Page 16 of Tangled in Vows

It feels forbidden and dangerous.

My brain finally kicks in, and I step to the side.

Holden is a lady killer, huh?

More so a killer to my brain cells.

His hand shoots out to grab my wrist before I can get away.

“Just wait for a damn minute, will you?”

Despite people prodding and poking me all the time to get me ready for public appearances, I don’t like people’s hands on me much. I know it’s part of my job to get close to people sometimes, so I’ve mostly gotten used to it in that setting. But outside of that, people usually know my boundaries and respect them.

All those years ago, I got used to Holden’s casual touch. I’m not sure what I expected after not experiencing it for so long, but it certainly wasn’t the pleasant tingles spreading through my body. Similar to the first time he touched me in that fast-food place. It was an innocent touch but not unpleasant. There was just something about him that called to me. Maybe it was the pain still lingering in his eyes after he told me about his sister.

Holden’s gaze is elsewhere, lost in memory as I stare at him—the boy I just met—across the booth.

Then he blinks, focusing back on me, and says, “I’ll be your fake husband.”

A beat passes between us, and I snort. “You’re joking.”

His jaw flexes, and he shakes his head. “You need help, and I want to help.” He leans forward as much as the table allows and gently touches the tip of one of his fingers to mine. “Please.”

“Hurricane, did you hear me?”

I blink, snapping back to reality. A reality where Holden is not my husband anymore, not that he ever really was beyond on paper. After all, we sealed our marriage with a hug instead of a kiss. That’s how fake it was.

He was a stranger who helped you. He ensured you had a place to stay, food on the table, and everything you needed. And last night, he saved your ass again. Don’t be ungrateful.

He was my hero, and I trusted him. He made me feel safe. He made me believe I wasn’t a total waste of space and good enoughto be considered a friend. And then he pulled the rug out from under me.

Maybe he just didn’t like you as much as you thought. Perhaps you did something that was the final push.

“Why can’t you be small, sweet, and quiet like my girls? I curse the day I agreed to take you in. I should have sent you into the foster care system instead. I thought with enough patience and work, you’d adjust and change, but you’ve been nothing but a big disappointment. Just like your mother. Too big. Too loud. Too angry. Always getting in trouble. The day she corrupted my brother and talked him into leaving our community, I knew she had some of the devil in her. As do you. But now I can’t give you away anymore, can I? Now, people would point their fingers at me and call me vile things.”

I shove my aunt’s poisonous words out of my head and inhale deeply. On my exhale, I force the destructive thoughts and feelings away before they eat me alive. Of not being wanted. Of not being good enough. Of not being lovable. Of being a burden.

Because I am wanted, good enough, and lovable.

Millions of fans around the world are proof of that. I make a difference out there in my own way. I’m content as long as my music can offer an escape, make people feel seen and heard, or ease some of their troubles. Happy even.

I am not a burden.

Just because I don’t fit in a box someone else made doesn’t mean I should change. Maybe the people who think so should be more concerned with their own lives and values rather than going after others. Especially when that person did nothing wrong.

Aunt Betty definitely thought you did plenty wrong. In fact, I’m pretty sure you never did a single thing right.

I had just lost my parents. The two people I loved the most. I was ripped away from my home and friends and dumpedinto a family, a community, I foolishly hoped would become my new safe place. Instead, it became my hell on earth. I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t deserve to go without a hug for years or to constantly be regarded with disgust and contempt.

Yes, I was an outsider, and the daughter of the woman who’d talked “one of their own” into leaving. But I was also only a child, an innocent, someone who desperately needed to be loved and feel safe.

But at least it taught me to be independent. It taught me there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. Since I was both, I started writing down my thoughts in notebooks. Over time, they turned into lyrics, and I began humming the melodies I could hear so clearly in my head.

Thankfully, music was encouraged in the community, contrary to other “New Age” entertainment like TVs that only tainted everyone’s minds. For that reason, music quickly became my escape. My safe place and reprieve.

But most of all, it gave me hope. Hope for a better future, for a better chance at life where I’d have all the things my aunt and her community deprived me of. I’ll be okay as long as I don’t get too close to others.

I have my fans, lots of acquaintances, and Stormy. She’s my family. She loves me.

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