As she pulled into her driveway, her happiness faded rapidly into trepidation. There was a light on in the living room, and Jack’s Aston Martin was in the driveway. Aimee instantly felt sick to her stomach. She parked off to the side so he would be able to leave whenever he was done yelling at her, threatening her, or stealing from her.
She turned off the ignition and sat in the car for a few seconds, looking over at her purse. Should I take the money in with me? What if he’s here for the clubs? What if he gets angry and takes my purse? It sounded nuts, but she wouldn’t put it past him at this point. She made a split-second decision, pulling out the envelope and shoving it under the front passenger seat. It was probably just crazy paranoia, but better to be safe than sorry. She didn’t worry about Jack taking her Toyota. Neither he nor Tiffany would be caught dead in it, since it wasn’t worth more than seven thousand dollars on a good day. It was five years old and not the luxury model. She’d picked it out herself, loving the smooth lines and great gas mileage. Jack had always refused to ride in it.
Aimee zipped her purse shut and got out of the car slowly, reluctant to face the angry confrontation she knew was waiting for her. Sighing as she walked up to the front door, she wished Jack didn’t have a key anymore.
She wasn’t two steps into the house before he accosted her, his face already red, showing how steaming mad he was.
“Where are my golf clubs, Aimee?”
Aimee smiled at him, using every bit of confidence she had left to not tremble in his presence. “I have no idea. Where did you leave them?”
His voice rose, and spittle began to fly. “You know very well I left them in the garage the other day. You saw me do it.”
“Oh, really? I don’t remember seeing you do that,” she said calmly, putting her purse down on the front hall table, infinitely glad she had thought to leave the money in the car. Otherwise, she would have been clinging to her bag in fear, and Jack would surely have gotten suspicious.
“Don’t play stupid with me. You were looking right at me when I took them out of my trunk.”
Aimee shrugged. “Sorry. Like I said … I don’t remember.”
Jack followed her into the kitchen, standing too close as she reached into the refrigerator to grab the orange juice and pour herself a glass. She was going to offer Jack one, but changed her mind. A picture of Kiki’s and Elizabeth’s faces flashed across her memory. It distracted her from Jack’s tirade, as she wondered what they might do in a situation like this. Kiki would probably tell him to go to hell. Elizabeth would probably ... I don’t know ... list all the reasons he should leave, in very neat and professional handwriting.
She poured the orange juice into the short, clear glass and turned to put the container back in the fridge, but Jack stopped her.
He grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard. “If you did something with my clubs, you’re going to be sorry.”
“I’m already sorry, Jack. Sorry I ever met you.” Aimee looked him straight in the eye, her nostrils flaring with the anger that was coming over her. How dare he touch me and threaten me like that! In my kitchen, of all places.
He squeezed her harder, so much that it made her drop the container of juice, spilling it all over the floor and onto her pants. He didn’t apologize after he let go
“Ow, Jack! That hurt! What’s your frigging problem?” Aimee looked down incredulously at the mess. Jack was an asshole, but he’d never been violent with her – except for that one time when he’d been drinking. “Are you drunk?” she asked, backing up, headed for the sink to get a sponge.
“No, I’m not drunk, you stupid bitch! I want my golf clubs!”
“Hey!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “That’s enough, Jack! You can’t call me that name in my house. Get out! I don’t want you here anymore.”
Jack advanced on her, a mean sneer twisting his handsome face into someone she didn’t recognize. “That’s the thing, Aimee,” he said in a dangerous, low voice. “This isn’t your house. It’s my house. I paid for it and I own it. Just like I own you.”
Aimee didn’t like the look in his cold gray eyes. It was predatory and practically promised cruelty. She knew Jack well enough to recognize a threat when she saw it. She moved quickly to her right, putting the kitchen island between them. “Jack, you need to leave. If you don’t, I’m calling the cops.”
“Go ahead, call them. What are you going to tell them? That you stole my golf clubs?”