Page 60 of Fighting

“Classic Santos-Manolo event activity,” he adds.

I laugh, and the tension eases. Yeah, every party there included an impromptu talent show.

“This year, the entire basketball team was there with you. I brought my copy ofEclipse, excited to compare notes with Stef and Lily?—”

He grins. “Is this when the Team Jacob obsession began?”

I give a sly smile. “After that summer, it became impossible to not see the good in an underdog.” I blow out a breath. “Anyway, here I am. I’m home. I’m with my people, and all I want is to leave that undeserved reputation behind me.”

Deep breath, I coach myself.

“It wasn’t just your joke. It was that my whole summer had been one bad joke. During our teenage years, girls are either virgins or whores. That’s it. And your joke spiraled out of control. Somehow after those jabs, a rumor began. I’ve heard all the versions. The most extreme included giving four basketball players blowjobs in a line. I was called a chicken head for my entire high school career. I was a slut. I was a bad girl even though, at that point, I had only kissed one boy.” Moisture pools in my eyes again. I hate this contradiction.

I hate that I speak about being empowered but am still restrained by judgment I received a lifetime ago.Not only a lifetime ago, the little voice digs.

“It never mattered what I did or didn’t do, or with whom. I’m loud and willing to say outlandish things, which must mean I do them too. Right?” My voice cracks. “I don’t judge what other people do. Consenting adults should be free to do what they want. But they’re also entitled to privacy, and given that I’ve only been with two—excuse me, three—men in my life, I don’t like being seen as some wild thing. It makes me angry. Virginity is a myth. Whores were powerful women, so we took away their power, and… I did what I do when something is hard for me to understand. I studied it. I dove into understanding it all from every angle.”

My anger mixes with all the other big feelings swirling, causing tears to flow hot and quiet down my face. In that moment, the restraint he’s been holding on to breaks, and he moves to me.

Between one breath and the next, I’m pressed against the rough bark of a tree, my fingers tracing knots in the wood to steady myself.

His large, soft, manicured hands reach my face with superhuman speed, his thumbs swiping away tears that refuse to recede.

His lips quirk up on one side. “That’s my Ivy Monster.”

I peer through my wet lashes, finding Mateo wearing a reverent expression, lips parted and breathing slow and steady. He’s my anchor in this storm.

“What happened next, gorgeous girl?”

“Boston,” I croak.

He wraps his arms around me, and I allow my body to go slack, supported by his warm strength.

“I went from being the inexperienced troublemaker to the good girl who was ‘wife material.’ My sorority and Satan’s fraternity kept us in each other’s orbit, and it just sort of happened from there. I don’t know. It was awful to feel like I had to make myself smaller for him. That I had to hide myself.”

I look down, scoffing at my bust because it could never be considered small.

“I fit his image of the perfect WASP wife—despite being Jewish and my German and Middle Eastern backgrounds.Oh, and I did not come from the kind of money he did. The more I had to repress myself, the more I hated being with him. But I didn’t know how to move on. I was stuck in a cycle. Even when things became toxic between us, I couldn’t walk away.”

I force myself to breathe evenly. I can’t believe I am telling him all this. Even Delia hasn’t gotten this out of me.

“Like I said, I studied these things, yet I couldn’t prevent them in my own life. Satan really believed the hype around my identity and oral sex skills too. Some of my Jewish clients have told me the same. Everyone has a different punch line. The punch isn’t what’s significant, but being punched in the back of the throat when you’re teary eyed and trying to say to slow down is.”

There. I said it all. I exhale deeply, desperate to end the conversation.

His eyes meet mine, the dark brown molten with anger. “Excuse me?”

His hands make their way from my face to my shoulders as he hunches like he could take off and run or maybe throw a punch. I don’t know. I just know he’s not mad at me. This is sheer protectiveness.

“I need to know right now,” he says, his voice shaky. “Is this something that happened to you or a patient?”

I can only nod. The answer is both.

He steps back, as if checking to see if I need space. His gaze is intense, making it hard to look at him.

As I lower my focus to our feet, he gives a loose strand of hair a twirl, then brushes it behind my ear.

The distance between us is too much. I need to be back in the comfort of his arms. I wind my arms around his middle and pull him back to me. As we melt into one another, the weight of it all pushes me against the rough bark of the tree behind me.

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