Page 191 of Branded
“I don’t think so,” she said carefully as the elevator doors closed. “I do know there was a lot of yelling and things were so intense that she was happy to be living at school instead of at home, even though both of us were way too young to be living on our own.”
“He hurt her,” I repeated.
This time with an emphasis on hurt so Hazel knew it was fact and not a question.
Hazel blinked, glanced up at me. “She tell you that?”
“She had a nightmare after that night in the ER, crying out and begging him not to hurt her.”
Hazel’s eyes went wide. “Shit,” she whispered.
If she hadn’t told Hazel about that, hadn’t told her and Pru, then how deep was this shit buried? And what hope did I have of digging it out, of helping her slay those demons she was talking about? Because it was clear they needed to be obliterated, to be destroyed, but…she didn’t even want me in the room.
The elevator began moving down.
Hazel turned in the circle of my arm and stared up at me.
There was fire in her brown eyes. “I need to know that you’re in this.”
I blinked. What the fuck?
She squeezed my hand. “You need to know where your head is at because if what you suspect is true, that means she’s had twenty-five years to bury it deep, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us to dig it out.”
I shook my head. “Hazel?—”
She poked me in the chest, her tone more intense than I’d ever heard it. Usually, she was soft and gentle, guiding the guys through their shit without pushing (though she had a spine of steel and definitely would push as needed). But this—the jab in my chest, the sharp tone—wasn’t typical Hazel, and it immediately had me even more on edge.
Because if Hazel was concerned enough to lose her normal calm edge, then this was some dark, dark stuff.
“Monica hurt you,” she said. “She made you question everything you’d built and trusted, and that cuts deep. I care about you, the guys care about you, which should be obvious considering the way they closed ranks when she tried to get to you.”
Monica had tried to weasel back in.
The guys had closed ranks.
And yeah, Monica had hurt me, but mostly, I was realizing, I’d hurt myself. My parents weren’t great—my dad spent most of his time yelling and bitching about his life being shit, and my mom was flighty and weak and unreliable and hadn’t been any kind of barrier between me and my dad’s anger, and then she’d peaced out altogether, leaving me to deal with all that anger. I had been—obviously because of all that rockiness—gun shy when it came to diving into something serious. So, I hadn’t dated seriously, just fucked around and had fun, and relied on my instincts to choose right when the time came. And I’d thought that time had come when I asked Monica out.
Beautiful. Sweet. A good job. A life put together.
I’d trusted myself to have finally chosen right.
And even when I’d considered moving on because there wasn’t a big spark, my feelings for her weren’t growing like I’d wanted, I’d still thought I could trust myself.
Because she might not be forever.
But I’d chosen right.
Not my parents. Not someone toxic. Someone good that any man would be lucky to have, just not me being that man.
Then when she was pregnant, I thought that the spark would grow, that she was a good choice and a good woman, and my instincts told me we could make a good go of it.
I was moving forward.
Being smart.
Using the good examples of relationships around me to create something good for myself, to create a family that was mine and healthy and something I really, really wanted.
But…I’d chosen poorly.
