Page 68 of Preying Heart
“Let’s go back to the cabin and talk. I’m going to need a stiff drink before I can open up that part of my life again.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
Remi
Heath makes a fire while I warm up the cider we bought at the gas station store. I can’t believe he’s going to tell me, and I’m afraid I’ll find something distasteful with his obsession over his wife or ex-wife. But I’m proud of myself.
I’m standing up for myself, and I’m calling the shots. In the past, I would have been cowed into letting things happen. After all, I was dependent and held no power. I always went along and took the easier path. I prided myself on not fighting, on being above the fray, and especially on being able to handle difficult people.
How wrong I was.
I wasn’t handling difficult people by giving in to them. I was being mishandled by bullies and believing I was keeping the peace when I was basically surrendering.
No more.
I bring the drinks on a tray to the coffee table, which is a wooden crate with iron bands.
Heath pours whiskey into a tumbler. “I’d pour you a drink, except you’re pregnant.”
“Don’t remind me.” It’s strange how I’ve forgotten. My symptoms are mild, and I’m not at the stage of showing yet, although there is definitely a lump only I can feel right above my bladder.
He stokes the fire and tips his head back for a swallow of whiskey. “Come sit with me. I’m ready to talk.”
I eagerly cuddle up to him on the long sofa. I know it’s not easy for him, especially a man who is private and controlled. He must really want me to open up like this. I’m glad I’m putting him through the wringer, though. It lets me know I’m worth something to him.
“I just want to know what’s in your heart.”
“She’s a pain in my heart.” He leans back, looking up at the ceiling. “But I’ll tell you because I don’t want anything between us.”
All my life, I wanted a person who’d want the closeness I could never get. A man who’d know me and hide nothing from me. Who’d believe I’m his second skin and not mind it one bit. Who wouldn’t push me away when I’m concerned and who’d pick me up if I’ve fallen and encourage me when I falter.
“I want the same thing,” I tell him. “I want to be able to trust and not worry that I’m being stupid. I want to be able to stand on my own and only give myself willingly—not by compulsion or because I’m afraid.”
He stares at me and nods, softening because I’ve spilled my wants. Maybe it’s too soon, and it’s strange, since I’ve never articulated it before. What I’m asking is too much, and yet, not enough.
“Willingly—that’s what I want. The gift of you.” He holds me close and strokes my hair. “I made many mistakes with Cindy. That’s her name. Rescued her from a strip club. The same one in Boise where my mom worked. Lucy always warned me about getting involved with victims. I was younger and thought I could heal her. That love was all we needed and that I needed to keep her safe. Instead, I trapped her at the Fortress. I didn’t trust her to go out while I dealt with her debts and the pimps that were after her.”
“You thought you were doing a good thing.” I brush my fingers over his jaw, the five-o’clock shadow making a scratchy sound.
“Yes, but I didn’t expect her to go back to that lifestyle. On the day she left, she told me she’d rather have anonymous sex with hundreds of men than to be stuck with me and my rules.”
A pang hits my heart. How that must have hurt him, and even more surprising, how it hurts me.
“I’m so sorry she felt that way.” My words must seem so inadequate. What a betrayal for him, and words she flung at him were too cruel.
“It’s the drugs talking. She could never get off heroin. No matter how hard I tried. She relapsed and ran away. Left me divorce papers.” He’s stiff and wooden, sitting sideways.
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know, and I’m not going to go looking. She went back to it because she couldn’t stand my rules and regulations.” His face is a mask of misery as he turns toward me. “If I hadn’t been so strict, she might not have gone back. She might have gone to rehab and stuck to it.”
“You don’t know that. She might have craved the drugs more than the safety you provided.”
“Or she wanted to be free. You understand that, don’t you?” His watery eyes drill deep into me, piercing the trade-off I made my entire life.
“But is she really free? She’s a slave to drugs and the street life.”
“I saw something more to Cindy.” He takes another gulp of whiskey. “When she was off drugs, she was creative and full of life. Playful. Loving. Caring.”
