“What will it take to make this go away?” Caleb’s father asks, closing the folder on the conference room table in front of him.
Caleb shifts in his seat, the muscle in his jaw ticking and barely checked rage rolling off the tightly held muscles of his body. I look at him until he looks up and returns my stare unblinkingly, unflinchingly and without an ounce of remorse.
“This doesn’t go away,” I answer, my eyes never leaving Caleb’s face. “Ever.”
“Then what are we doing here?” Caleb stands abruptly, the chair scraping across the hardwood floor. I chose neutral ground for the meeting I called with Caleb, his father, and his agent at the hotel where my credit card was denied that first night when I tried to escape. I hope Caleb appreciates the irony.
“Sit down, Caleb,” Mr. Bradley says, his voice flinty. “And shut your fucking mouth. You’re lucky she’s even offering us terms.”
Mr. Bradley’s cold eyes turn to me again, the same shade of blue arrogance as Caleb’s.
“I assume there are terms?” he asks me, one brow lifted and his hand already drawing a check book from his pocket.
Ah, he came prepared.
“You can put that away.” I nod to the check book. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want anything from you or your son, except my freedom and my daughter.”
“No,” Caleb snarls. “You’re not leaving, and you won’t take my daughter from me.”
“You sadistic bastard, I’ve already left.” I lean forward, fixing my eyes on the piece of shit who fathered my child. “She’s my daughter, and we’ll go wherever I say.” I hold up my copy of the folder they have. “Unless you want the NBA, all your fans, sponsors, and the entire world to know their golden boy is an abusive monster.”
Maury, Caleb’s agent, closes the folder containing photo after photo, from every angle, of the bruises and swollen places aching under my clothes even now, two days later. The pictures, the rape kit, documentation of previous injuries – all of it tells the story I’ve hidden for months until I had as much damning evidence on Caleb as he fabricated about me. Maury pushes the folder away on the table like a plate of rotten meat.
“Shit, Caleb,” he mutters. “How could you do this?”
Maury looks at me for the first time, wincing when he encounters the evidence of Caleb’s brutality stamped into my face. The only sympathy I’ll find in this room lies in his eyes.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Iris,” he says softly, swallowing deeply. “What do you want? How’s this gonna go?”
I draw in a fortifying breath, ignoring the heat of Caleb’s glare. “As you see, the injuries I suffered only two days ago have been documented by a physician.” I steady my voice even though the humiliation of exposing what happened nearly chokes me. “X-rays and a complete examination also show evidence of past injuries never properly attended.” With one look, I fire a shot across the table at Caleb. “Tests also found evidence of rape.” I use the word deliberately, lest Caleb or anyone else think there was anything consensual about what happened to me.
“Rape?” Maury asks, his indignation emerging again. “What the hell? Damn you, Caleb. I’ll turn you in myself.”
“Oh, no.” I shake my head decisively. “Other athletes outed as abusers are fined and miss a few games, only to be back on the court, back on the field in a few weeks. I’m not trusting my life, my daughter’s life to a system that favors men just like Caleb. I’ve seen the so-called consequences we have for domestic abuse, and I need more than that.”
Cracks in the system are tailor-made and just the right size for men like Caleb to slip through. Caleb’s fame and money only tip the already-tilted scales even more in his favor. I’ve seen it too often to leave this to chance.
“No,” I continue. “You’ll comply with everything I ask or all the gory details come out. Endorsements gone, NBA career over, and at least a few years of your life behind bars.”
“Just get to the point,” Mr. Bradley says. “What do you want?”
My daughter. My innocence back. My tattered illusions repaired. My dreams restored.
My second chance with August.
All of it feels improbable, so I ask for the things I know I can get using the evidence splayed on the conference room table.
“I want my freedom.” I shift steady eyes to Caleb. “You don’t follow us. You don’t try to find us. You waive paternal rights, and you leave us alone.”
A disbelieving laugh sputters from Caleb’s lips. “You stupid bitch,” he spits. “You think I’ll give my daughter to you?”
“Did you bring the journal and my ring like I asked?” I ignore his insults and his arrogance. “Because I want those, too.”
He sobers fast, thinning his lips and icing his eyes over in the way that used to strike terror in me, but no longer can.
“Caleb,” Maury says sharply. “Give them to her.”
For a second it looks like he won’t, but his father snaps his fingers, and I know I’ve won at least this battle. Caleb pulls out the journal and slides it across the table so hard it skids off the edge and falls to the floor. Before I can squat to get it, Maury is there, picking it up and offering it to me with an apologetic look.
“My client’s an asshole,” he murmurs.
“Obviously, you don’t have to tell me that,” I say, accepting the journal. “And my great-grandmother’s ring?”
“I have no idea where your backwoods jewelry is,” Caleb drawls, contempt frosting his smile. “What use do I have for that cheap shit?”
I know he’s lying, but the ring is a small casualty in this war, considering all I’m gaining today. Considering all I’ve lost.
“Fine. My journal and my freedom will do,” I say, locking eyes with him.
“That’s it?” Caleb slouches in his seat. “And I don’t ever get to see my daughter again?”
Everything in me screams hell no, but having stripped him of his parental rights, I make the only concession I can. “When she’s older, and if you’ve completed anger management therapy to my satisfaction, then I’ll consider supervised visits.”
“To your satisfaction?” He rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth. “We’ll see about that.”
“Caleb, shut your fucking mouth,” his father snaps. “Iris, I understand. I’ll have paperwork drawn up reflecting your . . . demands.”
The hesitation on his face seems out of place. He’s always sure, but uncertainty is as clear as the pride he pushes aside to ask his next question.
“Maybe you could . . .” He clears his throat, an uncharacteristic pause from a man who always sounds sure. “. . . consider allowing my wife and me to see Sarai when the time is right? She is our only granddaughter, after all.”
I toughen the soft parcels of my heart, giving no ground. Anyone I have contact with is someone Caleb can use to find me before I’m ready to be found. Phone calls, letters, messages—they’re all bread crumbs Caleb would sniff out and follow if his obsession overpowered his sense of self-preservation.
“I’ll consider that later,” I reply. “But right now, I need to put distance between me and everything to do with your son, including you.”
“This is ridiculous,” Caleb says under his breath.
“That’s fair . . .” Mr. Bradley’s expression hardens into granite, his negotiating face. “Now for our terms.”
I knew this was coming, and I’m prepared. I simply nod for him to go on.
“You sign an NDA that you’ll never speak of this and never release the contents of this file, as long as Caleb complies with your requests,” he says. “And I mean speak of it to no one. Ever. Violation of that nullifies everything else and restores Caleb’s parental rights.”
I meet Caleb’s eyes, and for a second, I think he wants me to violate it—to give him an excuse to break the leash I’m imposing and come after me, take Sarai. Hurt me again.
“I can do that,” I agree.
“And I can write a check for a generous amount to get you settled.” Mr. Bradley pulls out his dreaded checkbook again.
“No.” I’m not yielding on this. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want to take anything from your family into our new life. As matter of fact, I have something for you, Caleb.”
I reach into the front pocket of my jeans, remove the engagement ring Caleb forced on me, and slide it across the table with such force it skips across the hard surface and lands on the floor, repaying his earlier disrespect.
Caleb’s cheeks mottle with emotion. The corners of his eyes tighten.
“Yours, I believe.” I rub at my ring finger as if it’s contaminated.
Mr. Bradley slips the checkbook back into the inside pocket of his jacket. “We’ll draw up the papers tomorrow, and—”
“I want the papers today.” I gather my things and the tiny scraps of self-respect I’ve recovered and turn toward the door. “Instructions for delivery are in the folder. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” Caleb demands. “Where are you taking Sarai?”
“You heard the terms, Caleb,” Maury interrupts. “If you don’t want to lose everything and find yourself in a well-earned prison cell, you don’t get to know, and you don’t get to follow. Regardless, you’ll need to find yourself a new agent.”
Maury grimaces, taking in the gruesome images of my pummeled face and body. “Iris, are you sure you don’t want to press charges? He shouldn’t get away scot-free.”
A bitter laugh precedes my answer. “I press charges and what? He gets a slap on the wrist? Probation? A year for what he’s done by the time his lawyers whittle it down? And still can get joint custody of my daughter?”
I glare at Caleb before going on. He blanks his expression, looking deliberately bored, like I’m wasting his time.
“Should I live looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to decide he wants me back?” I continue. “Or wants me dead? Is that the justice you want me to seek? No, thank you. I’ll make my own justice. It’s not perfect and it may run out one day, but it’s the best I can do right now for Sarai and me.”
I shake my head. “I’ve taken the things from him that matter most: access to me and my child. Forgive me for being more concerned about our freedom than whether or not he is ‘scot-free.’ The only thing he wants to do more than hurt me is to protect himself.”
“Well then let’s get on with it,” Maury says, standing and extending his arm for me to precede him through the door.
I’m walking out when Caleb snatches me by the arm, his touch setting off an alarm system in my body, red lights flashing, sirens blaring, and sprinklers spitting water. Shackled to him again, protest roars through me.
“Get your hands off me,” I ground out.
Maury pushes against his chest, but Caleb won’t let go, his fingers tightening painfully over my bruises.
“Iris, don’t leave me.” Desperation fills his eyes and some sick kind of sorrow, but no regret. “I . . .” His gaze dips to Maury’s face and then to his father, who stands by, disgust and disappointment marking his expression.
“I need you, baby,” he whispers. And I know it’s true. He needs something to control, to manipulate, to toy with when the pressure is too much, but I’m not his punching bag. I’m not his anything anymore.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” I jerk at my arm, but he refuses to let go. “Or the deal is off and your precious endorsements and your career—they’ll all be over.”
For a moment, just a flash, maybe a trick of the light, I think he’ll refuse. It looks like holding onto me means more to him than all I hoped he held more dear, but then the frigid calculation, the ruthless cannibal who ate my heart and nibbled on my soul, shuts off all emotion. The monster is back.
“You stupid whore.” He laughs, releasing my arm and sliding his fists in the pockets of his pants. “Like you can do better.”
A smirk tickles the corner of my mouth, and I can’t resist thrusting a sword through the one spot where I know he’s weak.
“Oh, you and I both know I can do much better, Caleb.” Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth when I smile.
Seeing the smirk fall apart on his face is small comfort, but any comfort is better than nothing. I won’t be seeking out August anytime soon. I can’t. Not feeling stained and smudged and shamed the way I do. Rationally, I know what happened to me was not my fault, but shame doesn’t reason.
Where I’ll go, I don’t know yet. Caleb’s a demon constrained to hell with chains of gossamer. It’s a fragile exile I’m making for myself, but I’ll l take it and run for shelter while I can. And if he breaks free, I’ll run again, maybe for my life.
I slip on oversized sunglasses and a hat to cover my bruises, looking like a Lifetime movie cliché, I’m sure.
In the lobby, Lo holds Sarai in her lap. She looks chic, her long braids tucked into a snood. She wears skinny jeans, a leather blazer, and ballet flats. Caleb rushes past me, headed for Sarai. Before I can put myself between them, Lo points a slim finger at Caleb and squints one eye, as if she’s peering through a telescope. I wonder if she still sees the shadow on his soul because I may not have seen it then, but I can attest that it’s there. There’s latent power in her eyes, in the strong, slender arrow of her arm aimed at him.
“You’ll have to pay,” Lo says.
Caleb breaks stride, like her voice sprouted tentacles that slithered through the air and locked around his ankles. Something ominous hangs around Lo, and goosebumps pepper my skin.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he mumbles but doesn’t step closer.
A knowing grin blooms on Lo’s pretty face, and she opens her fist, revealing her gris-gris ring.
“These are your days.” She blows over the ring, eyes clinging to his face. “Scattered, and lost, and falling to the ground like dust.”
“Are you threatening me?” he asks, only half-laughing. I bet if I peeled his sleeve back, his arms would be covered in gooseflesh, too.
“No. A threat you see coming.” The smile drops from Lo’s face. “It’s not a threat. It’s real justice, and by the time it reaches you, it’ll be too late.”
Caleb pales under his tan, but while he stands there, no doubt considering the cryptic message Lo delivered, I rush past him and scoop Sarai into my arms. He approaches, but Lo interjects herself.
“Walk while you can, Caleb,” she says, her words in a lower register that sounds laced with danger.
With one frustrated look at me and Sarai, he moves on. The breath trapped in my lungs releases in a rush. His father and Maury emerge from the conference room, their heads bent together. They glance at me, and I don’t know if it’s pity or respect in Maury’s eyes, but I’ll take either as long as it means he executes the papers and keeps Caleb away from me.
“So what now?” Lo asks.
“What was that all about?” I ignore her question.
“What was what all about?”
“Um, the powerful voodoo priestess act.”
“I don’t act,” Lo says with a humorless curve to her full lips. “I am.”
Twilight Zone.
“Where will you go?” Lotus asks, redirecting me, distracting me.
“I need to go somewhere far from Caleb,” I answer in a rush. “Somewhere he doesn’t know about and can’t get to. I need some time without him in my life at all. Time to heal, I guess, because right now I just feel so . . .”
I can’t articulate how I feel. Hurt, but numb. Lost. What do I do now? Next? Where should I go? I have to find my place.
Center.
I’d play you at the five. If you were mine, you’d be at the center of my life.
August’s words filter through tiny gaps in the barbed-wire fence surrounding my heart. That could be my place. Instinctively, I know August would put me at the center, but one could argue I was Caleb’s center, too. A dark, twisted center with the sides closing in and choking, but the center nonetheless. What if I’ve misjudged August as badly as I misjudged Caleb? Hell, as badly as I misjudged myself?
I need time to find my place in this world without anyone else at the helm. As much as I feel for August, I need to stand on my own. I need to do what’s best for my daughter and savor life and freedom and everything we almost lost.
“I know where you need to go,” Lo says as we step outside the hotel and onto the sidewalk.
“Where?”
Lo hooks her arm around my neck like she did when we were kids.
Hopscotch.
Gratitude overtakes me, and I blink tears away. She came. I called, and Lo came. She hasn’t condemned me or called me a fool for not calling sooner. The closeness between us didn’t fade when she moved to the bayou. It didn’t wash away when Katrina came, and I moved and Lo stayed. And it didn’t budge when Caleb came between us. Not really. The closeness never moved. I did. I hid behind my anger and shame, and now it’s all exposed. The light breathes grace on me.
“It’s so obvious where you should go,” Lo says.
“If it’s so obvious, then why don’t you enlighten me?”
Lo kisses Sarai’s forehead and then mine. I swear when she looks up, I feel a hot, sultry breeze tease my hair, hear the distant sound of jazz, and taste a harvest of rich flavors on my tongue.
“Where you belong, Iris,” Lo insists softly, “is home.”
