Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“I saw the call was from the cancer center.”
“That’s why you were crying? You were crying for me?” The thought nearly drives me to my knees. No one has ever cried for me. No one has ever cared about my pain. But I’ve barely known this woman twenty-four hours and she’s shown me more compassion than I’ve ever received in my life.
“You don’t have to pretend. I get it. You’re a big, bossy mountain man who doesn’t need anybody. But it’s OK to be scared or sad or whatever it is you feel. This is a big deal, and I’m your friend and I’m here for you.”
I blow out a breath. This woman is killing me in the best way. She’s too damn sweet, too damn precious. Why the universe delivered her to me, I’ll never know. But I’m not letting her go now. I’m all in, and that means telling her things. Having conversations that are going to destroy me. “I don’t have cancer.”
“Then why—?”
“Eat and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” I answer, grabbing the plates. I make her a big helping of the now cold food and settle at the table.
She’s across from me when we sit and that’s not good enough. I need to feel her next to me. I move my chair until I’m by her side, only then feeling peace and contentment. Will she still want me when she knows everything? It doesn’t matter because now she’s stuck with me. I’m hers.
She clasps her hands together in her lap like she’s preparing herself for the worst. “Tell me.”
“Take a bite first,” I answer. I need to know she’s eating, that all of her needs are being met. More than that, I need to know that I’m the one meeting those needs.
She does as I instructed then looks up at me. Her eyes are still bright, but she seems calmer.
I take a deep breath, searching for the words. I’ve never talked about this with anyone. Never wanted to bare my heart. “The scars on my back are from my stepfather. He’s dying of cancer now, and he’s looking to make peace with me.”
I’m not sure about that last part since I haven’t talked to him or my mom. All I have is a garbled voice message from a nurse at the facility. From what I could tell, he’s sick with cancer and I guess, some stupid part of me hopes that he is trying to make amends. A bigger part of me suspects the man who tormented me as a boy wants to get a few more blows in.
“What a bastard.” She stabs one of the eggs on her plate with far more force than necessary. “He wants peace? He doesn’t fuckin’ deserve it!”
I chuckle at her language, even though my stomach is tight. “He’s not a bad guy. Just tried to raise me the best way he knew how.”
She drops her fork and scowls. “You’re telling me that if you had a child, you’d let someone do that to them?”
“Fuck no.” I’d die before I’d let something happen to any baby of mine. But now the image of having children is in my head and I’m wondering what Molly would look like with her stomach rounded with my kid.
Her gaze softens. “Then don’t defend the monster.”
I push away my plate, my food untouched. I haven’t thought about this stuff in years. I’ve managed to keep it carefully caged. “He’s not the monster. I am.”
“You were a child, Trace.” So sweet. So trusting. She believes that I’m good. Will an angel like her forgive the beast I am? Will she offer me absolution? At the very least, she won’t run screaming. She’s too kind for that.
“My real father was a…” Intellectually, I know what he is, but I’ve never said it out loud. “A serial rapist.”
I brace myself for her to leave, to tell me I’m a disgusting piece of shit. But instead of turning away from me, she grasps my hand. Her delicate fingers with the chipped red nail polish squeeze my big, hairy ones. She’s touching me. I marvel at the small miracle.
“It’s OK. You can tell me. Tell me about all the broken places,” she encourages.
The shame threatens to pull me under, and I fight the urge to drop her hand and disappear into my workshop. “My mom was already married at the time. She had three daughters and her husband feared what I’d become. He thought…the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
She pushes away from the table, and I wait for her to walk out without a word. But she folds herself into my lap, putting her head on my chest. She’s sitting side saddle and staring up at me with such trust. “You’re not like that.”
I have to swallow a lump in my throat. She barely knows me, yet she trusts me completely, offering me grace. “His theory was that he could beat the devil out of me. He thought if he did, I could grow up to be good.”