Page 2 of Summer Ever After

Chapter One

When Beth locked the door behind her, she always checked that it had latched tightly. First, the knob lock, which she checked twice, then the deadbolt, which she checked three times. Then the top additional latch that she had insisted the landlord install, despite her eye roll and grumbled comments about “overkill.” Each metallic click echoed in the small space, a ritual that she had memorized since moving into the place.

Her last two apartments had been a disaster for security, which she’d blamed for the break-ins.

After all of the locks were securely in place, she gave the door a hard tug, her fingers curling around the weathered brass knob until her knuckles went white.

It didn’t move.

Good.

Not that it would stop anyone determined enough to kick it in, but at least it was something, a sliver of control in a world that still felt unstable beneath her feet.

Her apartment was small, barely more than a studio tucked above the antique bookstore on Main Street in Pelican Point, Florida. The wooden stairs on the outside of the old building creaked with every step that she took, and the salty air from the Gulf sometimes caused the window frames to swell until they stuck shut. But it was hers. And it was just a ten-minute drive from River Camps, the adult summer camp where she worked at the front desk and had recently started taking over bookkeeping duties.

Her bosses at the camp had lit up with excitement when she’d mentioned that she’d recently earned her associate’s degree in business. It had taken her years, quietly plugging away at online classes during her shifts or late at night in bed with earbuds in and a blanket over her head, but she’d done it. A small, quiet triumph.

Outside, the narrow alley behind the building buzzed with the muffled sound of distant traffic.

Her tiny kitchenette in the corner had an old mini-fridge that she stocked once a week, a small microwave with a flickering digital clock, and a two-burner cooktop that doubled as counter space.

Her bed was tucked along one wall beneath a floating shelf that held a few books, a pot of succulents, and a framed photo of her with her coworkers from River Camps. People who saw her. Who didn’t question her past. People that stuck by her no matter what.

Her place smelled like lavender dryer sheets and the earthy scent of old pine floors. When she’d first moved in, the walls were a sterile white that reminded her of hospitals and several of the temporary rentals she’d been in before.

One of the first things she’d done was paint them a warm peach. She had gone on to add peel-and-stick tile behind the kitchen sink, which brightened the small space. Then she’d mounted some battery-operated puck lights under the cabinets to brighten it up even more.

There were other small changes, and they made the space feel more like a home. Her home. Her life.

Four years.

It had been over four years that she’d been out on her own. She’d gone through three different jobs, six phone numbers, at least three dozen 911 calls, half a dozen restraining orders, and finally three court dates. All of which had ended the same way.

Nothing changed.

Ian did whatever he wanted, and no one was going to stop him.

After all, he was the law.

The one time she’d hoped that would have changed last year when he’d shown up at her last apartment with a baseball bat in hand. Thankfully, she’d seen him coming and had climbed out on her roof and escaped him while her neighbor had called the police.

However, when the police arrived, Ian had leaned against his car and chatted with them. She’d found out later that he claimed she had called him in a panic crying about someone trying to break into her place. So, naturally, he’d rushed over to protect her.

Ian was great at making up stories where he became the hero.

Beth had learned early in their marriage that the badge didn’t just give him authority, it gave him armor. A shiny, unquestioned narrative. Most of his coworkers and friends didn’t believe her when she spoke out, not really. How could they? To them, Ian was a hero. The guy who carried an elderly woman out of a burning building. The one who smashed a car window to rescue a baby strapped in a car seat on a hot summer day. He remembered everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries. He brought food to storm victims. Helped patch neighbors’ roofs after hurricanes.

He was charming. Charismatic. Good-looking. The all-American hero. The kind of man people called loyal, selfless, funny, and brave.

Heroes like that didn’t abuse their wives.

They didn’t shove them into walls with enough force to knock the breath from their lungs. They didn’t squeeze their wrists hard enough to leave bruises that had to be hidden beneath long sleeves. They didn’t isolate you from your friends and family, erase your voicemails, track your phone, or stand silently in doorways watching you dress just to remind you who had the power.

But Ian had done all of that, and more. And when Beth finally spoke up, people gave her that look, the one that said, Are you sure? The one that said, But he’s such a good guy.

As if monsters only came with snarling faces and criminal records, not polished smiles and badges.

Eventually, she stopped trying to explain to those people. She let go of anyone who didn’t believe her and built a new circle of friends who did.