Page 100 of Free to Judge
I switch the background to a cherished picture of me, Laura, and Grace from Laura’s engagement party. With one last act of finality, I set an away message on my personal email explaining that I will be unreachable indefinitely, and then I move on to the most daunting of tasks.
Acceptance.
Though I had sworn to my godfather and his husband I’d nap in the rear cabin of the Lockwood Industries jet, my mind is relentlessly replaying the painful episode of seeing those photos. My fingers dig frantically into the soft, luxurious sheets, as if trying to anchor me against the storm raging inside.
Was I just someone to hold him tethered to this reality? Was I just a person to protect? Was sleeping with me a convenience?
I allow myself to replay every word of his whispered, honeyed lies and future promises. I let him weave a spell around me of fascination—leaving me open to whatever fabrication he wanted to ply me with. I shouldn’t be surprised—he’s a master. Then again, he never said anything to the contrary. It was me who convinced myself I meant something unique to him.
I was wrong.
A tear drips down my cheek despite my clenched jaw, a quiet betrayal of my personal strength. I let him in with a détente, but I have no one to blame for not resisting him. In the end, I still refuse to call love weak. After all, I stand as a testament to its strength and power.
Instead, I focus on the betrayal, the insult to who I am as a woman, a person.
How could he touch me as though I were a rare treasure when clearly his words, not mine, brought me to a place where I would assume he wanted more? Instead, I was treated as disposable—a fleeting placeholder in a life that was anything but genuine.
I listened to his journey—a story hard to endure because of how it affected him. I felt the first stirrings in my heart when I realized he was a man like my father—one who sought redemption for love—even if that person was a friend.
I wonder if he’d now walk the same path he did then with his investigation knowing how much he’d hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. With the amount of time he’d been undercover, would he have become the man he swore he wouldn’t?
My stomach churns violently. I yank the covers off and sprint to the tiny en suite before a surge of bile overtakes me, forcing me to heave over the sink. Gripping the counter, my eyes shut tight as I berate myself for believing Declan’s words—merely seductive lies to drive us to the point his body would have the opportunity to thrust inside mine over and over as we made love. No, I correct myself bitterly, after he fucked me and I made love to him.
Because if a picture could speak a thousand words, then the image of him with a stripper all over him on Sexy & Social’s website illuminates the fact I was nothing more than a fleeting moment. And I’m worth more than that.
Forcing myself upright, I realize that I’m not responsible for rebuilding the trust Declan shattered. He is, and not just with me. The only thing I’m responsible for is taking back control of what happens next in my life and moving on.
Digging deep for the strength of my amaryllis roots.
After rinsing my mouth and splashing cool water across my face, I crawl back into bed. As sleep slowly begins to claim me, a bittersweet truth unveils itself in the dark. I’m running toward something, just like I always do.
At the end of this finish line, there will be a new beginning where I choose to put myself first.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
TWO WEEKS LATER
The second Peterand I get on board, my godfather holds out his hand before making a “gimme” motion.
“Hand over all your electronic devices and dump them in this bag. This is your last chance for peace before you head back.”
The bag in question is something I recognize as one of the little gadgets from my father’s office—a black bag that will block all incoming and outgoing transmissions.
It also ensures tracking our return flight to New York City will be next to impossible unless someone hacks the flight’s tracking devices. Knowing it’s for my own good, I agree with only one caveat. “You get to tell Mama when we’re expected to return.”
His fingers fly before announcing, “Done.”
His husband—my Uncle Ryan—steps forward to place a clean device in my hands. “For your inflight entertainment. It’s a long flight.”
Drawing my fingertip over the pristine screen, I raise a brow in challenge. “After two weeks of no outside communication, you’re letting me have free rein? Dangerous.” Though not quite as dangerous as what awaits me on the other end of this flight.
Picking up the scattered pieces of my soul and seeing if there’s enough lifeblood to rejoin them back to my body.
He immediately squashes that inanity. “Do I look foolish?”
“No, never.”
“We had the browser block app your cousin, Mike, developed installed. It’s customizable so you won’t be able to look up certain subject parameters. Damn thing has so much crypto protecting it, not even the best of Hudson can get hack through it.”
