Page 27 of Fool Me Once

“Why is she with you?” she hisses, clearly upset.

She’s speaking loud enough, and Gemma is close enough to the phone that I know she can hear her. I widen my eyes slightly, lifting my shoulders in question. She gives me the tiniest nod, telling me it’s okay.

“Tell her,” she whispers, more tears flowing. “Tell her everything you know.”

Though it doesn’t feel like my place, I’d tell her mom to go to hell if her daughter told me to do it. Shit, probably way worse too.

“Because she’s staying with me,” I say sharply. “Because she needed to get away from that abusive prick, Richie. That’s why.”

Now, tears flow down in a river from her eyes, and her face twists into pure sadness. But when I pause, she nods once more. Although she’s never said the words out loud to me, she’s somehow sharing with me in her own way.

“I don’t—” she starts to say, but I cut her off.

“Please, Mrs. Jones, if you care about the well-being of your daughter, which I know you do, you will not tell him where she is.” My voice breaks, and I sound desperate. That’s all right though because I am fucking desperate. “I’ll drive her to you tomorrow, but just promise me you’ll keep her whereabouts between us.”

There’s a pause before I hear a sharp, shaky inhale and some sniffling.

“He was hurting her?” she croaks. “He was hurting my baby, and I didn’t even know it?”

I continue stroking her hair, never breaking my eyes from hers.

“He was,” I rasp. “She’s safe now, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ending the call, I set the phone down. “I’m so sorry, Firefly,” I mutter, swallowing the emotion in my throat. “I will never ever raise my voice at you again. I just got scared. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her body shakes as she begins to cry harder, sucking in a breath so sharply that her throat squeaks.

“It’s okay,” she barely whispers. “I’m just … I’m …” Her teeth clatter together. “I’m broken.”

“You’re the furthest thing from broken, Gem. You’re a survivor.” I cup her cheek. “You’re a warrior.”

I know she doesn’t believe me, so I say it again. And again. And again. I say it so many times that I’m sure she’s sick of hearing it. But I mean it, and more than anything … I need her to believe it too.

My knees bounce nervously as I sit in the passenger seat of Smith’s truck on our way to Wellton. Storm is snoring in the back seat. I asked Smith as we were getting ready to leave if he could ride with us. I know he’s used to being alone while Smith is at the arena, but leaving him at home felt wrong. And selfishly, I think I needed a form of support, and since I don’t trust his owner, Storm was it.

I’m nervous to see my parents. My own father just went through fighting cancer, and I have been the world’s worst daughter and wasn’t even around for his treatments. My brother, William, and Mom have picked up all the slack and handled things themselves. Once I get my head on straight, I’m going to move home to help him.

“When’s the last time you were home?” Smith asks. The entire time we’ve been driving, it’s the first thing he’s said that isn’t completely surface level. “Don’t answer that if you don’t want to. Sorry.”

“Oh, well … I’m pretty sure it was last December.” I think about it for a second before nodding. “Yes, we came a few weeks before Christmas and spent two nights.”

“That was a year ago,” he whispers, almost as if he doesn’t believe it.

This version of him is so different from what I’m used to. It’s almost as if he overthinks every word he says to me. Until yesterday, he was tiptoeing around me heavily. But then, when he got mad …

I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut and inhaling. I know he’s not Richie and he’s not an abuser, but for so long, my brain has been trained to shut down to survive. It’s become a defense mechanism, and I hate that he saw me that way.

I’d thought he already knew my situation, and when I told him to talk to my mother, he only confirmed that, but I didn’t want him to see me in such a weak state.And now, he has.

“Yeah, well … things got busy, and it’s such a long flight that it just didn’t seem to ever be the right time.” I hate myself for lying. I don’t know why I can’t tell the truth or why I mask everything with my bullshit. I should be able to open my mouth and say,I was with a fucked-up man who convinced me not to come around my friends and family. It shouldn’t be that hard, yet it is.

“It’s okay if none of that is true,” he says with one hand resting on the wheel.

I stare straight ahead, deep in thought, yet not really even thinking about anything important. I just keep wondering if I can trust this man at all. Why would I? Didn’t I learn the first time around that he was no good? But for some stupid reason, I want to open up to him.

“I don’t have a driver’s license anymore,” I blurt out, though it comes out in a whisper. I rub my hands against my thighs nervously. “That’s why I was going to Uber to my parents’ yesterday.”

From my peripheral vision, I can see his head turn toward me for a few seconds before returning to the road. Even before he talks, I can tell he’s on edge and he has a million questions. Still, being this new Smith that he is, he remains calm.

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