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“We dated in high school. He was a big jock. I was a cheerleader. We were popular in school. Everyone knew Kenna and Colt.” She swallowed and took in a slow, deep breath so she didn’t send a riot of pain down her side. “Our senior year, I started talking about college and he got violent.”
Spencer’s fingers squeezed hers gently. He reached up and tucked her hair behind her right ear, then resumed holding her hands. “He beat me. At first, just a punch in the stomach. Then he’d slap me in the face. One time I had broken ribs from him kicking me. The night before I left for Houston, he beat me nearly as bad as I am right now. I packed up with my mom’s help and left.”
“So he’s the reason you left town?”
She only nodded. What else could she say? It was true.
“Your parents didn’t do anything about it?”
She shook her head. “Daddy’s business would suffer. Colt was the star football player.”
“He’s your father!” His voice rose, but not enough to scare her.
“Small town. Business is hard to build. It’s their only livelihood.”
“You’re their daughter.”
She dragged her hands away and he let them go. He heard the pipes from the truck driving past once again and this time, he stood up fully in the living room window, where the light from the kitchen illuminated him. Just as the truck was in front of her place, she heard him step on the gas and take off. He’d likely seen Spencer was here, and he’d likely be livid, and she shuddered. She’d had plenty of nightmares about Colt Lowe coming to find her. She’d threatened her parents to never tell a soul where she lived, and it was three years before she finally told her friends where she went. Houston was a big city. It wouldn’t be easy to find her there. But she still looked over her shoulder repeatedly to make sure he wasn’t following her.
Spencer turned slowly and quietly came into the kitchen and picked up her plate and fork and rinsed them in the sink, then set them into the dishwasher. He did the same with the frying pan on the stove and closed the dishwasher door.
He looked at her and softly asked, “Do you need help to get back to bed?”
“No.” She scooted herself to the edge of the chair and used the table for leverage to stand. She shuffled toward the bedroom, then stopped and turned to look at him. “Do you think it’ll be okay if I take a bath? It might help ease some of my pain.”
“I think it would be alright. I’ll help you re-bandage your cuts when you get out.” He moved past her and went into the bathroom and pulled the stopper on the tub and started running the water. She watched him a moment, then turned and gathered her comfy sweatpants and t-shirt and socks.
He turned the water off and slipped past her. “It’s weird for me to help you further, but if you find you need something, please let me know. I’ll be a gentleman.”
She smiled at him, sort of, and whispered, “I’m sure you would be.”
He left her in the bathroom and closed the door, and she let the tears fall. She couldn’t tell if he was mad at her or if he felt sorry for her or what his mood was, but it changed a moment ago and it set her on edge like she’d been years ago when Colt first hit her. Never sure of his mood or what would set him off, she’d always felt like she was walking on eggshells. She hated feeling like that.
She struggled with her t-shirt but got it off. She gently pulled at her bandages and gritted her teeth instead of making a sound when they pulled on her tender skin. Dropping all the soiled bandages into the wastebasket, she finally sat on the edge of the tub and lowered herself into the warm water. Laying back in the water’s warmth, she let the heat seep into her body, into her bones and she let the tension slowly slide away. Tears streamed down her face and she let them mingle with the warm bath water, determined they’d be the last tears she shed over any of this bullshit. Colt Lowe could go to hell. Craig Howard could join him. And Craig’s cronies up there, who helped him beat her, could make the path for them both. She was sick of being a punching bag. She was sick of being sore, and she was damned well taking her life back. Right after she healed this time.
15
Spencer finished typing up his reports, then began reading the reports his teammates had logged recently. Tate had a meeting scheduled already with Gerard and Jasiah Weston regarding bringing the electricity up the mountain. He commented on Tate’s report: “Can we withhold improvements if violence is committed against any townsperson? Kenna is a mess and was simply doing her job.”
He set a reminder to talk to Tate about it in person, though Tate would read his comment and follow up. That’s how he operated.
He heard Kenna open the bathroom door. Stepping into the hall, he saw her walk to the bedroom. “Hey, can I help you replace your bandages?”
She turned and smiled. “I would appreciate that.” Holding her hand up, he saw she had all the medical supplies he needed. “I’m feeling tired and was going to manage myself after I climbed into bed. But if you’re game for it, I wouldn’t mind the help.”
He followed her into the bedroom and held his hand out to her as she slowly lowered herself onto the bed. She lay back and he pulled the blankets up, leaving her arms exposed for now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her right hand and looked at the abrasions on her arm. There was only one that looked like it needed attention, so he set about applying the ointment and then covered it with a bandage.
Her left arm looked pretty good. The light scrapes weren’t bleeding, and he left those alone for now. He lifted her blankets, and she tucked her arms under the covers. Scooting up, he looked at her face. Her eyes had cleared somewhat and weren’t red. The rest had probably helped with that. With his forefinger, he gently slid the hair from her forehead to expose the gash above her right eye. His finger traced along the edge of her face as he stared at her. He swallowed, knowing he was likely taking a liberty, but he wanted to touch her. He looked into Kenna’s eyes as she met his gaze. His lips hitched up at the corners and he reached for the antibiotic ointment and dabbed it on a swab, then applied it liberally but gently to the cut above her eye.
She never looked away. He could feel her eyes on him. Swallowing, he carefully laid the bandage over the ointment.
His eyes dropped to the cut on her lip. Inhaling a deep breath, he reached for a new swab, dabbed ointment on it and softly touched it to the cut on her lip. When he finished, he slowly gathered the discarded bandage wrappers and swabs.
“I wasn’t sure if you were mad at me or not,” she whispered.
He froze, his brows bunched together. “Why would I be mad at you?”
Her throat moved with her swallow. “Your mood changed out there.”
