Page 41 of Jolene's Justice

“Me, too.” A quick glance from him was enough to communicate a thousand emotions she couldn’t decipher. Then he lifted her hand to his mouth. He brushed his warm lips against the back of her hand and whispered, “Me, too.”

The unfinished conversation from the festival weighed heavily on her. When they got home, it was time to finish that heart-to-heart that had been interrupted.

The silence of the house greeted them when they walked through the front door. Only the gentle creaking of the floorboards and the steady hum of the refrigerator broke the stillness. Dim moonlight filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Despite its age, they’d found the house was in remarkably good condition once cleaning and repairs had begun. Thanks to the work she and Finch were completing, the house would soon be safer for her father’s return home. Now that the biggest problems with the house had been managed, she could focus on the little things—like cleaning. If she managed to finish that, she might be able to squeeze in some time to paint a few rooms. The house could use a facelift, even if it was just a fresh coat of paint.

None of that mattered in the moment. Her concern was for the man who followed her as she made her way into the kitchen. She could feel the weight of his presence behind her as she moved through the house. His boots made an obnoxiously loud noise as he walked through the otherwise silent space.

Her lips twitched in amusement. No surprise, his footsteps were like thunder. The man’s substantial size made him difficult to ignore . . . at least for her. It was what had first attracted her to him. Harrison had been nearly the same size as her. He couldn’t stand it when she wore heels, since it made his perceived height inadequacies noticeable.

She’d loved the way Finch’s height had made her feel. Loved that she had to look up to meet his eyes. And when she’d been in his arms . . . A feeling of safety and protection encompassed her. Despite never needing a man in that way, she couldn’t help but relish that feeling she’d had with Finch. She was always independent and self-sufficient, yet with Finch, she’d discovered a new desire. She felt ready to take hold of what she wanted. A sense of purpose and clarity flowed through her. She knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.

And it all started with being open to what Finch had to say. He wasn’t Harrison. There wasn’t a deceitful bone in Finch’s body. From what she’d gathered of his story so far, he had a valid motive for the lies he had told. The shame he carried was clear as day. She knew how difficult it was to deal with feelings of shame, so she promised to do everything in her power to help him quash that mindset.

Her thoughts were on her own battle with shame as she stepped into the kitchen. With the dim light from the stove hood as her guide, she made her way to the refrigerator. She opened the door and grabbed two beer bottles by the neck. The cold glass sent a shiver down her spine as she remembered how she’d drowned her sorrows after Harrison’s betrayal.

It took her a long time to come to grips with her shame. Eventually, she realized that the shame she was carrying wasn’t hers to bear. It was Harrison’s. He was the one who’d lied. He was the one who’d led her on for years. He was the one who’d cheated on his wife. She bore no responsibility for his misdeeds.

She and Finch were similar in that way. Neither one was at fault for what had happened to them. The shame they carried was not their own, but something that had been placed upon them.

“Let’s take these out to the deck and talk,” she suggested. She headed for the back sliding door with a detour to the family room to grab a blanket. With effort, she slid it open, addingWD-40 the doorto her mental to-do list.

They settled on the loveseat. Finch took the bottles from her so that she could spread the blanket out over their laps. As the nighttime temperatures began to drop, the air felt damp against her skin, the humidity level reminding her that storms were forecasted.

Finch twisted the cap off the bottle. The snick of the pressure escaping filled the air, and he handed it to her. She took a deep sip from hers, pausing to savor the rich, bold flavor before glancing over to see him do the same.

The crinkling of plastic caught her ear. Finch pulled a bag of gummy worms from his pocket and held it out to her. Laughing, she took a worm and bit it in half.

Settling back into the love seat with his own gummy worm, he flung his arm across the back and exhaled deeply. “This is a nice spot.”

Jolene leaned against him, and she could feel his warmth seeping into her skin, just like it had on the Ferris wheel. Just like it had in bed the previous night. After absorbing the feel of him against her, she glanced out over the land behind her house. The flat area of the backyard gave way to foothills. The picturesque town of Summervale was nestled in the lush Chattahoochee National Forest. The view from their spot was breathtaking; the dense canopy of trees seemed to go on forever, and the Blue Ridge Mountains provided a stunning backdrop. Taking a deep breath, she filled her lungs with the invigorating air scented with pine needles.

She’d always loved sitting here. After the debacle with Harrison, she’d come here with her tail between her legs. She’d spent long hours breathing in the crisp, rejuvenating north Georgian air.

Lake Haven had a similar effect on her. The breeze coming off Lake Michigan was always refreshing, and she loved that she could enjoy it any time from her bar.

But there would always be something special about home. “This was always my favorite spot,” she told him.

“I can see why.”

He gazed at her, transfixed, as if he could see their entire future together in that moment.

She’d decided she wanted to know everything with no expectations. No promises would be made. No vows or declarations. Just the unvarnished truth. “Will you tell me more?”

Chapter 17

“Love,laughter,andrespect.”Finch paused to think. “These are the pillars of my parents’ relationship. I soaked up every aspect of it during my childhood. They were high school sweethearts, just like Angelica and me. I think that when you are raised in that type of atmosphere, you assume you’ll have the same type of relationship with a significant other. How could you not? You’ve seen what true love looks like.”

He lifted his beer to his lips and took a much-needed sip, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. Dread filled him, making his body rigid and his breath shallow. He was terrified that Jolene would be unable to accept his truth and would turn away from him.

“When things start to go wrong, you live in denial at first. You make excuses.She’s just having a bad day.Orshe’s high strung and passionate.Then comes the guilt.Maybe it was my fault. Maybe if I had donexyzshe wouldn’t have gotten mad.There is a loneliness that comes with thoughts like that. You can’t talk to anybody about it because you start to believe the bullshit she tells you. After all, she loves you and only has your best interest at heart, right? So she lets you know of all the ways you’ve failed her under the guise of ‘talking things out’ and helping you ‘see the errors of your ways.’ She tells you that if you hadn’t left the light on, she wouldn’t have gotten so angry. Anything that sets her off is something you will always be at fault for, even if it’s something as natural as turning over in your sleep.

“As a man, you’re raised knowing it’s wrong to hit a woman. There is no way to fight back when the violence starts. So when she’s punching you, kicking you, biting or cutting you, you can’t retaliate. You tell yourselfyou’re a man. You can take it.You are much bigger than her, so if you fight back, she could get hurt.

“Then there’s the worry about her accusing you,” he continued, picking at the edge of the label on the bottle. “She kicks you or threatens you with a knife and you grip her wrist to keep the knife from cutting you. She’ll cry abuse. And you know who they’re going to believe. No one will ever believe a woman half your size is the instigator.”

He stopped and looked down at their clasped hands. The scar on his wrist caught his attention. A memento from a particularly nasty attack. Angelica was accusing him of some made-up bullshit about a woman he worked with. She was convinced he was having an affair. She came at him with a knife. As an airman, he had the military training to disarm her easily, but he feared he’d hurt her in the process. So he’d tried to dodge her attacks as best he could while attempting to calm her down. A few swipes with the knife made contact, the pain overshadowed by the shock of the attack. The worst of his wounds were on his wrist. Once she had exhausted herself, he’d left and stayed in a hotel room for the night with a detour to the pharmacy for supplies. Alone, in his room, he’d stitched up the wound on his own. He’d been too embarrassed to go to the hospital, afraid he’d hear the same derision as before. “What kind of man lets his wife hit him?”

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