Page 49 of Broken Daddy

The woman hesitated but then finally nodded. She must have seen that I was at my limit by that point because she got up and handed over her card. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone for now. But I assure you, if you need anything or any help getting away later, this is my information. All you have to do is call.”

I nodded and gave her a small smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” As annoying as it was, the woman was just trying to do her job. I could respect that.

She walked out, and Monty walked in within the next breath. His face was still closed down, and with his stature and those eyes, he looked like a cold, scary motherfucker. It was easy to see why they thought he would hurt me.

“You might want to smile a little,” I said wryly. “You seem to have sent the wrong impression to everyone here that you hurt me or something.”

I said it in a joking manner, but he didn’t seem amused.

“I did hurt you,” he said morosely.

“Oh, come on, stop saying that. You didn’t. It was an accident, and it was partially my fault too.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “In what world is this even remotely your fault?”

I shrugged. If he wanted to take the blame, then we could both play that game. “I could have gotten off you the minute I sensed your body changing. I sensed that something was up and woke up. I noticed you were having a nightmare, but I didn’t leave. I thought I could…hell, I was nosy and thought I could get some information from what you were saying to see if I could help you out of it somehow.”

He shook his head adamantly. “That’s not your fault.”

“Also, I should not have sat on you. I mean, I could have guessed it was a potential trigger to you.”

“That doesn't make sense. How would you have known if I hadn’t told you?” And then his lips snapped shut when he realized he had just fallen neatly into the trap.

“Exactly,” I raised an eyebrow. “I won’t know anything unless you tell me. So do you want to tell me about it?”

He hesitated, then shook his head.

“Seriously?” I huffed in frustration. “You still don’t see the problem here? How am I supposed to know what’s going on with you if you don’t tell me? How are we going to prevent something like this from happening again?”

“I know how we’ll prevent it,” he said. “ I’m never going to touch you again.”

Shock slammed into me. He couldn’t be serious.

“I’m serious,” he said, crossing his hands over his chest stubbornly. “And you won’t come near me either, especially not when I’m sleeping or laying down. Don’t wake me up, don’t come within any vicinity of me, and don’t ever try to help me with my nightmares.”

“You’re serious about this,” I gasped. “You’re willing to give up, willing to give this relationship up instead of going to therapy to address your issues.”

He didn’t say anything, and my anger rose. I wanted to say hurtful things, but I took a deep breath, suppressing the urge. He wasn’t doing this to try to hurt me. He was simply trying to push me away because he was scared of hurting me, scared of the emotions between us. So I allowed him to retreat into his cocoon and hide for now.

But eventually, I was determined to break down his walls once and for all and let him heal.

* * *

“I’m notsure how much longer I can do this,” I told Faith later that week. It had been three days since Monty placed the ultimatum, and for the most part, he stuck to his own rules. He didn’t touch me anymore, not even in passing. Any attempt I made to touch him would be brushed off, and he would instantly leave, claiming he was going for a walk, even though I could sense he was still in the perimeter. Even worse, we barely talked anymore, and that hurts more than anything. I was trying not to lash out, but the whole thing left me frustrated to the core.

Faith had invited me over to her home for coffee that weekend, and I accepted the invitation, leaving Hunter with Monty. Faith’s daughter was napping in her room as we reclined on the patio with our mugs.

“What’s going on, K?” Faith asked.

I had already explained to Faith a little bit about Monty’s issue. I didn’t want to break his confidence, but I needed to confide in someone, and I knew my best friend could keep a secret.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted. “How do I help him if he doesn’t want to be helped?”

Faith nodded sympathetically, understanding in her gaze. She seemed to think about it for some time before she spoke.

“Sometimes, it’s not so much about wanting to be helped. People have to first believe they deserve to be helped,” she said. “After everything that happened with…my situation, it took me some time to believe I deserved to be helped and that I didn’t deserve to be traumatized for the rest of my life. After all, Ambrose’s death was partially my fault because he died trying to help me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Faith,” I said. “That bastard—”

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