Running Away With You (Running #3) Read online

  Eventually the lactic acid builds up, leaving me with burning muscles. My body is screaming, telling me it’s time to stop. I’m at a threshold. Can I continue? Can I push through? Can I control the pain?

  Control.

  I stop thinking about my body’s physical pain and find something else to think about – the bail and arraignment hearing of Ryker Donovan scheduled for nine o’clock tomorrow morning. My imagination is in overdrive. I wonder how many people will be there. I try to anticipate what the judge will do. Will Ryker be given bail? Will he change his plea?

  The faster my mind churns with possibilities, the less pain I feel. Before I know it, the pain is nearly gone, replaced by pure elation. The endorphins my body releases take over and all I know is the buzz of excitement that lifts my spirits. Running has always helped me clear my mind, but this is different. I feel a new high I’ve never felt before. It’s intoxicating.

  Evan and I arrive at the courthouse early Tuesday morning. I knew it would be a madhouse. Reporters, photographers, and curious on-lookers fill the sidewalks as far as the eye can see.

  I am packed tightly in the back seat of Adams’ SUV, with Adam on my left and Evan on my right. Derek is driving and Marcus is in the passenger seat. These men are our unofficial security team. I trust them with our lives. Adam warned we would need it, and he wasn’t kidding.

  Evan has come to trust Marcus nearly as much as Adam. It makes me happy to see Evan’s relationship with Derek improving too. We needed a driver today, and when Derek offered, Evan did not hesitate.

  Evan is a bundle of nerves. His foot is tapping a mile a minute and he’s glowering out the window. He hasn’t spoken a word for most of the ride here. He scans up and down the front of the courthouse and puts his hand on my lap, squeezing my leg. I don’t know if he’s trying to comfort me or himself.

  Marcus and Adam hop out first. They shield first me, then Evan as we emerge from the vehicle. Flanking us and keeping close, they escort us toward the courthouse, waving off the questions being shouted at us from all directions.

  The crowd is relentless. I can feel them pushing to get closer to us. Some just want a better look. Others are throwing questions at us like torpedoes. They ask Evan if news of the arrest is the cause for Sunday’s loss to Miami. Questions about the fire and rescue follow. Then the worst – they want to know if it’s true that Ryker and I had an affair. That is the one thing I wasn’t prepared for.

  The flashing lights and screaming voices are overwhelming. An involuntary tremble surges through my body. Evan holds my hand tightly in his, squeezing me for comfort and assurance. I just focus on walking in a straight line, heading directly for the courthouse doors.

  Our group is escorted into one of the smaller courtrooms. The press is lined up along the back wall. Their cameras are set up on tripods and reporters are on their best behavior. Here, in this room, they can only watch and observe.

  We will not testify today. Our statements are not necessary. But we want to be here. We need to be here. Evan’s attorney arrived some time ago, and waves us to join him in the first row. The room quickly fills up and there’s a palpable buzz in the air.

  The prosecutors enter the room and sit at the long wooden table right in front of us. An elaborately carved bannister separates them from the rest of us. They notice Evan’s attorney and turn back to shake his hand. They mutter something inaudible into each other’s ear, and all I see are heads nodding in agreement. A quick pat on the shoulder, and Evan’s attorney turns to us.

  “They’re asking he be held without bail. It should be pretty quick and painless.” I may not know much about the court system, but I do know this much – whatever happens today, it will not be quick and painless. That would be entirely too easy.

  Derek makes it into the courtroom just in time. Two armed guards escort Ryker to the table where his attorney is waiting for him. He’s dressed in an orange jumpsuit. His hands are handcuffed and he looks like hell. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks defeated.

  Good. He’ll never receive an ounce of sympathy from me. Ever.

  I notice a couple in their fifties sitting behind Ryker. There’s a woman holding a tissue and wiping tears she seems helpless to contain. Her husband is rubbing her back, but it’s not helping. Ryker whispers in his attorney’s ear and receives a hesitant nod. He walks to the railing and immediately the couple jumps to their feet. The woman wraps her arms around Ryker while the man stands back, stoic. They must be his parents. What could possibly be going through their minds right now? Could they have ever imagined they would wind up here?

  A loud voice bellows through the room, ordering all in attendance to rise. The judge enters and takes his place at the bench in the front of the courtroom. He adjusts the microphone, bangs his gavel, and orders the proceedings to begin.

  First he reads the charges. Ryker is being charged with aggravated arson, with a maximum penalty of ten years, and aggravated assault, also with a maximum penalty of ten years in prison. If found guilty, he could be facing twenty years behind bars. His rights are explained to him in great detail. The judge asks Ryker how he wishes to plead.

  Ryker looks to his attorney for approval, then responds, “Guilty, Your Honor.” Ryker turns around and looks directly at me. His expression is sullen and he silently mouths the words, “I’m sorry.” I do not acknowledge him.

  I glance over toward Evan and what I see frightens me. The veins in his neck are bulging. His breathing is slow and deliberate and he’s got a murderous look in his eye. He is staring – no, glaring – directly at Ryker, and I think if he could, he would wrap his hands around Ryker’s neck and end it all right here and now.

  I place my hand on his leg, and every muscle in his body is as hard as stone. I place my hands directly on his cheeks and gently turn him to face me. “Hey Chief, relax. You’re scaring me.”

  Evan immediately snaps out of it. He kisses me softly and apologizes. “I’m sorry, baby. I can’t help it.” He takes a deep, cleansing breath and I can see some of the tension leave his body.

  The judge moves the discussion along and agrees to hear each side’s position on bail. As we anticipated, the prosecutors ask that he be held without bail due to the violent and egregious nature of the crime.

  Ryker’s attorney has been suspiciously quiet up until now. At this point, he begins to argue the extenuating circumstances surrounding the “event”, as he calls it.

  “Corporal Donovan has voluntarily turned himself in to the proper authorities. He was under the misconception that the home was vacant and had no intention of causing any bodily harm when he committed his crime of arson, to which he has pled guilty.

  “The court should be aware of Corporal Donovan’s service in Afghanistan and his diagnosed PTSD, incurred during active combat. This condition was exacerbated when Miss Fletcher began her campaign of deceit and betrayal by using the defendant’s feelings toward her as a weapon to gain back the affections of another man.

  “Miss Fletcher was fully aware of her actions when she knowingly and willfully, without regard for the mental state of Corporal Donovan, made false promises and misrepresented her intentions toward him, resulting in extreme emotional distress. Her actions contributed to, and resulted in, the events that occurred on that fateful night. But for these acts, the resulting criminal act would not have transpired.

  “Both Corporal Donovan and Mr. McGuire are the victims of Miss Fletcher’s misconduct. It is the defendant’s intent to provide financial recompense to Mr. McGuire for his property loss in a timely manner. In order to do so, the defendant must be granted an opportunity to find gainful employment while also receiving ongoing treatment.

  “The defendant has a stable and supportive family unit and intends to spend his time contributing to society and attempting to fulfill his obligations while waiting for sentencing at their home in Beachwood.”

  I cannot believe what I’m hearing. I’m having trouble breathing while his attorney speaks
. His acidic words feel like a knife tearing into me. My hands are shaking uncontrollably. This is a nightmare. I’m too afraid to look up at Evan. How he is able to control himself is beyond me.

  The judge ponders the assertions of the defense attorney before speaking. “I see here that the crime took place on the ninth of August. Today is the third of December. I would like to know where Corporal Donovan has been during those four months when there was an outstanding warrant for his arrest.”

  Ryker offers an explanation. He tries to stand straight and tall as he speaks, but his shoulders hang low and his voice is weak. “I’ve been in a residential inpatient facility in Georgia to deal with my PTSD, which had gone untreated since my discharge over a year ago. During my ninety-day stay I worked on my coping strategies, and I’m ready to take full responsibility for the mistakes I’ve made.”

  I watch as he speaks, trying to find a window into his state of mind. He tells me he’s sorry, and then his attorney lambastes me and paints me as some sort of vixen. I’m torn in two. A part of me wants to talk to him and try to reason with him. But there’s also a part of me that wants to hold him down while Evan tears him limb from limb.

  After considering his admission, the judge is ready to assign bail. I’m literally on the edge of my seat. My grip on Evan’s hand is so tight that he has to pry my fingers off his hand to restore blood flow. We both take a deep breath to steady ourselves for the judge’s decision.

  “While the court appreciates the attempt of Corporal Donovan to receive treatment for his PTSD, he should have notified the authorities of his whereabouts immediately following the crime. The fact remains that he fled the site of a crime and remained at large for a considerable amount of time. The argument that he voluntarily turned himself in is not persuasive. He is still considered a flight risk and as such, in conjunction with the severity of the crimes he is charged with, it is the decision of the court to deny bail and remand the defendant back into custody until his sentencing hearing, which will take place five weeks from today. Court is adjourned.” He bangs his gavel, stands, and leaves the court through the same door he entered.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m relieved that I won’t have to worry about Evan getting anywhere near Ryker for a very long time.

  The room begins to empty out and Evan’s attorney is shaking hands with the prosecutors. He turns to Evan. “That’s it for today. My secretary will contact you and set up a time when we can work on your victim’s impact statements.”

  “Do I have to speak?” I ask, hoping the answer will be no.

  “No, of course not. But if you want to see Donovan receive the maximum penalty, we’ll need to present compelling reasons. This is his first offense and he is a veteran with a clean military record. He might get away with the minimal penalty of five years for arson and five years for assault to be enforced concurrently, which would mean a five year sentence with eligibility for parole in less than three. It’s really hard to predict what the judge will order in a case like this. If he’s persuaded by Ryker’s defense, it could play against us.”

  We shake hands with the attorney and brace ourselves for the next obstacle, making our way out of the courthouse and through the throngs of paparazzi and fans.

  I need to clear my head. Evan hasn’t spoken a word to me the entire ride home. Being sandwiched between him and Adam doesn’t have the same protective feeling it did before. Now I feel like I’m being transferred and escorted, having just been found guilty of my own crime.

  When Derek pulls up, Evan hops from the car, holding out his hand to help me. He wraps his arms around me, pulls me in tightly, and rocks silently back and forth before he speaks. “Juliette, I need to go. I’m going to have Marcus take me to his gym for a workout. I’ll be home in a little while. I love you.” He places a hand under my chin, lifting my lips to meet his. I close my eyes and drink him in. When he kisses me, everything else disappears and it’s just the two of us.

  “Do you have to go? Can’t you just work out upstairs in your gym?” I ask, desperate for him to stay with me.

  “Marcus’s gym has a boxing ring. I need to hit something. If I don’t, I feel like I’m going to explode.”

  “Listen, I can call Camilla to come pick you up and meet us there, Jette. Would that be okay?” Marcus is so thoughtful.

  “Sure, but I think I’d like to go for a run first. Tell her to let herself in and we’ll meet you there in about an hour, if that’s okay.”

  The men nod their agreement, and off they go. Evan needs his release, and I do too. I waste no time. I tear off all my clothes, leaving them in piles on the floor. I toss on my workout clothes, grab Maddy’s leash, and take off down the beach for an invigorating run.

  I push myself hard as Jason Derulo and Pitbull propel me forward with their fierce beats. Just trying to keep up with the tempo has me focused and sweating in no time.

  Jogging isn’t enough. I check my watch and decide I’m going to challenge myself. Camilla will be here soon. My usual run is about two miles; one mile to the boardwalk, and then another mile back again. I’m going to give myself exactly fifteen minutes instead of my usual twenty.

  By the time I get back, my legs are burning and I’m breathing heavily, but the elation I feel at having accomplished my goal is worth it. I feel stronger, more in control, and even a little euphoric. Time for a quick shower, and then it’s off to join my men.

  Camilla takes me to Peak Fitness, not far from our house. It’s a massive building, but Camilla seems to know her way well. We walk past a cycle theater, weight rooms, group exercise studios, locker rooms, and a pro shop as we head toward the far end of the building, where the boxing ring is located.

  There’s a rather large crowd gathered around watching the two men as they enter the ring. I guess we didn’t miss anything. Adam and Derek are standing close by, so Camilla and I weave through the curious spectators and join them.

  Marcus and Evan climb through the ropes and move toward the center. There they stand, shirtless, with their hands meticulously taped. Marcus is muttering some sort of instructions to Evan, who’s bouncing on his feet, eager to get started. “Has Marcus done this before?” I ask.

  “Oh, sure. Marcus has been sparring for years. It started in the military and he hasn’t stopped since.” She looks up at her new husband and bites her lip. “Isn’t he hot?” she muses aloud.

  “I guess so.” It’s strange to think of Marcus like that. He’s like a brother or cousin whom I look up to. Besides, who can concentrate on anything when Evan McGuire is standing in front of me shirtless?

  Marcus is leading Evan in some warm-up exercises, I think. Evan mirrors everything Marcus does. They begin with some straight punches into the space in front of them, followed by a few upper cuts and head rolls. They’re bouncing on their feet the whole time, and it almost appears like the two are dancing to some sort of music only they can hear.

  “What are they doing?” I ask.

  Adam explains, “Oh, they’re just warming up. You know, getting their blood flowing and loosening their muscles. Give it a minute, then they’ll really get started.”

  “What have you guys been doing this whole time?”

  “We had to wait for the ring. Someone else had it reserved. But you know Mac, when he wants something, he finds a way to get it. I think he had to give away a few tickets to a game for this,” Derek explains.

  Marcus has Evan throwing a few jabs, then bending at the knees and rolling his head to the side. The men move with such grace and ease, all I can think about is tearing off the few articles of clothing Evan still has on and taking him here and now.

  Once Marcus seems satisfied, the two men pause to put on their gloves. Evan comes toward us, and Adam hands him a large red boxing glove. While Adam secures the glove, I have to ask, “Evan, are you sure this is a good idea? Suppose you get hurt?”

  “We’re not actually going to fight, Juliette. You’ll see. Don’t worry, baby. I know my limits.”
/>   Adam is securing the second glove and I glance a few feet away to see what Marcus is doing. He’s not putting on gloves – he’s got some sort of pads with straps, one for each hand. “What’s that?” I ask Derek.

  “They’re focus punch mitts. Marcus won’t be throwing any punches today. Evan will be throwing punches at the pads and getting a good workout. Don’t look so panicked, kiddo. Marcus won’t let Evan hurt his throwing arm, Jette. He’s in good hands.”

  Camilla and I sit down on a bench to watch. She asks, “So Jette, I’m guessing it didn’t go well in court today? I have a feeling that we wouldn’t be here right now if it did.” Camilla wasn’t there, so she has no idea what we heard.

  “You could say that.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “How bad was it?” she asks.

  I just shrug. Derek tells her a little more about what Ryker’s attorney accused me of, and how he’s being held without bail. “I guarantee,” he tells her, “every one of those punches Evan throws are targeted right at Donovan’s face. I don’t know how Mac kept his shit together through that circus they called a hearing.”

  They finish getting ready, turn, and head back into the ring. My eyes are glued to the sight of their tight asses as they walk away from us. Holy hell, how could I never really have noticed how fit and ripped Marcus is?

  Marcus holds up one pad and commands, “Jab.” Evan throws a punch. He puts the pad down and raises it again quickly. “Again.” As he does, Evan’s biceps and triceps flex and my core tightens. I know what it feels like to be wrapped in those strong arms.

  Marcus turns and Evan follows. More commands are issued. “Cross,” and, “Now one, two. Again, one, two. Up now, jab, cross, hook.” They circle around the ring and I can’t take my eyes off them. Both well over six feet tall, they rival each other in the best possible way. Their broad shoulders, toned muscles, and fierce looks of determination are mesmerizing. Evan’s fair skin and shaggy brown hair is contrasted by Marcus’s dark skin and short, close buzz cut. We might just be violating a few state and federal laws by having these two drop-dead gorgeous men in the same ring together.