Page 58 of The Sound of Harmony

Emma’s husband had hit her. Once? More than once? Who could say? But the final time, the bastard had blackened her eye and broken her jaw.

Dalton hadn’t served any time in jail. After all, there was regular justice and then there was rich celebrity justice. It dimmed his star for about six months. Then everyone forgot about Emma while her ex made a comeback album and went on tour. He’d even been nominated for a Country Music Award, although he’d lost it to an all-female group from Texas.

But the pictures of Emma were the worst. Kendrick couldn’t look at most of them. The paparazzi had delighted in showing her bruises to the entire world, and the sight of them ripped him to pieces.

He slammed the laptop closed, unwilling to read more. His entire body was overheated, his blood boiling. He threw back his head and roared as rage volcanoed out of him. He surged from the couch and stomped through the house, looking for something to hit, something to destroy, something to kill. He found his shoes near the door and smacked one on the floor over and over with a satisfying wallop.

The more rational part of him knew that this impulse to violence made him no better than Dalton himself, but he couldn’t deny the vivid fantasies of beating the man to a pulp.

And his poor, sweet Emma. All he wanted to do was hold her, protect her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she could marry a monster like that, but men like Jonah Dalton weren’t monsters all the time. Only when they thought they could get away with it.

Kendrick paced back to the couch, glaring at his laptop and his phone, clenching and unclenching his fists in impotent fury. There was nothing he could do with this information. Not a damned thing. Knowing it was almost worse than not knowing it, especially since he’d found out from his cousin instead of letting Emma tell him in her own time.

“Fuck you, Mitch.” He went back to smacking around his shoes some more.

It didn’t help.

Emma practically skipped to her truck when her job was done. She’d reconfigured a finished basement for a family with four young children, setting up three zones for them—a play area for the kids, a TV area for the adults, and a corner for weightlifting and yoga.

As so often happened with these kinds of jobs, the clients had already bought all the storage containers they would ever need, but they had no idea how to use them. Emma worked with the family to get things in order, and gave them some tips for keeping that order as the kids got older. At the end, there were hugs and high fives and a gift of half a peanut butter sandwich from one of the toddlers.

She had money in her pocket, clients who had more usable room in their house, and a date with Kendrick for tonight. Life was good.

As soon as she got back to her truck, she texted Kendrick. Done! I can pick you up at Mitch’s if you give me the address.

Kendrick called a moment later.

“Hello,” she said. “Or should I say hola, since we’re going for tacos?”

“Hey, Emma.” Kendrick’s voice was soft and slow. “Can we, uh…talk? About something. About…you?”

Emma’s mouth went dry. She grabbed the water bottle out of her cup holder and gulped half of it. Kendrick didn’t sound like himself, and her intuition told her what was coming. Her shoulders slumped as she waited for him to speak.

“Are you still there?”

She tried to replace her water bottle, missed the cup holder, but got it on the second try. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t know how to say this.” His voice was extra gentle, like he was talking to an accident victim, with an overlay of unhealthy curiosity.

Emma had heard that tone of voice too many times. The toxic combination of judgement and pity. How could you let that happen? Why didn’t you leave sooner? Combined with poor Emma, you must be permanently broken.

Emma had made one big mistake in her life. She fell for the wrong man, and stayed with him too long, wanting to believe a love story that didn’t exist. Now that mistake defined her.

“I Googled your ex-husband,” Kendrick said. “I know what he did to you, and I want to tell you how sorry I am. And if I pushed you into something that you weren’t ready for, I’m—”

She hung up on him.

Kendrick spent several hours in Mitch’s basement, organizing his woodshop after loading the dishwasher, sweeping the floor, and cleaning the bathtub. He had to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t call Emma back. He’d already texted her three times without an answer.

I’m sorry Emma. That was a terrible thing to do. I’m a jerk for springing that on you. Are you okay?

Are you okay?

Please be okay.

It was after eleven when she called back. Kendrick was sitting on the bed in Mitch’s awful guest room, cradling his phone, wondering how he would sleep. Emma’s voice was wobbly and he could barely hear her. Was she actually trying to apologize for hanging up on him?

“Shh,” he said. “No, no, no. I owe you an apology. I am so sorry, Emma. I dropped that on you with no warning. That was a dick move.”