Page 22 of First Christmas

He’d let me use him as a punching bag and sounding board.

He’d dealt with me hanging on to the edge of a cliff for months.

He stayed.

He wrapped my daughter and I in so much love and understanding. I had been fighting this for months even though I knew I could talk to him. I knew he wouldn’t go anywhere. No matter what I admitted or what I said, he would never leave me. Leave us.

I felt him sit on the floor beside me, leaned back against the bar. I felt his hand come around my arm and pull me gently untilI was sitting across his lap. He pulled me against him, wrapping his arms around me, and holding me tight.

Lucas didn’t share any words of wisdom.

He didn’t start trying to pick up my shattered pieces laying open and bare.

Instead Lucas acted like the harbor in the midst of my storm, murmuring nonsense to me just so I’d know he was there when it was over.

My body relaxed against his bit by bit. My right ear was pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Removing my glasses, I wiped my tears away on the sleeve of my sweatshirt, still sniffling. I was positive I looked disgusting. I could feel my ponytail hanging loose, pieces of hair stuck to my face with my tears. The front of my sweatshirt was soaked through from how hard I’d been sobbing.

“That was a long time coming,” his voice rattled through his chest and I sniffed again even as I let out a pathetic laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Never apologize,” he answered, running a large hand down my back. “You’ve been holding a lot of that in, for a lot longer than I even thought,” he murmured, “But I do want to reply to a few things before we move on.”

I sat still, snuggled against him, feeling like I’d been through a natural disaster. The adrenaline was leaving my system, leaving me weak and trembling.

“You, Rebecca Wareman, are anything but stupid.” He spoke softly, but firmly. “You were a young woman who had found herself alone in the world at too young of an age. Clark was a predator that was just waiting for that kind of person to cross his path.”

I shivered and he tightened his arms around me.

“Clark got to you when you were lost in your grief. You were alone, scared, and hadn’t ever gotten close to anyone. He was the first who’d shown you any affection or love in forever and he used it to his advantage. I hate that you didn’t have someone who was enough of a friend to speak up and help. I hate that you were already such a closed off individual, because I think that made it even easier for him” he continued, “Whether you did or didn’t leave? Whether you went back or not? Doesn’t make you stupid. It was all you knew. It was all you’d had. He was the only constant in your life. No one is stupid for being scared that whatever is outside their nightmare may actually be worse. That positive pregnancy test? It woke you up. You were already a mother before you took it. You got over your fear of being alone and ran because you knew you needed to save your baby. That's the kind of badass woman you are.”

I snorted softly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t sell yourself short. It took balls to run from that apartment that night. To pack a small bag and disappear. To face him in court and lie to save both your lives. That was badass. You are badass. That means you’re also not stupid for getting in that car with Larry that day. You were saving your daughter’s life all over again. You also didn’t make Paul’s decision for him. He chose to do what he did. He signed up for this life. He knew I’d have done the same if it had been Monica in that house. You’re doing him a helluva disservice by not living your life to the fullest and counting his friends and family short. We don’t have anything to forgive you for. You’re not the monster that took him away from us. You didn’t bring them here. That was their choice. Do I hate that you were alone and running so long? Yes. But I can’t say that I’m not grateful for it because, baby. I think it was bringing you right to me.”

I was crying again, listening to him, different tears. Healing tears.

“From the moment you backed up into me in that school office, and I felt you? When I looked over at Monica and saw the way she was smiling at you and looked at me? I knew that was it. You were mine. It was done and there wouldn’t be any more looking for me. You’re not stupid, Rebecca Wareman. You are brave and strong and amazing. I would go through hell for you. I’ll be your punching bag and sounding board no matter how many times you need me to be. This relationship isn’t always going to be pretty, but it's ours and I’m never letting go. I love you.”

I sniffled again, “I love you too.” I looked up at him and he grinned down at me.

“Do you at least feel better?” he asked softly, running his thumb over my cheek gently, cupping it and searching my eyes with his gray ones.

I nodded, leaning up and kissing the tip of his nose, like we often did to each other.

He kissed the tip of my nose in return and picked up my glasses from my lap, setting them up on the kitchen bar from the floor where we sat.

Glancing around the kitchen with slightly blurry eyes I groaned at the wrapping paper, tape and scissors that had sprawled across the floor. At least the presents had stayed on top.

He chuckled, squeezing me tight again.

“You’re quite the firecracker when you get worked up,” he said, jokingly.

“Shut up.” I grumbled, half-heartedly, still feeling worn out from my emotional release.

“You do know how much I love and adore you right?” he asked.

Looking up at him, I nodded again.

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