RUMORS Read online

  RUMORS

  HJ Bellus

  Dedication

  To the man who loved bigger than anyone who walked this earth. He was there for everyone, anytime. It never mattered who I was pissed off at or what I was writing about, my Uncle Harve had my back. Always and forever.

  Some call him a friend, husband, dad, cousin, brother, but I called Harvey Mann my best friend, brother, uncle, and father figure.

  Love ya, baby!

  Contents

  Note To Readers

  Trigger Warning

  Bonus Scene

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2

  Bonus Chapter!

  Acknowledgments

  Rumors’ Playlist

  About the Author

  Note To Readers

  Dear Readers,

  This story was a very hard one to write and also extremely liberating. There are children all over our world, girls and boys, who have gone through similar experiences. The reason it was so important for me to write was to celebrate those children who have battled their war into adulthood. They fought their demons and won, and now shed glorious light down on all of us.

  Love,

  HJB

  Trigger Warning

  This book is not intended for readers younger than 18 years of age as it contains dark, violent events and talks in detail about rape.

  If these are triggers for you and you choose to read it, please know that you are doing so at your own risk.

  Bonus Scene

  Make sure to read to the end to claim your bonus scene!

  Prologue

  Rumors. They’re what kill you. The venom that seeps into the veins of your small community, poisoning everyone. People know the truth but turn a blind eye. Reputation trumps the honest word, no matter the amount of evil taking place.

  If it happens behind closed doors, then it didn’t happen. Your shadow is the only witness to the truth. The victims survive day by day, doing their best to mask their pain. Until a breaking point strikes and it all becomes too much.

  This is a lesson I learned firsthand. My life was perfect, even damn beautiful. I was full of courage, hopes, and dreams…until the devil stole them. I should’ve told someone, but the man told me not to because no one would believe me. The most disgusting part of my story is the devil was right, and kept his promise to destroy me.

  To this day, I grieve the loss of me, my life, and relationships. I was never brave enough to come forward for help and when I did, it was too much. The thin thread of despair holding me together snapped with a ferocious anger that couldn’t be stopped.

  And now I’m left here, covered in my sins, and wondering how in the hell I go on living.

  * * *

  It’s him. I freeze in place, feeding Duke, the rescue horse, another flake of hay. I blink once, then twice, glancing back down to the remaining hay my knuckles are gripping. There’s no sheriff badge beaming off his chest. I glance down to the waist of his jeans and see no gun. His brother isn’t at his side. But it’s him.

  My savior, the man who rescued me. I was seventeen and he was nearing his mid to late twenties. Everything was always wrong for so many days that bled into years. He forced me to see it, live it out, and endure the hell out of my pain. They were the worst days of my life.

  Old habits die hard as I reach up under the long sleeves of my flannel shirt to rub the pads of my fingers over the raised and indented scars. This time, fingernails do not pierce and stab my flesh. No, I’m able to smile and embrace the memories. The memories that made me. The ones before Satan himself tore me apart.

  He’s made me a millionaire and doesn’t even know it. I’m not talking in terms of money. Not even close. He set my soul free from the hell it was barred in. Dalton was judge, jury, and executioner. But in the end, it was me who played the last move of the game three years ago.

  I take one final chance, looking up, and that’s when we connect. I fall in love all over again with those rich, whiskey colored eyes that have always promised safety and love. Intoxication curtains my every feature as I fall drunk on this man. He’s sporting scruff, but it doesn’t conceal that strong jawline of his. He’s still perfection.

  In true Dalton fashion, he doesn’t flinch or blink. He gives me his all. And that’s the moment I realize love is precious and life is worth so much more than my greatest fear.

  “John, what’s next?” I glance over to another person who saved me from my own personal hell. I allowed him to peel back all the layers, even the scary and uncomfortable ones, until the core of me was able to shine again.

  He rambles on about some damn thing or another. There’s no way I can compute anything he’s saying with the adrenaline coursing through me right now. John was my counselor at the first therapeutic wilderness camp I attended. I’ve never lost contact with him, and now he’s retired and opening his own animal rescue haven.

  I give Duke a pat on his cheek and a quick peck on the tip of his nose, then tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I square my shoulders, scanning the small crowd for Dalton. I shade my hand over my eyes and find him easily. I’m not sure if it’s my intense connection with him or dumb luck. I don’t analyze that shit anymore. I live for me and the next beat of my heart.

  I’ve wanted to go back to Dalton so many times over the last three years. I can’t tell you exactly why I never did, but I guess it’s a combination of being scared, nerves, and always fearful that I’m not completely healed. I know that reality will never happen. I’m free, I’m healthy, and now it’s my time. I just hope I’m not too late to finally love Dalton Cray with everything I have.

  My steps are confident and sure as I make my way to him. My hair is longer than it’s ever been, let down and flowing in the breeze. He turns his head to see me coming his way. Cray doesn’t flinch and I don’t either when the beautiful blonde next to him grips his forearm and leans her head on his shoulder. After the war I just fought, nothing will stop me from what I’ve wanted for so damn long.

  “Hey.” I tuck some hair behind my ear.

  Dalton clears his throat. “Frankie.”

  His deep, caring voice saying my name creates the biggest smile I’ve ever worn. It’s as real as they come.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins. It’s my time, so I go for it.

  I’ve missed you, Dalton. God, I’ve missed you so damn much.

  Chapter One

  Frankie

  “Hurry up.” I squeeze my fingers tight in my lap. “Please, Grandma.”

  “Frankie May.” Grandma shakes her head at me in the mirror. “Life is all about patience, my dear.”

  I place my hand over the one of hers that rests on my shoulder. The touch of her worn, leathered skin is my favorite sensation in the world. It’s my home and all of my being.

  “Sorry. I’m just so excited to go see June. You know we have so many fooled we are twins.”

  The truth is that we know the tiny town we live in only humors us, since Ju
ne and I look nothing alike and only have months in our name. We’ve been inseparable since the first day of kindergarten.

  She shakes her head and her steady hands go back to work, braiding two long pigtails down my back. I don’t have to look in the mirror to know they’ll hit right above my waist. That’s how long my hair is, and my momma’s in the pictures I stare at in Grandma’s hallway. I don’t remember much of my mom. The only thing I know she gave me is my grandma.

  “Oh, you girls.” She shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you two?”

  I smile brightly at her, feeling the comfort of her loving hands.

  “Well, we are about to be fifth graders.” I shrug.

  “Frankie, baby.” I hear the sound of the darn bows she always secures to the ends of my braids snapping into place. “You’ll always be my baby even though after this summer you’ll be in fifth grade.”

  “Love you, Grandma.” I hop from her vanity stool and dart for the front door. “I love you.”

  “Love you more!” she hollers back.

  She gets the final word every single time after I holler “love you” to her. Once my hand presses on the screen door, I tug the bows from the end of my pigtails. It’s enough that I’m wearing overall bib type shorts. I mean, they’re comfortable and all, but not fifth-grader style by any means. This will be the last summer I wear them. I have to grow up and all. I stuff the baby bows deep down in my pocket, letting my fingers graze the shoes and outfit for June’s Barbie.

  I wince. It’s our secret that both of us will take to the grave. Yes, we still play with Barbies, have sticker books, and love coloring, and it’s so not fifth-grade cool. Grandma always reminds us that it’s okay to stay young. Yet June and I have sworn each other to secrecy about our favorite things and games we like to play. I race to my bike with my arms pumping as fast as my heart.

  June and I are riding our bikes down to the pond. She heard Robbie and Cody will be there and we have plans to marry them one day, if only they ever look our direction. We have a plan for that, too, which does not include Barbies or stickers.

  I settle myself on the seat of the bike. We live close, well, everyone in Birch Creek lives close, but I’ve always wished we were next-door neighbors so we could open our windows at night and talk to each other.

  “Frankie May.” A deep voice catches my attention right when I was about to take off and zip down the few blocks to June’s place.

  “Hey, Pastor Chapman.” I wave, keeping my handlebars steady.

  “Where are you off in a hurry to?” he asks.

  I growl, then bite my bottom lip, knowing it’s disrespectful and that’s one thing Grandma never tolerates. I bring my bike to a stop in front of his mailbox and shade my eyes from the glaring sun, then peer back over my shoulder at my house.

  “Going to June’s for the afternoon.”

  “Do you have an extra second?” He takes a step off his porch and his kind face comes closer. Pastor Chapman is the hero of our tiny town. He’s a good man who loves his church, God, and friends. He loves and helps everyone in our town. “Your grandma wanted me to give you a bookmark for your bible.”

  “Oh, sure.” I shrug, hoping like darn heck this only takes a few seconds.

  I hop off my bike, leaning it on the mailbox since the kickstand has been long gone for a few summers now. I’ve never been to Pastor Chapman’s house without Grandma. We’ve gone over quite a few times for dinner, and he’s been to our place several other times. Remembering my manners, I don’t remind Pastor that I already have the bookmark we pressed dried flowers into a few weeks ago at Sunday school.

  “Come on in.” He holds the door open and I follow. “I have it right here on the bookcase.”

  I watch his hand with thick, time-worn skin reach up for the thinly laminated bookmark. I recognize right away that it’s not mine. There’s a purple flower in the middle and I know beyond a doubt I’d never pick purple. Mine has a bright orange flower in the middle with my favorite bible verse: “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13.

  “Here it is.” He bends down before me, causing me to step back.

  I’m not sure what races up my spine, but something does. I don’t like it. It’s fear, uncertainty, and something I can’t explain. I’ve never had this feeling with him.

  His coarse palm rubs against my cheek and that’s when I can’t help but step back more. My kneecaps lock in fear as the rest of my body trembles. I want to run, but he’s faster than me, grasping my wrist and tugging me toward him. I try to scream but my throat slams shut.

  “Your grandma raised a fine little girl.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “This isn’t wrong, Frankie May, it’s not wrong at all.”

  He kneels down to my level and tucks his nose into the side of my neck, letting his lips linger along my skin.

  “Stop.” I shove my shoulders away and jerk my head.

  “Frankie May,” he scolds, “hold still.”

  “No!” Something finally tears free, my body allowing my voice to be heard. I don’t recognize the harshness of it.

  That’s when his large palm slaps down on my mouth. I continue fighting, the hot tears searing the skin on my face.

  “It’s so wrong,” he repeats over and over. “But I’ve wanted you for so long and now that you’re about to blossom into a woman, I have to make you mine.”

  That perfect, beautiful afternoon I never made it to June’s house. Little did I know it was only the beginning.

  Chapter Two

  Frankie

  “One day, Sunshine, you’ll have to grow brave and go outside by yourself.” Grandma’s wrinkled hands work in unison, twisting my thick, long braid down my back. “You’re so smart and had so many friends before…”

  She trails off and I know why. She’s still trying to make any sort of connection why I quit going to school in the middle of my ninth-grade year. It was a mystery to everyone and technically is still my senior year. But I earned my diploma in my junior year via homeschooling and I am now working on college classes. In theory, I'm a freshman at college, but emotionally I’m not. I still very much feel every bit the freshman in high school, trapped in my house.

  I reach back, placing my hand over hers, stopping her from braiding, and offer a sincere smile at her in the mirror. She shines one right back at me.

  “I’m happy, Grandma. I have everything I need here with you, and you can’t argue about my school work since I’m already taking college courses.”

  Nothing at all catches my attention as far as seeking a degree. I’m just knocking out all of the general classes. It keeps my mind busy. I seek nothing more than staying confined in the walls of my bedroom. It guts me every single time I’m forced out of the house, but I do it for her. I’ve never been able to give her the answers she desperately wants and for that, I’m selfish to my core. I know it would kill her and she’s the only person I have. The textbook definition of selfish.

  Her eyes grow heavy with sorrow. I know it hurts her soul watching me holed up in our house. But if she knew the truth it would end her. In fact, it would do the same to me. It’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.

  “I know, sweet Frankie.” She drops the conversation, focusing back on my hair.

  I’m far too old to have my grandmother braiding my hair; I know this. But every week she does it and I cherish each moment. Having thick, long hair isn’t an easy task and most days it ends up in a twisted messy bun on the top of my head.

  The scent of oranges and flowers while Grandma combed and braided my hair has always been one of my favorite childhood memories. It’s always been her and me as long as I can remember. I never knew who my dad was, and my mom dropped me off at her mom’s doorstep when I was in first grade. So, it’s always been us against the world.

  Louise McNeal is and always will be the best person I know with her kind heart, quirky personality, and loving arms. Everyone in our small town calls her by her first name. Over the yea
rs, she’s become everyone’s favorite Sunday school teacher and her chocolate cake is famous county-wide. She’s my person and the one thing in life that has kept me going.

  The day I refused to attend church I could hear her heart fracture into sharp shards of sorrow. Silent tears soaked my pillow as I drowned in the darkness that day she left for church alone. I knew I was safe because it was Sunday and everyone in the small town was huddled in that building of evil. He’d be there long after his service and when Grandma returned home. The day I bled in that temple was the end for me.

  Everything is still dark with only glimpses of rays of light every now and then. But I know better than anyone else the danger that lurks outside. It’s infectious, preying on the weak, suffocating with its evil until you bend to its will.

  Deep down, I’m certain she suspects what happened on some level, just not who the predator was. It’s a never-ending cycle of torture because I know her mind runs wild with what could have happened. Saving her from the truth is worth it because the truth is hidden in my ugly soul.

  She keeps me safe and allows me to flourish in the walls of this house. Grandma loves when I read my latest novel to her every night while she rocks in her recliner knitting a new blanket.