The Rescue (Chapter 6)

CHAPTER 6

Puck let Timber’s sobs diminish before he moved, making a search of the kitchen drawers until he found the one with the kitchen towels. He turned on the cold water, drenched the terry cloth and then wrung it out before approaching Timber.

“Come on Timberlain,” he ordered quietly, sit up. Sit up.” Timber reluctantly raised her head and looked around the room.

“They’re gone,” Puck assured her. “It’s just us. Here, wipe the snot off your face.” He put the towel in front of her, but Timber made no move to reach for it. Puck sighed, sat down on the stool Coop had just vacated and began to gently wipe the tears off Timber’s face.”

“Why is it every time I see you you’re crying Timber?” Puck asked as he wiped.

“You used to tell me I was beautiful when I was crying.” Timer spoke up. “Guess that’s changed, hasn’t it?” She croaked, ending that question with another sob.

“You’re still beautiful to me, Timber.” Puck told her. “You will always be beautiful to me. But something stinks here. Something is seriously out of whack, and do you know what I think? I think you know it. I think you went over to the darkside and now you can’t find your way back. I think you know this guy doesn’t treat you right, just like Jordie didn’t treat you right.”

“Don’t say his name!” Timber barked at Puck.

Puck sighed, folding and refolding the towel. “Know what I think Timber? I think you sent that email. I think you looked in the mirror and realized things were fucked up, but that you were too scared to leave this guy, just like you were too scared to leave…your husband, because for some freakish, inscrutable reason, you think you aren’t worthy of being loved the way you should be.”

“Well thank you Dr. Phil.” Timber snapped.

“You know Timber,” Puck continued, “I’ve been thinking about that email. World Wonders must have had the contact information for everyone on the team. So why us four? Why his three best buddies and me? I think you sent it Timber, because you want help getting free of this guy. And here we are. Here we all are. Five days before Christmas and here we are.  Scott Avila is supposed to be skiing Whistler right now. He paid for the trip for his extended family, aunts, uncles cousins. Dylan Cooper was supposed to leave for Turks and Caicos the Caribbean with a supermodel yesterday and he told her he’d have to meet her there Wednesday. My wife told me if I went to Flint instead of her family Christmas party, I could forget spending the holidays with her and my 3-year-old son. Three years old, Timber. That’s like the best Christmas there is, and he’ll be i North Carolina instead of with me. And you know when Samantha finds out Remy is here, she is going to cut off his balls and send them to the Red Sox for batting practice. But we all came. We’re right here. So now you just throw us out?

“This is a pattern with you Timber. You let your husband treat you like dirt and now you have some new guy who treats you even worse. And every time you get geared up and ready to break the pattern you chicken out. Well this time I am not going to let you chicken out. I’m here and I am not leaving until I know this asshole is out of your life, preferably behind bars, but six feet under works for me too.”

“Pete, just stop!” Timber screamed at him. “All those things you are talking about? I don’t care about them anymore. Perhaps you haven’t heard but my baby died Pete. She isn’t off having her very best Christmas apart from me. A piece of metal smashed into her sweet little pink skull and killed her dead. And here’s some news for you Pete, when that happens to your child, you don’t care about being cheated on. You don’t care if he gave you the clap or if the rumor is true that  he got some 19 year old pregnant and held her hand while she had an abortion.  And you know Pete, I think if there was someone who was beating me senseless, I wouldn’t care about that either. I’d say, wail on dude. Punch me harder, because if I’m thinking about how much the punching hurts, I’m not thinking about how I will never hold her in my arms again”

“Then why are we here, Timmie? Why’d you send that email? Just to say hey?”

For a minute Puck thought she wasn’t going to answer. She stood, retrieved the bottle of Johnny Walker with a trembling hand and walked toward the kitchen door. Puck’s fists balled in frustration when he noticed the blood stain on her pajama bottoms from what he was sure was a rug burn. In his mind he saw someone dragging Timber across the room by her hair and wanted to pound something.

Timber stopped when she got to the door and turned back to look him in the eye. “Hey Pete.” she said quietly. And with that she left him standing in frustration, wanting to help, and not knowing how.
That was a pattern with her too.

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