Page 27 of Cakewalk

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be a problem,” she responded, the tears finally letting loose. She tried as hard as she could to stop them, but she couldn’t. Every inch of her wanted to believe that Holden wasn’t like Bradley, that he was just mad and that this wasn’t going to escalate further. But she’d also believed that Bradley would never hurt her, and she’d been very, very wrong about that. So how could she trust that this was any different?

“Of course it’s a fucking problem,” he shouted, stepping toward her. “This is a bullshit fucking holiday. The only thing it does is remind people of what they don’t have. Pretending to be grateful, and happy, and like everything is just fine.”

“Is…is this about Hannah?” she choked out. Holden hadn’t shared much about her, other than that she passed, along with their unborn child. The only thing she knew about her death was that it’d been a home invasion gone wrong. Had that happened on Thanksgiving?

Holden jerked at the sound of her name, and Gigi knew she was right. But also so very wrong. Because the sound of his wife’s name seemed to hurt him like a physical blow. He staggered sideways, colliding with the counter. His elbow made contact with the roasting pan. It jerked sideways, skidding, and then hit the tile floor with a deafening clatter. The greased-up turkey popped out of the pan and slid across the floor, like the stone along the ice in a curling match. It hit the wall on the far side of the kitchen with a thud, leaving a greasy mark on the wall.

Holden let out a loud, primal yell, raking his hands through his hair again. Part of him looked like he couldn’t believe he’d just caused so much chaos, while another part of him looked like he wanted to cause even more. Gigi didn’t wait to see what he did next. She didn’t need to be a part of this rage or stand around trying to help. She knew better than to be in the way.

Turning on her heel as fast as she could, she bolted out of the kitchen, through the dining and living room, and straight up to her room. As soon as she had her bedroom door closed, she twisted the old-fashioned key that sat in the keyhole and locked the door. Turning around so her back was against it, she slid down to the floor, her body shaking as she fought back the sobs.

I just left the devil I knew, only to find the devil I didn’t…

12

Gigi

The sound of the front door slamming shut didn’t do much to stop Gigi’s heart from racing. Sitting there, crumpled up against her locked bedroom door, she tried to remind herself that this was not the same as what she left behind in Atlanta. Holden was not Bradley.

Although what had just gone down in the kitchen was still running through her mind, trying to convince her otherwise.

Gigi had learned quickly enough what Bradley’s triggers were. The problem was, the list was extensive. Anything from being cut off in traffic to something having gone wrong at the office was enough to set off his temper. His usual outburst generally only consisted of some harsh words about just how much of a failure Gigi was in his eyes. How the only thing she was good for was looking pretty and making him look good in the process. He’d cut her down every chance he got. No matter what it was she was doing, he told her all about how she was probably going to fail at that.

Unless he was drinking.

If Bradley had alcohol flowing through him, all bets were off. And in the last couple of years of their marriage, there were very few times he was home and didn’t have some kind of drink in his hand. All he needed was a little “liquid courage” to strip away all sense of decency and unleash the monster inside him.

“Are you incapable of doing anything correctly?” Bradley had blustered as he stormed into the library of their Atlanta townhouse.

Gigi slowly placed her bookmark in her well-loved copy of Caulfield Montgomery’s At Midnight, before she slid it onto the small table next to her. She had no idea what he was upset about now, but it didn’t really matter. She managed to find a new way to screw up every day it seemed like, so it really could have been anything.

“What’s the matter?” she’d asked, trying to make herself sound more concerned than frightened. Fear only seemed to fuel his anger even more. As if she should somehow not be afraid of him and his moods. It was her fault after all, or at least that was what he liked to tell her. If she could only do things properly, then he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy.

“What’s the matter? How dare you ask that. How dare you sit in here and act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t know, Bradley,” she’d told him, her mind scrambling to figure out what it could possibly be. She had spent all day with the committee for the Southern Children’s Comfort Fund going over last-minute details for their annual event, Hearts and Heels, that coming weekend. She’d been gone longer than she had expected, since there had almost been an issue with the table settings, but she’d still made it home in time to make sure that everything had been cleaned or fixed as needed that day. Dinner had also been ready promptly at seven, just the way Bradley insisted. Not that he had been home until well over an hour later.

“My crimson pinstripe shirt, ring a bell?”

“It’s at the dry cleaners. It will be ready tomorrow.” She had pushed up from the chair and taken a step closer to him. She knew it was a risky move, but she also had to show him she was paying attention to his needs. It was the only way to possibly avoid what she had feared was coming next. “It’s the first thing on my to-do list.”

“I fucking need it for tomorrow, you dumb bitch!” Bradley had exploded. “How are you so fucking stupid?!”

“I’m…I’m not. You said you didn’t need it this week.”

“You can’t even listen, can you? I told you I needed it for the Richter meeting, and that’s tomorrow. What the fuck am I supposed to wear now?”

“You have plenty of options, I’ll go pick something out,” she’d told him, maneuvering around his large frame to head to their bedroom. She knew that he had expressly stated that he didn’t need that shirt—that he could never wear crimson around the Richters, since they were diehard Texas Longhorn fans—but she didn’t bother correcting him. Correcting him would just end poorly.

As soon as she thought she was out of his reach, she had felt his hand clamp down on her arm and pull her back to him. His fingers had squeezed tightly around her elbow, causing a whimper to escape her lips from the pain. A growl rumbled in his throat as he’d gripped her tighter, holding her in front of him.

“You think you can just walk away from me?”

“No, I was going to—”

Smack!

She’d felt the sting from the back of his hand making contact with her face only milliseconds before she felt the scrape of his class ring against her skin. As much as she wanted to cry out, she hadn’t. The tears pricking at her eyes would betray her soon enough and push Bradley over another edge. She’d lived through enough of these moments to know she just needed to let him get it out of his system. A few more hits and he’d storm off, lock himself in his study, and drink until he passed out. She’d survived up until now, she could survive this too, right? That was what she would continue to tell herself, ignoring the fear that someday she wouldn’t.