Page 41 of Salvation

One.

Two.

Three.

When my eyes flutter, I pull up the local taxi app on my phone and order him a ride to the airport. Then I turn onto my heels and into the bedroom. The very room where I let him whisper sweet nothings into my ear. Where I let him apologize. Where I let him kneel before me and promise me something he couldnevergive me. I grab his suitcase, swing it over my shoulder, and make a show of stomping to rip open the frontdoor. I waste no time in throwing my entire body weight into flinging the over-packed luggage over my shoulder and off my porch. I revel in the way it smacks against the dirt road, coating the white suitcase in dust.

I hear the distinct sound of tires rolling up the road the same instant I turn around to find Marshall gaping at me. Perfect. Fucking. Timing.

“What are you doing?” He has the audacity to look confused.

“Get out.” I snap.

“Blake, darling. You can’t be serious.” The endearment grates against my ears, sending my temper into the clouds.

“Get the fuck off my porch, Marshall.” I brush past where he stands in the doorway. Evading his hand when it reaches for my arm.

“Where is this-"

“Don’t!” I whirl, lightly shoving him. Just enough to get him closer to my porch steps and far away from me. “Don’t act like an idiot when you damn well know what this is about!”

“Blake –"

“When were you going to tell me? When were you going to tell me that you proposed toher?” If the picture wasn’t confirmation enough, the way he blanches tells me everything I need to know. “After you try to worm into my bed? After you told me youlovedme?”

I startle, my walls cracking for a fraction of a second as a heavy foot slams onto the first porch step. The realization hits me – the car I thought was Marshall’s ride wasn’t his after all. “Not now.” I bite out at the same time Marshall looks the newcomer over with pure disdain. “Who are you?”

"Could ask you the same thing.”Wesley's eyes narrow, and his voice is sharp enough to cut through steel.

Marshall stands a little taller as if sizing Wesley up. Clearly not liking the former’s tone. I don’t let my eyes wander to mychildhood best friend, too hell bent on getting this sorry excuse for a man out of mytown. The reminder of why I left the city is a smack in the face, but the realization that this town is stillmy safe harbor bites harder than I could ever imagine. I scoff at the incredulous look on Marshall’s face and turn to head back inside. “It’s time for you to go.”

“I’m not leaving. I never would have given the ring to her if you hadn’t run off-" He rushes forward mid-sentence, reaching to grab for my arm, but I sense his motive before he gets the chance to touch me, and doge from his grip. His lips peel back in a snarl as his eyes bounce between Wesley and me. “Is this what you’ve been doing? Dressing likethatand fucking the first low life who gets you to spread your legs?"

A growl rips from Wesley’s throat, his rage a reflection of my own. But I’m faster. I whip around, fist already drawn back, and strike. Marshall crumples to the ground in a pathetic heap, blood spattering across his shirt and the dirt beneath him. “Bitch! I think you broke my nose!”

Wesley’s shock lasts for all of a second before he turns to face me. “Is this Marshall?” I don’t look at him, don’t respond, but I suppose my discomfort is answer enough, because he’s barreling down the steps and lifting him effortlessly by the back of his shirt.

“You’re lucky she got her hands on you first. Now get your shit and go back to your fancy fucking city before I let her call you an ambulance instead.” Then he leans down and whispers something into Marshall’s ear. Too quiet for me to hear, but by the scarlet shade his face turns, I know damn well I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Wesley’s wrath.

I don’t spare them another glance, not even as Marshall finally gets loaded into his cab and peels out of my driveway. I plop into the rocking chair on my front porch and drop my head into my hands. Only then, when I finally inhale a breath that feels a littleless angry and a lot sadder, do I feel the pain shooting through my knuckles. I reel back to peek at them, cursing when I see I’ve split them open.

“Are you hurt?” Wesley drops into a crouch before me, the smell of mint and pine overriding my senses.

I shake my head, “I’m fine.”

“Let me see.” He rolls his eyes, peeling my hand from where I cradle it against my chest, inspecting the damage. His touch is so gentle, so at odds with so many of the men in my life who have done nothing but take, take, andtake.

“Come on.” He mutters, reaching forward to scoop me up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” My words have little bite, and I don’t fight the urge to cuddle further into where I already press against his hard chest. The beating of his heart is like a harmony to my own. It’s easier to breathe, and the fact that we fought just earlier today means nothing in this moment. The only thing that matters is thathe’s here.

“My place.” And while I know that’s a bad idea, I don’t have the energy to argue with him.

***

“That was one hell of a punch.” Wesley’s tone takes on a teasing edge as he slips my shoes from my feet. I grunt in reply. Safe to say, I’m my father’s daughter. After cleaning my knuckles, he insisted that I take a bath and lay in bed. When my second shoe falls to the floor, his hands fall to wrap around the back of my knees. “Look at me, Blake.”

I shake my head, but a gentle tug on my chin has me relenting. I had avoided his gaze for as long as possible, scared of what I might find in them. Rage, sorrow, even a glimpse of pain in those blue eyes. But no pity. That alone causes me to crack under hisstare. A shattered sob rips through my lips, and I let it consume me. Letting sob after sob rack my already shaking body. It was so easy to be consumed with rage before, but now? With Wesley’s gentle hands and soft heart, it was far easier to break under the weight of everything. I feel the bed dip beside me, and broad arms pull me into his lap, letting his hand fall to the back of my head as he tucks me into him.

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