Page 45 of Yes No Maybe

“Like what?”

“Uh, get his number, give him mine, find out where he went to school… basic, I want-to-know-you things.” I take another long sip, wondering about Caleb. “Sorry, you want to know about the prick.”

“No apologies. I love a good diversion.”

“Mira and her wife, Jane, introduced me to Trent. He worked with Jane in real estate. He was an exceptional charmer. He’d seen me before, visiting Jane with Mira, and he liked me, anyway.” A light smile perks my lips, remembering how that felt.

“Trent loved romance—he was all roses, wine, dinners out, and surprises. He lavished me with gifts and attention—he said he was making up for lost time and the previous idiots who missed their chance.”

“Yikes, he was a charmer.”

“I was a sucker for it. I’d never had that before. I’d also never known to look for red flags.”

“Like what?”

“Small controlling things at first, like him always choosing the restaurant or making suggestions.You should wear more green—you look stunning in green.Orflats are okay, but heels are sexy. Why don’t you wear your hair up more? If a skirt goes below the knee, it might as well be pants.”

“An order veiled as a compliment.”

“Exactly. But I didn’t see it. I thought I’d hit the jackpot—a good guy who didn’t mind being seen with me.”

“Wait, you call that a jackpot? Sounds like base requirements to me.”

A wine-bolstered chuckle blubbers from me. “You sound like Mira—yes, I have self-esteem issues. Do you blame me?”

His eyes roll while he nods. “Fine. So, when did you realize Trent wasn’t Prince Charming?”

“He’d get bothered by strangerssupposedlystaring at my scars. At first, I thought he was being protective, but it got weird.”

“How?”

“I know when someone’s staring—I can’t help it. It’s a side effect of this.” I motion to my face. “But he started noticing the stares and whispers before me, and sometimes, when I didn’t believe they were staring at all. He pointed it out everywhere we went, angry at the injustice of it. I feared he’d do something—confront these people or pick a fight.”

“Did he?”

“No. No matter how close he seemed to the edge, I always managed to pull him back. Usually, that meant leaving the restaurant or wherever and me spending the rest of the night calming him down, making him feel better.”

“Oh, shit.” He leans forward, hand to his mouth like he’s trying to keep himself from talking.

My head droops as I stare into my wine, ashamed. “You know where this is going.”

“He manipulated you into being the damsel in distress so he could play the hero… and reap the rewards of your gratefulness.”

“Sick, right? I fell for it, over and over. I stopped going out. Covered up more. Eventually, the anger he directed toward others reversed to me. He’d say or do something horrible, and the next day, I’d get roses or candy or, if it was really bad, jewelry. The worse the offense, the greater the gift.”

After another gulp, I say, “Mira dragged me out of the relationship and to a therapist. But endings aren’t easy. He couldn’t accept that the damaged girl had rejected him. He stalked me, hacked my social media, got creepy…”

I set my glass aside to run my hands over my face as if to wipe the memories away. “A restraining order ended it—most women don’t get so lucky. Without Mira’s law enforcement connections and Jane making things hard on him at work, things would’ve been worse for me. He backed off and later moved. And that’s the story of the prick.”

Anxiety waves over me with the story out there, lingering between us, and my creepy Trent vibes resurface with it. Trent slamming my head against the wall and digging his fingers into my scarred cheek as if trying to peel off the marks makes me shiver. My face itches with the memory, and my fingers fidget with the urge to scratch it. My eyes close as if I can block out the images.

“What are you rememberingright now?” His voice is soft, but it jolts me.

“His anger. He was violent once. That’s when I got out.” The words come out with surprising ease, like I’m under hypnosis. I fear he’ll ask more questions and want details I don’t want to give.

Instead, a strange sensation on my fingertips peels my eyes open. Jack softly eases my jittery hands into his from across our laps. His thumbs roll over my outer palms, grazing my scars like they aren’t there, before moving to my fingers. He touches me like he knows me, and maybe now he does a little, but it makes me breathless and confused and mesmerized all at once.

“I’m sorry.” He takes me in with an intense stare. “There are certain things in this world that shouldneverhappen. I hate that some of those things have happened to you.”

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