Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Get off me.” He tries to wring himself free. “My attorneys are going to hear about this.”
“Call the police.” Brady looks at me. “Don’t think twice about it. You call them now,” he commands, and I rush to the kitchen to call them. My hands shake as I hear the sound of the door being slammed shut.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” the operator says.
“My name is Harmony Cartwright,” I sob, putting my hand to my mouth before the phone is taken from me.
“This is Brady Thatcher,” he states. “Hey, Sharon. Winston Cartwright just attacked his wife.” He looks at me. “Yeah, I had to pull him off her.” He nods at me. “We’ll be here.” He puts his phone down at the same time I hear Wyatt.
“Mom?” His voice is shaking, and I see he’s on the steps, holding on to the railing. “Mom”—he walks to me—“did he hurt you?” he asks me, and at that moment, I feel like the biggest failure. Letting him see this is something I will never forgive Winston for, and I will never forgive myself either.
“No, honey,” I assure him, taking him in my arms and wrapping them around him. “I’m fine,” I lie as we hear more car doors closing. He gasps, and his head turns to the door.
“I’m here, buddy,” Brady comforts, putting his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder, leaning to look him in the eyes. “I’m not going to let him hurt her, yeah.” He gets up and moves his head to the side. “It’s the deputy.”
He walks over to the door, leaving us both, and I can’t help but notice how we are both shaking. “It’s okay.” I try to calm myself for my son’s sake.
“Mommy, he hurt you,” he notes at the same time Brady opens the door and the deputy comes in.
“Are you here alone?” Brady asks him, and he nods. “Not going to happen,” he clips. “Call in someone else.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, and Brady shakes his head.
“I’m talking about the fact that you and Winston are a part of the same country club,” he explains. “I want someone else.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he complains, and another car door is being slammed. This time, I put Wyatt behind me, just in case it’s Winston, but it’s not. It’s Charlie, who looks at us with his hands on his hips.
“What’s going on?” he questions as if he didn’t just roll out of bed.
“Asking for a different deputy,” Brady informs him, then looks at me. “Go pack your stuff.” I don’t move from my spot because I can’t. “You aren’t staying here.”
“I need to sit down,” I answer him honestly, afraid my knees are going to give out on me, and I’ll end up on my ass.
Another car door slams, and I look toward the door, and they knock on it. “Hey, Pat,” Charlie greets the guy who is dressed in the same uniform as the first one. He looks around and earns a glare from the deputy who got here first.
“What are you doing here?” he asks him.
“Was in the area when the call came through,” he says. “Did you take her statement?”
“I just got here,” the deputy replies and turns to me.
“She needs to sit down,” Brady barks from beside me, walking me to the living room. Wyatt never leaves my side as I sit on the couch and tell them both what happened.
“I want a restraining order,” I declare, shocking everyone in the room, including me. “Do I call my lawyer?” I don’t know how it works, but I know I don’t want him near me or my son.
“We can issue an emergency protective order,” Pat says to me, earning another glare from the other deputy. “It’s a domestic case.” I nod at him.
“If there is anything else,” Brady says from his spot beside the couch, “let us know.” He looks at us. “But we should get Wyatt in bed.”
They must sense this means the conversation is over. “She needs a case file,” Charlie notes. “Her lawyer will want it.” They nod at him, and the deputy, who I’ve learned is named Jonah, hands me a card with his name and report number under it. They walk out, and Brady and Charlie share a look. “You want me to wait here for them to pack a bag?”
“I’m good,” Brady assures him.
Wyatt gets up from the couch, grabbing my hand. “We need to pack a bag,” he tells me.
“I don’t think your dad will come back tonight,” I try to reassure him.
“Let’s go, then,” Brady urges, “you can grab stuff tomorrow.” He reaches for Wyatt’s hand, who slides it in his, and I know he isn’t going to sleep unless we leave. Brady takes the keys from me, locking the door. Charlie is on the steps as he walks in front of us toward Brady’s house.