Page 72 of The Wrecked One

Barefoot in sweats that were a bit too big for me, no shirt on yet, I walked over to the bed and sat next to her, worried there was something new weighing heavily on her mind.

Was it what happened between us in the tub? Too soon?

She’d yet to talk in the fifteen minutes since we’d left the bathroom, and that was probably my fault. I’d gone silent myself. Frustrated and desperate to hide the truth—that I was terrified that as much as I wanted a second chance, I couldn’t have one.

I knew what she’d do if I told her that. She’d argue and protest. And if we fought, we might actually wind up having makeup sex, which wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Are you reeling from what happened in that tub as much as I am?” she asked, surprising me by breaching the quiet first. She fidgeted with the hem of her sweatshirt instead of meeting my eyes.

“Are you?” I asked instead of answering her, unsure whether to hold her hand or not. I was confused on how to act after what happened in that tub. I was supposed to be pushing her away, not having her explode into an orgasm on top of me.

“I feel in control again.” She twisted on the bed, her knees knocking against mine. Her gaze swept over my bare chest before returning to my face. “This is hard for me to say, and it’ll probably be hard for you to listen to, but I think I need to do it.”

I gulped and probably noticeably. Not the best words for her to start with, but if she needed to share something, I wasn’t going to bolt. I promised her in the gym I’d help her however she needed, I just asked her not to do the same for me. Today proved she was doing it anyway, by reminding me of who we were together before everything happened.

She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs, her eyes tracking the movement of her fingers. “I felt so out of control in that room in Thailand.” Her voice was somber, guarded, but she pushed through the anguish I knew she was feeling. “He gave me a choice, but in my mind, there never was one. I had to give him what he wanted or you’d . . .”

My stomach tucked in, preparing for a gutshot as I became physically ill. I closed my eyes, wishing darkness would blanket my mind, erase the images from that day, but they were etched there in perfect detail. The sounds, the smells, the feelings. Everything right down to the wood grain of the floorboards. Imprinted there for all of eternity.

“That wasn’t the first time a man has hurt me.”

I finally knew what it meant when someone said they experienced that soul-leaving-your-body feeling. It happened to me the second her words made it to my ears. I dropped my head, everything inside me hurting. For her. For my mom. For every woman who’d dealt with evil before.

“You don’t need to know details,” she went on, her voice trembling, “but I had some bad encounters with men when I was nineteen and in my early twenties.”

Her pause gave me a second to remember I needed to breathe or I’d pass out. Without opening my eyes, I reached out, offering her my hand, and she took it, locking our fingers together.

“One tried to rape me, but I got away. I escaped. He just . . . he was close to succeeding. I thought I’d moved on from that, but Thailand brought me back to it, and I think I just broke down a bit.”

I sat there like a statue, working through my emotions, unsure which to tackle first. Cry for what she’d been through, or kill for her. Because so help me, when I found these men from her past . . .

“But today, in that tub with you, I was able to make my own choices again. You helped give me back the power that man, and my memories from before, took from me,” she choked out, and I felt the sob coming.

I pushed away my own issues to help her get through this in the only way I could think to.

Opening my eyes, I gathered her in my arms, smoothing my hand over her back as she let go, as I gave her the safe space to do that. I couldn’t believe this had been weighing on her mind in that tub, yet she’d prioritized my pain over her thoughts. I hated she’d ever had one single bad memory, let alone a closet full of them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said into my ear when her crying slowed down to a trickle from the storm. “But Mason and his brother already handled everyone who ever hurt me when I was younger.”

I wanted to hate Mason for knowing her most of his life. For experiencing the way her mouth felt against his. For being someone who drew out that dimple in her cheek on those rare occasions during her laughter. For also being the one who had her six when she was reckless and her curious self got her into trouble in the past.

But instead of hating him, what I really needed to do was thank him for being there for her. Protecting her. Taking out the scum who’d hurt her.

I knew I could trust him with her life. It’s why I’d texted him the day I’d taken off, imploring him to watch over her when I couldn’t.

“I don’t think this is why I had commitment issues, though.”

Had. Past tense. Now I’m the one having all kinds of issues.

“When I was dreaming today, after we jumped, well, I—I have a feeling that was actually a memory I may have blocked.” Her voice quivered over those last words, and I pulled back to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry to lay this on you after what you told me today, but I?—”

“Don’t apologize, please,” I rasped, blinking back tears, trying to make sense of everything. The sheer evil of the world constantly trying to swallow us whole. “I took off and left you when you needed me. But I’m here right now, so let me be here for you.” I had no idea for how long, but I was there.

I trailed my knuckles along her cheekbone, swiping a few tears away, wishing I could take her pain with the movement, too.

“Maybe it’s the fall, and the knock to the back of my head . . . or maybe it’s not, and maybe what I was dreaming about isn’t real. I was running from someone and then fell. I remember sobbing and being terrified.”

The idea that something else happened to her, and it was so bad she’d blocked it from her mind, had me drawing her right back into my arms, needing to keep her safe. To protect her forever.

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