Page 5 of Mack

That memory made her chest ache, because she remembered sitting on her own living room floor, stunned and bruised, staring up at Troy through tears. She could still taste the blood on her tongue, still feel the burning throb across her cheek. She’d cradled her jaw in her hand, waiting for an apology that never came. Instead, he’d crouched down, smelling of cheap cologne, pressed her chin between his knuckles and squeezed until her skin reddened. His eyes were hard and flat. Terrifying her.

She’d been teasing him, laughing, making him chase her around the room. At first it was playful, until something shifted in his face and it wasn’t anymore. She crossed to him, stopping a few feet away.

“Can’t stand that you couldn’t catch me?” she teased.

His hand connected with her cheek before she finished the sentence.

“That was a warning,” he said. “You do what I tell you. I’m not going to put up with you, otherwise.”

“I’ll leave you—” The second slap knocked her to the floor.

“No, you won’t.” He crouched beside her, his voice quiet and certain. “If you leave me I will find you. There is nowhere you can go and if you tell anyone about this, I will make your life more miserable. I will hurt anyone you love,” he said. “You do what you’re told, and everything will be fine.”

She believed him. So, she stayed. She was too scared of what he’d do to her or her family.

A year later, when she told him she was pregnant, he was ruthless in a different way.

The curtains flapped in the afternoon breeze, dust drifting around his boots. “You did this on purpose,” he said. “I told you I didn’t want kids. Get rid of it.”

Mallory scrambled to her feet. “I won’t.”

Troy closed the distance, fingers digging into her arm. “You will.”

“And if I don’t?”

He smiled then, a slow curl of his lip that was worse than the anger. “Then I’ll make it happen.”

Mallory’s breath caught. She wrenched free and stood very still as he turned and strode toward the bedroom, spurs jingling. “Leaving for Missoula now,” he called over his shoulder. “Back by Tuesday.” The door clicked shut.

She stood there for a moment, then pulled a kitchen chair from the table and sat on the edge of it, fighting down sobs. When she finally heard his truck pull away, she dialed her mother with shaking fingers. He had fooled her the first year they were together, then she married him, taken four years of his abuse and though she was scared to death, she knew she had to go.

Her mother’s sedan was in the driveway in under thirty minutes. Georgia didn’t ask questions, just opened her arms, and Mallory fell into them. Then they moved fast and quiet through the house, clothes into duffel bags, a few photos, her jewelry box. Mallory took one last look at the front door on the way out. She knew she would never come back through it.

The look on her parents’ faces made it clear she had made the right decision in leaving Troy.

Three days later Troy appeared on her parents’ porch, cowboy hat in hand, apology dripping from his lips like syrup. The heat of the moment, he said, his voice soft and careful. Mallory watched his jaw tighten beneath the practiced sorrow in his eyes and felt every last scrap of love she’d carried for him disappear.

“There were a lot of heat of the moments with you.”

“Come on, Mal. We can get past this.”

“I’m divorcing you,” she said, her voice steady. “Leave me and my child alone.” She placed her hand over her still-flat belly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed once, twice. Then he smirked. “You’ll be back. You just remember what I told you. I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said.

Just then, her father appeared beside her and Troy looked physically sick.

“You will not see her soon. You will leave her alone. I’m a good bit older than you, but don’t think I can’t kick your ass. Don’t come around here again. Stay the hell away from my daughter.” He stared at Troy.

“You heard him.” Mallory stepped inside and closed the door. She stood there a moment, letting her shoulders drop.

Her father pulled her into his arms, his shirt carrying the familiar scent of laundry soap and coffee grounds. He took one look at her face.

“Tell me you’re not going back to him,” he said.

“I’m not going back to him.” She let him pull her into a bear hug, her face against his shoulder.

“I should kick the shit out of that son of a bitch,” he growled into her hair.