, the epitome of confidence. “I’m never leaving.”