Page 101 of Drop Shot
I arch a brow. “That quick?”
“What can I say?” He strides toward me, and I try not to stare at his thick, muscular thighs. God, he’s toned and muscled in all the best ways. “I’m in tune with you. You wanna talk about anything?”
I shake my head. “Go back to bed, please. You have a game today.”
One I’ll be sitting in and cheering him on like the dutiful fake-WAG I am now.
“I’m worried about you.” It’s the genuine concern in his dark-eyed gaze that has my shoulders sagging. “I think you should tell me how you’re feeling.”
“I don’t want to,” I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest—a classic defensive pose.
“Usually, the things we don’t want to do the most are the very things weshoulddo.”
I look away from him. “I hate it when you’re right.”
When I turn back, he’s grinning. He sits down on the coffee table in front of me and taps my bare ankle.
“I’m not going to judge you for anything you say. You know that, right?”
I do know. Elias is probably one of the least judgmental people I’ve ever met.
I bite my lip, debating on what exactly I want to say.
“I think I feel guilty for being so upset. Other women have had it so much worse than what we did, but I…” I squish my eyes closed, the threat of tears a burn against my lids. “I keep imaging the what ifs, all the different ways it might have played out if you hadn’t shown up. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life and I got mugged in London once.”
He shakes his head in astonishment. “You got mugged? When? Working for me?”
I nod. “Wimbledon two years ago. I went into the city, and my wallet was stolen.”
“You never told me,” he accuses gently.
“You were my boss. I wasn’t going to whine to you about it. I handled it on my own.”
“We’ll circle back to that,” he warns, leaning into my space. “But Whimsy, you need to realize that trauma is trauma. You don’t need to try to compare it to someone else’s. Your trauma is the one you lived and you’re allowed to be freaked out by it. You’re allowed to be scared and worried and angry and whatever the fuck else emotion you need to feel.”
I pick at a loosening thread on the arm of the couch. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He nods emphatically. “In fact, I’d be pretty fucking worried if you were acting like nothing happened. A man assaulted you—that’s what it was Whimsy, okay? Don’t try to excuse his behavior because he was drunk. He still knew what he was doing—he knew he was scaring you guys—and he did it anyway because he didn’t care.”
“I see his face when I close my eyes,” I admit in a watery voice. “I don’t want to keep seeing it.”
When the tears come, I can’t stop them. They’re a torrent I haven’t truly released until now. I wanted to be strong, to not let what happened break me. But maybe it’s okay that it did—it proves I’m human after all.
With a quiet curse, Elias takes the spot beside me on the couch and wraps his arms around me. I melt into his hold. I needed this, I realize. Not just him holding me, but speaking my thoughts aloud. It’s helped.
“I’m always here if you need to talk,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “If you need a therapist, I’ll hire the best one. If you want to go home to your parents, I’ll book you a plane ticket right now. I care about you, Whimsy. I want you to take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be okay.” And I will be. Maybe not today or tomorrow or even next week. But eventually the trauma will lessen and I’ll only think of it occasionally.
Elias sits in the quiet with me for a while, just holding me, before finally he lifts me effortlessly in his arms and carries me to bed. He curls in behind me and cuddles me much the way I hold Percy to my chest.
This time, I do go to sleep.
CHAPTER 34
WHIMSY
My stomach isin knots watching Elias’s match for the semi-final of Rolland Garros.
