Page 22 of Loving Wild
“I don’t lie to my little girl, Ren, but that’s what she is, my little girl. She’s twelve and absolutely does not need to know anything too detailed about what that piece of shit did to you.”
Sliding my hand under the pyjama top she’s wearing, I stroke the bare skin of her back.
“Have you spoken to your family? What have they said? I was a bit out of it to gauge their reaction Monday night. They must think I’m such a rude bitch. When it all kicked off between you and Zac, I just bailed and went to bed.”
“They get it and totally understand that you’d had enough. Their only comments were that I’m a dick, and they can’t believe the way you’re holding together. No one’s judging you, and I know it might be hard right now, but you need to take that on board and remember it.”
“Says the man who’s spent the last twenty years feeling guilty about what his stepmother did to him.”
“Fair point, but like you told me when we spoke about it,you’rethe victim here. He did this to you. You did absolutely nothing wrong. And ya know what, I’ve been thinking about this the past couple of days, and like you, I hate the word victim, fucking hate it.”
She goes quiet again, and I start to wonder if she’s fallen asleep against my chest when she says in almost a whisper, “Survivor.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We’re survivors.”
“Fucking oath we are. Now, you gonna get up and shower?”
“Yeah,” she says without argument, which surprises me. It takes a few more minutes of us lying in silence before she finally climbs off me, and I watch her move to the bathroom.
She’s saying all the right things, but I’m not sure I believe her. I know all about putting on a brave front because while she’s dealing with her shame, I’m hiding that I’m struggling to come to terms with the guilt I feel.
The next few weeks are going to be all about holding each other’s hands as we take one step at a time over whatever life has to throw at us next. I just hope my grip is tight enough that neither of us trips nor falls.
Chapter 6
Lauren.
I throwmyself into getting Ava’s room set up. Blasting my ‘Women Rock’ playlist, I sing along to Carol King as I help Gabe build the bed and put the mattress in place. While he drags the old chest of drawers out, I set to dressing the bed with the new, pale pink, white, and light grey bedding, cushions, and throw we bought. The headboard and frame are covered in a dusky pink fabric, studded with large diamantes. When you plug in the attached lead, the diamantes light up. Not having yet met Ava, I stand back and look at the set-up, worrying that I might have gone overboard with the pink.
When I turn to ask Gabe his opinion, I find him standing in the doorway, arms stretched above his head holding on to the frame, his long, toned body on full display. He’s wearing jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, his feet are bare, and an achy knot forms in my stomach as I take all of this in before my eyes meet his.
He’s looking at me in a way I’ve come to love. When we first met, I would’ve described it as an angry look, almost a scowl, but I’ve learned in the time we’ve been together, this is how Gabe looks when he’s turned on, when he wants me.
For a few moments, I lose myself in that look. I allow it to wash away the lumps, bumps, and bruises covering my body, the memories of all that my husband has done to me over the past months, the turn my life has taken, and I just drown in Gabe.
“What?” I eventually ask. Beginning to feel a little self-conscious at his silent stare, I fold my arms across my chest.
“You fucking amaze me.”
My entire body jerks in surprise at his words. Unsure of their meaning and my reaction to them, I tilt my head to the side and whisper out, “Why?”
He lowers his arms, pushes his hands into his front pockets, and mimics my head tilt.
“The way you’ve pulled all of this together, despite everything else you’ve got going on, you’re able to push all of that aside and come up with this.”
He shrugs and gestures with a chin lift over my shoulder. I turn before stepping back and attempting to visualise what he’s seeing. The bed does look pretty, and I’ve not even plugged it in and lit it up yet. I’ve not hung any of the artwork, set up the makeup station, or put out any of the framed photos of Ava and Gabe or the pieces I found to make the room look welcoming.
“It’s my . . . It’s what I do,” I say with my own shrug. “You don’t think it’s too much?” I question without looking back at him. “Too pink?”
“Ren?”
I turn back to face him, watching as he nods slowly, and my stomach dips thinking he agrees that it’s too much.
“I think she’s going to love it. I’m in absolute fucking awe of what you’ve created here and feel like a totally shit dad for not putting more thought into her bedroom when I first had this place fixed up.”
Before I can respond, he takes a step towards me, and my belly not only dips but adds a few flips into the mix.
