Page 84 of So Right
Chapter Seventeen
Kelsey rushed from the pub without thinking where to go. She’d just wanted to get out of that situation. Seeing Noah made her feel trapped and helpless. That was why she’d gotten up to escape to the bathroom—somewhere, anywhere away from that.
Then Luke had hit him. The sight and sound of his fist hitting Noah’s flesh didn’t carry the sheen of vengeance she’d thought it would. No, it only reminded her of the abuse Noah had rained upon her when he’d been too angry to control himself.
The cool night breeze blew her hair back from her face and made her think for a moment. Making a decision, she strode to Luke’s house and jumped in her car. She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she wanted to keep moving. She put the window down. The air kept her from losing it.
Did she think that Luke was like Noah? Rationally, she knew him hitting her ex was an emotional response and that he wouldn’t ever do that to her. But did she reallyknowthat? Didhereally know that? Noah had told her more than once that he didn’t even recognize himself when he hit her, that it was like a demon had taken over his body.
She did know that it was a lack of control, and control was the one thing she wouldn’t relinquish, not when she’d fought so hard to gain it back.
Her phone had pinged several times, but she ignored it. After fifteen minutes or so, she pulled off the highway outside town into the parking lot of the state park near the river. She pulled her phone from her purse and read the texts from Luke.
Noah left right after you. Be careful.
We called the police.
Please call me back.
She stared at the phone, wanting to call him but also needing time to think, to process seeing Noah again. There’d been a moment when she’d wanted to go with him. She could see that he was tormented, and, as always, she wanted to ease his suffering. How many times had she comfortedhimafter he’d become violent? God, it was a sick cycle.
His mother had said he was in counseling, that he was doing well. Maybe talking to Kelsey would help him.
A text appeared on the screen, but it wasn’t a number in her phone, nor did she recognize it other than it had a Washington area code.
Kelsey, it’s Noah. I really need to talk to you. Five minutes. I want to apologize. You deserve to hear that from me and so much more. Not the kind of apologies I gave you before. I’m an abuser. I need help and I’m getting it. None of it was your fault. Sending me to jail was the best thing you could’ve done for me.
She began to shake as emotion welled inside her. He was saying all the things she’d longed to hear.
Again, she considered it. Headlights flashed in the parking lot, startling her. The car drove up near hers—just two spots away in the corner.
She put her hand on the ignition, intending to leave, but a figure came toward her car and in the light from the lamp in the parking lot, she recognized that it was Noah. Apprehension raced through her as he approached her open window.
“Kelsey? Can we please talk? Did you get my text?”
She clutched the steering wheel as if it could be used as a weapon. “How did you find me?”
“I saw you driving in town, and I followed you.”
She turned the key, and he held up his hands in supplication. “Kelsey, wait! Please. Just listen to me. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.” Tears streaked from his eyes, and his shoulders shook.
She’d seen him do this before. His show of regret wouldn’t bend her.
But then he stopped, sucking in a deep, harsh breath. “No, I won’t do that to you.” He wiped his hands over his eyes and straightened. “You deserve better.”
“I do,” she said softly, surprised that she could talk. “You shouldn’t have come here. If you wanted to apologize—or whatever—you could’ve sent me a letter.”
“I could’ve. My mom called you. She said you were pretty harsh.”
Kelsey turned her head as anger ignited inside her. “I think I have the right to be whatever I damn well please.”
He sucked his lower lip in, a familiar tic that took her back to the years they’d spent together. She’d once found it terribly sexy, alluring. It reminded her of better times.
“I’m sorry. You do. You can be harsh, cruel, whatever you want. You can even hit me if it would make you feel better.”
And there it was. The retaliation she’d dreamt about in her darkest moments. But at the pub, she’d realized she didn’t want revenge. She just wanted closure.
“I don’t want to do that. Say what you want to say so that I can go.”
