Page 42 of Things Left Unsaid

My hands ball into fists.

It goes against my grain to employ an abuser, but rationally, I’m aware she’s right—I only hired him for her sake.

“You know I can get you out?—”

“Where would I go, Colton? I’m not like your other charity cases. They come here and you hide them. Where would you send me?”

“You’re not a charity case. Neither are they. You’re in a bad situation and you’re snapping at me for wanting to get you out of it.

“Anyway, this isn’t about charity. We’ve known each other for a long time. Old friends should offer help,freely, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t need help. Just leave me alone.”

But that’s the last thing she ought to have said to me.

Shelookstired. Sounds tired. Her words leach it. Everything about her speaks of an exhaustion that goes bone deep. And I get that. Too well.

The need to do something rattles through me like an earthquake.

But as is so often the case in this type of situation, my hands are tied.

Nobody could ever have warned me about how frustrating it is to feel so futile. Not after enduring a childhood shadowed by abuse. The whole point of Dove Bay Sanctuary was to take action, but sometimes, action just isn’t possible.

Patience—I never knew it was one of my virtues.

“If anyone tells him you were here, he’ll lose his shit, Colton,” she rasps when I make no comment. “I need you to go.”

I grit my teeth. “You know where I am if you decide to let me in.”

She turns her head aside, effectively dismissing me.

With a sigh that’s as tired as her, I shift away from the door and slip out.

This whole situation is a mess, but I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it. Not without her active participation. Anything I could do to help would only add pressure on a marriage that’s already toxic.

Stomping over to the truck, my temper on thin ice, I don’t immediately call Cole after I set off.

I love the idiot, but he can get on my last nerve like no one else. His infinite brand of cheerfulness isn’t something I want to face yet.

I was headed home, but instead, I stop off at our headquarters in Pigeon County because I feel like making the pain in my ass worse.

Three annoying hours later, and twenty minutes into the ride home, my mind shifts from the corporate bullshit that comes whenever I visit HQ. Instead, I focus on what I can legally do to Marvin without direct involvement, but because my hands are tied, I decide to phone Cole.

Hopefully, he’ll take away the urge I have to find my ranch hand and beat the everliving shit out of him.

“What did you do?” is my greeting.

“Colt, why do you always assume I call you with problems?”

“Because otherwise, you text.”

“Ah. It’s a generational flaw. That’s what we do. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m barely seven years older than you, Cole. So fuck you.”

“Mia does that very nicely.”

“Cole!” I hear my future sister-in-law yelp.

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