Never Giving Up (Never #3)(38)
Trust me, I’d rather be there with you than golfing. I hate golfing.
Why did you agree to go? I’m sure Patrick would have found something to do that you enjoyed had you told him.
It’s fine. Patrick likes golfing. Maybe he can teach me how to not suck at it.
Well, you have fun walking around in the sun all afternoon. I’m just going to sit here, open presents, and eat cookies and cake and get even more fat.
Ella, love, eat as much as you’d like. I like all the extra Ella I’ve been able to grab ahold of lately.
I smiled. Even through a text he could still make my blood run quickly. He had been enjoying my new, rounder, lusher body. And I’d been enjoying his enthusiasm for me.
Hmmm. I will, but not for your benefit. Love you. Have fun.
Love you too.
“Is that Porter?” Megan said as she walked past me with a platter of deviled eggs.
“Yeah. He just told me he doesn’t even like golfing. He’s so funny sometimes.” I shook my head, making a mental reminder to tell him how silly the whole thing was.
“Well, they’re probably drinking too, so that should help. But honestly, if he would have told Patrick, he would have come up with another idea.”
“I know,” I waved her worry away. “I think sometimes Porter is so used to just making other people happy, he goes with the flow. It can be really attractive sometimes, to have someone who just wants what you want. But sometimes, it’s like, Porter, what do you want? Ya know?” Megan nodded and walked back into the kitchen as my mother came to sit next to me on the couch.
“Any new developments on the case?” My mother wore her worried eyes. Everyone in my family was worried, and I understood that, but I hated that they looked at me like I was going to break open at any moment. Granted, I had a history of falling into deep bouts of darkness, but I felt stronger in the last few weeks.
“Not much has changed. He can’t make bail, so he is waiting for trial in jail, thank God.”
“And he’s still pleading not guilty?” I nodded.
Jason Ramie pled not guilty to the charge of attempted aggravated murder and so the process became so much more than I had ever imagined. We were headed for a jury trial. All our lawyers and Detective Dillard told us it was a slam dunk case. With the testimony of the person who gave the police his identity, the surveillance video at Poppy, and the new forensic evidence that matched the bullet found at the scene to a gun Ramie had in his possession at his arrest; all signs pointed to guilty. The most damning piece of evidence they had, of course, was me.
Porter argued for hours with our lawyer, telling him that there was no way in hell I was getting up on the stand and testifying. He was convinced that I had been through enough and that they didn’t need my testimony. The lawyer, bless his heart, listened to Porter, but never wavered. The case was good on its own, but with me it was golden. I let Porter assert himself, let him rant and rave, and do his best to keep me safe, but eventually I told them both that I would do, gladly, anything that helped put Jason Ramie behind bars.
That evening I was so worried about Porter. I’d never seen him so uptight. He was angry with me and I didn’t know how to make him understand.
“Porter, please, talk to me.” He banged things around in his workshop in Lincoln City, moving things from one spot to another, tossing things, ripping up papers from his desk.
“I can’t talk to you right now.” Those words hurt. He never denied me anything, especially not himself. My air was stuck in my throat. Everything in my body seized up.
“Please,” I squeaked. His face turned towards me, but he was still all the way on the other side of the shop.
“I won’t sit by and watch you torture yourself, Ella. I won’t sit in that courtroom and watch you relive all the terror you’ve experienced in the last year. They don’t need you to win this thing. You’re volunteering to be torn apart, and I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and let it happen.” His chest moved up and down, labored by his heaving breaths. I’d never seen him this angry before. We’d had arguments, of course, but he’d never been upset with me.
“That’s not how I see it,” I whispered. His eyes shot over to me. “I just want to help. I can help end this. I can do it.”
“No one is questioning whether or not you’re capable, Ella! Not one person cares if you can pull it off. I know you can. I know you’ll sit on that stand and you’ll tell them everything. You’ll give them every tiny detail you can remember, shredding yourself for him, again. You’ll let him take another piece of you and no one but me seems to care what effect it will have on you, or on me. I’ll be forced to watch you fall apart, again, and just be reminded that I failed you.” His voice broke and his head fell forward, hiding his face from me.
“Porter, no,” I whispered, my voice breaking, my head shaking back and forth. “Please, don’t think that way.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve tried for a year now to bury the voice in my head that tells me everything could have been avoided if I’d found a way to protect you, but all I’m left with are the images of you laying in that hospital bed, or you sitting on that porch with blood covering you . . .” He ran his hands through his hair and huffed out angry breaths. “You’ve been through enough and if I can keep you from having to relive it, I swear to God, Ella, I will.”