Page 120 of Unstoppable Love

Now this… this I could handle.

With a deep breath, Coach slid the microphone back in front of me, and I leaned in. Gave the guy the answer he wanted, not the truth of it. That I still wasn’t certain I could play to that level and wasn’t risking it, and the press conference continued.

I’d almost been able to forget about the first asshole who had stood and asked about Jimmy by the time I was done and wrapping my arms around Ava, but then she whispered, “You should have told him the truth. Said everything you needed to.”

“Can’t.” I wish I could have. But every word we spoke about Morton was dissected and could be used against us, and I wasn’t doing a damn thing to risk that asshole getting out of jail. “Love you, Sunshine.”

She squeezed me back. “Love you too, Cameron. Let’s go home.”

Home. Because since the day I hauled my hobbled and broken ass off that airplane to get to her, we hadn’t spent a single day alone. We were at her house in New Haven, mine in Denver, and hopefully, by the end of the upcoming summer, we’d be settled in our new home, not on Kelley property, but with enough acres for Ava to have every single thing she’s always wanted. I’d never asked her to move in with me or let me live with her, it happened as naturally as loving her did.

Ava

* * *

I jolted awake with my hand at my throat and my chest pounding a wild beat inside my rib cage. Next to me, Cameron was snoring softly. It was common that he’d wake up when I did, like he could somehow sense my nightmares before I did, but it didn’t always happen.

Thankfully, tonight he didn’t wake up. Fortunately, the nightmares came less often, and I was thankful Cameron didn’t wake up with me right then.

He’d had a long enough of a day, and while I knew Cameron lived and breathed to take care of me, sometimes I needed to process this alone. I needed the time and the space to work through the dreams, search for the trigger, and then sit with not only the memory of what Jimmy did and more, what he’d tried to do, but also the realization that it hadn’t happened.

He hadn’t hurt me, not in a permanent way, and he hadn’t ruined me like he’d threatened.

I slipped out of bed and tiptoed out of the room before Cameron woke. On nights like this, I headed downstairs, the vast view of the lights of the city helped me remember I wasn’t alone. In the kitchen, there’d be hot chocolate set out somewhere for me to easily prepare. Cameron had taken to leaving out a packaged mix or a Keurig cup for me when it started to be something I wanted after my first few nightmares. Those nights when I woke up drenched in sweat, screaming so loud, my voice would be hoarse the next morning.

Those nights were fading, and tonight’s wasn’t nearly as bad, but as I popped the hot chocolate K-cup into the machine and waited, it also didn’t take a genius to know what triggered tonight’s dream.

That reporter. The insinuation that Cameron was giving everything up for me. The further insinuation of the alleged assault, as he’d called it.

There was nothing alleged about what Jimmy attempted to do to me. I respected our justice system, always had anyway. Innocent until proven guilty, in theory, was something I believed in. However, the fault came in that if defendants were innocent until proven guilty, there was also the implication, perceived or spoken, that victims were liars until proved honest.

And that part sucked. I hadn’t expected it. Sure, I’d anticipated much of the fight I’d already fought, from pressing charges to having to answer questions like what I’d done earlier that night, how much I drank, and what I’d been wearing for Christ’s sake, as if Jimmy breaking into my home and wanting to hurt me was entirely dependent on what outfit I had on the moment he saw me. Like he hadn’t already decided to do it before he ever saw me. How much I drank or what I wore meant absolutely nothing.

Alleged.

So easy to be dismissive about being attacked in your own home. That man had no idea the terror I’d felt that night. The reality of what could have happened if it hadn’t been for Isaiah.

After I pressed charges and after Jimmy was arrested, more than a dozen other women came forward. He was now facing multiple trials, one of the main reasons he was still being held in jail until his trials began. Two women he worked with at the bank came forward, one pressed charges for assault, another for intimidation. Two women from nearby counties came forward admitting how he’d touched them in bars and how he’d followed one of them home. The list of women he’d scared and touched without permission after being told no, grew every day for weeks after his initial arrest.

There was a relief in not being alone, but my heart hurt every time another woman came forward. This was not a club any of us wanted to belong to.

I poured my hot chocolate and headed toward the living room, taking a spot in the corner of the couch I’d woken up on back in July, with Cameron towering over me. God, to think that day was seven months ago. Back then, the summer heat blasted down on me when I left his house. Now, there was a thick blanket of February snow covering his backyard patio. There were some days I was more comfortable in Cameron’s home than I was in my own, but every day I wasn’t in New Haven, I missed it.

Movement came from the corner of my eye, and I turned, already knowing I’d find Cameron standing back, giving me space.

“You should have woken me,” he said. “I thought tonight would be hard for you.”

He knew. Somehow, he always knew, with a sixth sense of when I needed space, when to move slow. When to reach out.

I patted the seat next to me on the couch.

Sometimes, I flinched from his touch, but those moments were few and farther between than they’d been at first. I trusted him completely, loved him more than it made sense to myself sometimes. But whether I was leaning in or needing space, Cameron was always there, waiting for me to be ready for him.

He took the seat next to me and draped his arm over the back of the couch. I fell to his shoulder, turning so my bent legs rested on his thighs.

“Was it a bad one?” His hand slipped through my hair as he asked.

“No. Not bad.” In the beginning, I’d wake up screaming and sweating, clawing at my chest and the air in front of me, fighting harder than I’d tried. Now, there was a darkness that left me struggling to breathe, but there was no visual of Jimmy. I no longer woke with the scent of whiskey swirling in the air in front of me, and I no longer raced to the bathroom to throw up.

---