Page 19 of Curvy Girl and the Mountain Man Wolf
He's quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. "It's been... different," he finally says. "Not bad different. Just different."
We sit in silence for a while, the crackling of the fire the only sound. There's something peaceful about sharing quiet with someone, not feeling the need to fill every moment with words.
"Why Cedar Falls?" Kane asks suddenly.
The question surprises me. It's the first time he's asked me anything personal, sought information rather than just responding to what I've offered.
"It seems like a good place to raise Lily," I say, giving him the simple answer first. "Small town, good school, close to nature but not completely isolated. And they had a job opening that matched my qualifications."
He nods, waiting. Somehow knowing there's more.
I take a deep breath. "And I needed to get away from Denver. From... a situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"The kind where you come home early and find your boyfriend in bed with your best friend," I say, aiming for lightness but hearing the bitterness creep in.
Kane's jaw tightens beneath his beard. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was... clarifying. Made me realize I'd been settling. Again." I hadn't meant to add that last word, but it slips out anyway.
"Again?" he echoes.
And suddenly I want to tell him. Want to explain to this quiet man why I packed up my daughter in the middle of the night and drove into a blizzard rather than stay one more day in Denver. Want him to understand that sometimes running away is the strongest thing you can do.
"Lily's father wasn't a good man," I say, the words coming easier than I expected. "I didn't realize how bad he was until I was already pregnant. He had... anger issues. Control issues."
Kane goes very still, his eyes never leaving my face. There's something in his expression, not pity, which I couldn't stand, but a deep understanding that gives me the courage to continue.
"He never hit me. Not at first. It was all verbal—criticism, guilt, manipulation. By the time he did get physical, I was already isolated from friends and family, already convinced that everything was my fault." I touch the scar near my temple unconsciously. "This was from the night I decided to leave. He pushed me, and I fell against the corner of the coffee table. Lily was only six months old. She started crying, and he... he turned toward her crib with this look on his face."
My voice breaks, the memory still vivid and terrifying after all these years. "I knew then that I had to get out. That no matter what happened to me, I couldn't let him hurt her. So, I waiteduntil he passed out drunk, packed what I could carry, and left. Went to a women's shelter, got a restraining order, rebuilt my life piece by piece."
Kane's hands grip the arms of his chair so tightly that I can hear the wood creak. "Where is he now?" he asks, his voice low and controlled in a way that suggests it's taking effort.
"Prison," I say. "Not for what he did to me. I didn't press charges for that. I just wanted to get away. But he hurt someone else, a new girlfriend, badly enough to put her in the hospital. She was braver than me. She testified."
"You weren't a coward," Kane says immediately, fiercely. "You protected your child. That takes courage."
The conviction in his voice makes tears prick at my eyes. "That's what I tell myself. But sometimes I wonder if I should have done more, if I could have prevented what happened to that other woman."
"No," Kane says, the single word filled with certainty. "Men like that don't change because someone stands up to them. They just find new victims."
There's knowledge in his voice, a dark understanding that makes me wonder about his own past. "You sound like you've seen it before."
He looks away, into the fire. "Afghanistan. Special Forces means a lot of covert ops, working with local populations. I saw what men with power did to those without it. Women, children, the elderly. Anyone weaker."
The pain in his voice draws me in, makes me want to reach out to him, though I maintain the distance he's established between us. "Is that why you left the military?"
"Partly," he says after a long pause. "But not entirely."
He falls silent, and I think that's all he's going to say. But then he continues, his voice so quiet I have to lean forward to hear him.
"I was good at my job. Too good. I had skills that made me valuable for certain types of missions. Extraction. Elimination. The kind of operations that don't officially exist."
A chill runs through me at his words.
"My last tour, we were sent to... deal with a local warlord. Someone who'd been working with our enemies, providing safe houses, weapons. The intel was solid. We went in at night, a small team. Four of us."
