Ten #2
I turn another page, trying to escape again.
In the story, the guy knows how to kiss her until her toes curl, until she forgets everything but the feel of his hands and the sound of his voice.
What if that could be real ? What if, for once, I didn’t have to pretend?
Somehow, the hero makes her feel beautiful, safe, and wanted—all at once.
Like she matters. Like she’s someone worth protecting.
I wish real guys were even half that good.
The men I’ve known? They didn’t look at me like I was someone to treasure. They looked at me like I was a puzzle they didn’t have time to solve. Or worse, something broken they needed to control.
I think about Alex. How many nights I tried. All the times I told myself if I just waited…if I just loved him harder, it would get better. That eventually he’d see me. Hear me. Care enough to ask what I needed.
But the last month? I gave up. I stopped asking and hoping. I found it hurt less that way. Expecting nothing meant I couldn’t be disappointed.
I close the book and hold it against me.
But a tiny voice whispers from the shadows of my mind.
Maybe it’s not just them . Maybe the real problem is me.
Maybe I’m too much. Too needy. Too broken.
Too whatever it is that makes men pull away.
Maybe men like the ones in these books don’t exist for me.
And maybe I’m foolish for wishing they did.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the weight of it all presses down—the loneliness, the silence, the aching fear that I’ll never find the kind of love that doesn’t come with conditions or power plays.
My parents had it, though. Before they died, they had something soft. Something steady. And I know Caleb loves me, but it’s from halfway around the world. His care feels more like obligation than presence.
Sometimes, being strong feels a lot like being isolated.
I breathe in. Try to settle the ache. Try to remind myself I’ve made it this far without needing anyone .
But deep down, I know the truth.
I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want more. I want connection.
I’m still hugging the book when my phone pings beside me on the couch.
Alex: If you think sending all the Paradise brothers over will make me forget you stole from me, you’re wrong. You must’ve forgotten who my brother is.
I stare at the message, a chill settling over my skin like frostbite.
What is he talking about? What did Beckett do?
My thoughts scramble. I shove the blanket aside and rush to my suitcase, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I rummage through my clothes again, hands shaking, until I’ve examined them all. Nothing—not even in the pockets. I don’t know what I have that’s so important to him. This is my suitcase. My clothes.
Me: What did I take? I have nothing that belongs to you. I’ve checked. Tell me what I’m looking for. I will get it to you.
Alex: Don’t play dumb with me. You know very well what you took. I want it back yesterday.
I walk out to the pool and sit on a chaise lounge, under an umbrella, and stare out at Black Bear Lake. Through all the noise in my head, I hear my mother’s voice—clear and steady. The way it always was when she taught me how to ride my bike.
“ You’re stronger than you think .”
That memory anchors me.
I look up to the heavens and tears roll down my cheeks.
I miss my mom so much. I turn back toward the still water of the lake.
The sky’s turning that soft gold that makes everything beautiful, even when it shouldn’t be.
I swallow the ache that’s rising in my throat.
It’s been years, almost ten, to be exact.
But tonight, it feels like the accident happened yesterday.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. Maybe if I keep it small enough, it won’t crack. “Why did you save me?”
I wait. Like I always do when I talk to God. Like there might be an answer this time. Tears burn behind my eyes, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Why did you leave me to figure it all out alone?”
The memories hit me hard. The crunch of metal. The sound of my mother’s voice, so calm, even when she was scared. The sudden silence that followed, heavier than anything I’ve ever carried.
I made it out with a broken collarbone and a lifetime of questions. Mom didn’t make it. Dad either. Just…gone. And all I got was a second chance I never asked for.
“Caleb was away at school,” I say, as if God forgot. “He didn’t see what I saw. He didn’t feel the blood soaking through the seat. He didn’t hear Mom’s last breath.”
The tears come faster now, spilling down my cheeks unchecked. “I was seventeen. Grade eleven. I didn’t even finish school properly. I couldn’t. I just—couldn’t.”
Everyone expected me to bounce back. To dust myself off and get on with it. Finish school. Apply for university. Be normal.
But I wasn’t normal. I was broken. Still am.
“I didn’t just lose them that night,” I whisper. “I lost myself too.”
I lean my head against the chair, the cool air grounding me.
“I needed my mom. I still do. She was everything. My anchor. My compass. And you took her. You took them both—and left me.”
The words echo in the silence, and then I hear the distant call of a loon across the water. Grief pulses through me, sharp and unshakable. Like the dreams I buried the day they died.
“I don’t know who I am without my parents. ”
The quiet stretches, long and empty. I don’t expect an answer. I never do.
But tonight, I needed to ask.
As I walk back into the house, everything feels heavier than ever. I flip on the television and find a rerun of NCIS. I start a bag of microwave popcorn. It’ll be my dinner tonight.
I hear the garage door creak open, and voices drift toward me—low, muffled, familiar. Who is Beckett with? Does he have a date? I don’t know if I can manage this.
Then I realize he’s on a call.
The microwave beeps, and I carefully dump the bag into a large bowl and return to the living room, settling on the couch like I’ve been here the whole time. I grab the remote control and adjust the volume. My palms are damp. My heart is a drumbeat in my throat.
I tell myself it’s just nerves.
But I know better.
It’s not just fear pulsing through me. It’s tension, guilt, the weight of everything I haven’t said about the situation with Alex…and something else I still can’t name.
Then Beckett walks in.
He stops in the doorway, eyes scanning the room with precision. Eventually, they land on me.
And I know, instantly, that he feels it too.
It seems his mood mirrors mine—tight, restrained, raw. He looks like a man trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.
His jaw is locked. His shoulders rigid. His body radiates tension.
Our eyes meet. And suddenly, everything inside me stills.
We don’t say a word. We just stare at each other across the room, two storms on a collision course, bracing for impact.
But there’s heat in the air too.
The kind that starts low and spreads outward, slow and dangerous.
And it’s getting harder to pretend it isn’t there .
It makes my skin hum when he’s near. It curls low in my belly when he looks at me like this—tight and searching and way too serious.
I push it down. Hard.
“I got a message from Alex,” I say, breaking the silence. “It was threatening. He said something about you and your brothers showing up to scare him.” I take a breath. “What did you do, Beckett?”
His face stays still, unreadable. But I see the twitch in his jaw. The only crack in his armor. “You weren’t supposed to know about that,” he says after a moment.
I rise to my feet, folding my arms across my chest. It’s not a power pose. It’s a defense. I need something—anything—to keep from shaking. “I figured as much,” I say. “But I do, so talk.”
He steps closer. Just one step, slow and deliberate. And even though I know—I know he’d never hurt me—my breath catches anyway.
Not from fear. But because he’s too close.
“I was trying to protect you,” he says. His voice is rough, like gravel dragged over steel. “Alex could be dangerous. I saw what he was doing to you, and I thought my brothers and I could get him to leave you alone.”
I shake my head, jaw clenched. There’s a burning rising in my throat. “So instead of telling me about your concerns, you went behind my back?”
He doesn’t flinch or retreat. “Would you have let me help if I’d asked?” he says.
The question lands like a stone between us.
I don’t answer.
Because we both know the truth.
I wouldn’t have.
He exhales hard, dragging a hand over his face. He looks tired, like this day has cost him something. “Look,” he says. “He said you took something from him. I didn’t believe it. Not at first. But I need to ask you…” His eyes lift to mine. “Did you?”
I close my eyes a moment. “I’ve searched everything and still have no idea what he’s talking about. When I ask, he just snaps that I should already know.” My mouth goes dry. “I didn’t take anything that wasn’t mine.”
His eyes stay on me. Watching. Reading. I can see it in the way his gaze flickers over my face, looking for cracks in my story, in my voice, in me. His mouth parts slightly, like he wants to push, to press, but he doesn’t.
My skin prickles under the weight of his stare. It’s not judgment. It’s perception. And I hate how much I want to be seen.
He’s too close now. I can smell the clean edge of his cologne, the hint of soap. Part of me wants to reach out. To eliminate the space. To press my hand to his heart and remind myself that something solid exists in the middle of all this mess.
But I don’t.
Instead, I do the only thing I can think to do. I break the moment. I turn away, fast and awkward, my legs trembling as I move down the hall. My hands are clenched so tightly they ache.
I reach my bedroom door and push it open, then shut it harder than I mean to. The slam echoes down the hallway. I press my back against the door, breathing like I’ve just run a mile.