Page 48 of One Night Only
“It’s not just my job, or Andy, or our age difference, or even this—” She waves a hand over herself, indicating her chest. “It’s just… I’ve been hurt, Dallas. I’m still so fucking hurt, and I hate it. I just feel so… broken.” She says that last word on a whisper, and I feel my heart tear.
Her eyes lift, and I catch a glimpse of the pain she’s been through. The pain she’s still going through. And I know she’s recovering from cancer, learning to live with the aftermath of everything the disease took from her, but there’s something else there in her gaze, something that tells me that a lot of that residual pain has nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her ex.
“Chrissake, baby… what did he do to you?” I mutter more to myself than to Emily because I don’t expect her to tell me right now, or maybe even ever, but the anger that roils through me at the thought that he hurt her this fucking bad. It makes me want to go outside and light the whole goddamn city on fire in the hope that he gets caught up in the flames.
Pulling her close, I wrap my arms around her, feeling her body relax against my chest. I press my lips to the top of her head and breathe her in.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Goldie,” I whisper so softly I don’t even know if she hears me. But the thing is, she doesn’t need to hear me. I’m not about making idle promises or empty threats. Those words were for me. My own declaration. Because I’m not going to let anyone hurt her. Never again. Emily is mine. Even if she doesn’t believe it yet. She’s mine. And over my cold, lifeless body will I ever let anyone hurt her. I fight for those I care about. And, if she’ll let me, I’ll fight to the death for her.
After she calmed down, Emily decided not to leave, and I decided I didn’t want to risk poisoning us with rancid food. So, after tossing our cold eggs in the trash, I ordered some pastriesfrom the deli a few blocks over. Now, as we lie together on the couch, satiated and possibly high on a little too much sugar, covered in pastry-flakes, I drag my fingers over Emily’s back as she tells me the truth.
“At first, Luke was supportive. He came to every appointment. He sat with me for hours while I got my chemo infusions. He was perfect,” Emily begins.
“But I noticed a change after my first surgery,” she continues, tentatively. “My first surgery was a single mastectomy.” She glances up at me then. “They took only my right breast.”
I nod slowly, and she rests her head back against my chest.
“I felt disgusting. Like to the point where I couldn’t even look at myself.” She sighs. “I always had slightly bigger boobs. I’d been a D cup since I was about thirteen.”
“My kinda gal,” I joke. But then I realize, seconds too late, just how insensitive that was and I suck in a breath, wincing. “Shit. Sorry, baby.”
She looks at me again, only this time I see a wry smile playing on her lips.
“Sometimes my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up, and I say dumb shit that I don’t even…” I trail off, shaking my head. I’m rambling. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she assures me with a light laugh, but I still feel bad.
“It was only a couple of weeks after my first surgery when the doctors discovered the type of cancer I had was much more aggressive than the original pathology report had returned, and due to that, and my age, I ended up having to go back in for a second surgery and they took my left breast, too.”
She releases a shuddering breath, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“That was when things with Luke started to get a little strained. He started pulling away, working longer hours. He said it was because he was forced to support us both, but?—”
“He said fuckingwhat?” I snap, unable to stop myself, the anger inside of me uncontainable. “Are you serious?”
Emily lifts her head, meeting my eyes, clearly surprised by my outburst. “Yeah, I didn’t realize at the time because he was a really good liar, but Luke wasn’t the perfect guy I was led to believe he was.”
I shake my head, biting my tongue because the things I want to say, I know she doesn’t need to hear right now.
“When I got my reconstructive surgery, I stupidly thought things might be able to get back to normal, but… it got worse.” She sighs heavily, and I feel her shoulders go tense. “He was never home. He would barely talk to me when he was home, hardly even look at me. God, I was lucky if he evenacknowledgedme. And then one night, he went down to collect dinner from the DoorDash driver, and he left his phone on the coffee table…” She looks at me again, resting her chin on my chest. “Just let me preface this by saying I wouldnevernormally look at anyone’s phone.”
I nod. I know what she’s trying to tell me. That she’s not just a jealous, insecure partner. And I believe her wholeheartedly because her situation is so much different from someone with general trust or control issues.
“But Luke was constantly on his phone. Hell, he even took his phone into the bathroom with him when he showered.”
I swallow hard because I know exactly what’s coming.
“When I saw his phone light up with a text message, I just knew I had to look. And, as smart as Luke was, he was never quite smart enough to think of a code that wasn’t his mom’s birthday,” she deadpans.
I snort. “Dumbass.”
Emily smiles, but it’s filled with sadness, and she averts her eyes, looking down at my chest instead. “There was this woman he’d been working with, Tasha. They’d grown close because they were on the same project together. He kept telling me nothingwas going on, even though I never asked or accused him. But, I’m not an idiot.” She rolls her eyes. “It was so damn obvious—of course it was more than justwork. But—” she takes another stammering breath. “But when I saw their message thread… I hadn’t been expecting to seethat.”
My gut clenches, and I tighten my arms around her, gently, as I ask, “What did you see?”
“Things he said to her about me that, to this day, still affect me.” She shakes her head, still avoiding my eyes. “I can’t even look at her. She’s disgusting. She makes me sick. I—” Emily presses her lips together between her teeth, finally meeting my eyes as she reluctantly continues, “I-I wish she’d just…died.”
As I stare at her, trying to process exactly what she’s just told me, I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt this kind of raw emotion. I’m angry. Livid, actually. I could punch a fucking hole through the brick wall with my bare fucking fist. I’m sad. Devastated on Emily’s behalf. It makes sense now why she’s so scared to show herself to me. I feel disgusted—ashamed—to be a man right now at the sheer thought that any man could ever treat anyone, especially the woman he's supposed to love, the way that asshole treated her. But mostly, I feel this overwhelming possessiveness I’ve never felt before, a need to protect this woman in my arms at all costs.
