Page 11 of Her Older Protector

Jake.

My new friend, my protector. My lover.

Or at least I’d like for him to be. As soon as possible, if I have anything to say about it. I was disappointed when he had to bail last night for a work emergency, but I decided that if I’m going to be involved with a guy who has some kind of covert secret job, I shouldn’t be surprised about a few evening phone calls.

I straighten my cardigan and head into my kitchen, where a pot of coffee percolates and a bowl of warm oatmeal waits for me in the microwave. I know Jake’s back at home—he sent me a quick text late last night, after I already went to bed. I scroll through my messages to read it again.

Just got home. Going to catch a few hours, but I can’t wait to see you again. Call me for anything.

My belly flips. I can’t wait, either.

I’m just spooning the last bites of oatmeal out of my bowl when a thudding noise jars me out of my daydreams. I set down my spoon, all of my senses on high alert as I look around for the source of the noise.

I hear a crash from my living room, and from my vantage point in the kitchen, I see splinters flying everywhere as the door rips free of the multiple locks. The door sways uselessly from the hinges and swings open to reveal Patrick on my doorstep.

“Get out,” I say as firmly as I can. I look toward the panic button. It’s across the room, about halfway between me and where Patrick stands right now. If I move toward it, he might realize that I have some backup, so I have to be very subtle. I take a slow step forward.

“I just want to talk to you,” he says as he paces inside. “You won’t ever listen to me, and that’s the problem.”

“You broke my door down, Patrick,” I say. I try to keep my voice even, but it’s hard and I hear it tremble just a little bit. Patricklovesfear and weakness like that, and I kick myself for revealing anything. I take a deep breath to steady myself. “I don’t want to listen to what you have to say. I want you to go.”

“Leah, we can make this work,” he says. Almost like a plea. “I’ve been working on myself.” He glances back toward the door and shakes his head. “I just lost my temper for a minute.”

I take another step toward the panic button as he keeps talking. He’s been in therapy. He knows where he went wrong. He wants to give me another chance. He doesn’t think it’s fair that I keep avoiding him. If we could just talk about it, we could figure things out.

“Patrick, what if I don’t want to go back with you?” I ask him, then immediately brace myself for his reaction.

He stops and frowns, and I sidle a little closer to the button. “Leah, you think relationships like this happen every day? Iloveyou. I’m dedicated to making this work. I think you should at least try to meet me halfway after all the work I’ve done for you.”

Nausea churns in my stomach. This isn’t love, I think. But the wounded pieces of my spirit, the parts that Patrick worked so hard to infect with his own illness, still listen to his words, and all of the horrible things I ever believed about myself in my darkest moments come rushing back to me.

I’m not worthy of love.

I don’t belong anywhere.

Patrick can do better than me.

I brush away a tear and reach for the panic button. It’s so close, but Patrick sees my quick movement and reaches out with something—a heavy something, I’m guessing, if he used it to smash the locks on my door—and bashes it hard against the edge of the panic button. The sharp blow loosens it from the wall, and he grabs the dangling wires and detaches the whole thing in a quick jerk.

My heart nearly falls to the floor.

That was my only chance.

“We don’t need to involve other people in this,” he says. His voice is growing tight with anger. It’s the voice that always warned me to make myself scarce for him before, to do something nice for him as fast as I could to try and buy his love again. My instincts demand that I do the same thing now.

You are not alone,a small voice inside me says. It’s a new voice, some tiny thread that I haven’t explored before.Scream. Yell. He won’t get away with it.

Patrick isstillfucking talking. About himself. About what I did to him. Listing the things I can do to fix this.

He’s pathetic,the little voice says. A little stronger now.He is not the boss of you. Nobody is.

Jake believes that I am fierce and wild and brave. A goddess, he said. And if he can believe that about me, then I’ll believe it, too.

I opened my mouth.

And screamed.

“HELP!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. “JAKE! SOMEBODY!”

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