Chapter Fifteen
Megan has been on edge all night, even though she’s smiled through it. My fists are aching from how I’ve clenched them so hard. I’ve never wanted to knock the shit out of someone as badly as I do tonight. This isn’t me. I don’t let shit get to me.
But him talking to her like that. No fucking way. I shouldn’t have stood up to him. I should have played it off. Let Megan believe it didn’t matter, but I can see it written all over her face. She thinks she’s caused me trouble.
It might have, but it’s on me and Marris, not her. He only used her to get to me. And it fucking worked. I’m mad at myself, not at her.
The only good thing to come out of it was knowing I could calm her down, help her through an anxiety attack. She didn’t leave. I wish I could tell her how strong that makes her.
Meg thinks badly of herself. It’s obvious she struggles a lot with her identity and her ability to stand up for herself. She did so fucking good at putting Marris in his place. That is what I focus on as the night goes on .
Marris stays out of my way the rest of the event, although he’s working the room, no doubt talking shit about the fight. I don’t care. All I care about is making sure Megan feels safe.
It’s still early, the dinner just over and the speeches made, when I suggest we get out of here.
“I never hang around at these things,” I tell her, truthfully. “I can’t wait to undo this thing.” I pull on the bow tie. “Come on, let’s go.”
She is unsure but I smile at her and put my palm against her back to steer her out of the venue. I call the driver when she says she needs to use the bathroom. I stand guard outside too, making sure no one approaches her again. Megan is surprised to see me outside the door when she comes out, her hand flying to her chest, but at least she laughs at herself.
The car is ready when we leave, and there are no more run-ins with anyone. We sit on either side of the back seat. It’s not a limo, so there is no privacy screen between us and the driver. I don’t want to say anything to her about what happened in case she is embarrassed.
I scratch the back of my head, looking down at my lap, then peeking sideways at her to see how she is doing without it being obvious. She isn’t wringing her hands because they’re not together, but she is clutching her purse like she’s trying to kill it.
I didn’t want tonight to end like this. I wanted her to enjoy herself. To meet some people from my world and see that we’re not monsters.
I’m pretty sure I achieved that until fucking Marris came over and ruined everything.
Taking a deep breath, I move my hand across the seat between us. Megan’s hand is by her thigh. When my fingers brush against it, she turns to look at me, then at our hands. I stroke my pinky finger against hers, hoping like hell I’m not overstepping.
After a moment of hesitation, she lifts her hand, but she doesn’t pull away. She turns her hand over, offering me her palm .
Fuck, I never thought I’d get a thrill just from holding a woman’s hand. Not like the way this is making me feel. She smiles tentatively at me, and I give her a full-blown one in return, then squeeze her hand, intertwining our fingers.
We ride the rest of the way, holding hands, not speaking, not even looking at one another. But that connection is enough for me to put the evening behind us, to know I’ll have to deal with the shit storm tomorrow. For now, Megan is reassured.
At her apartment, I get out and we stand by the car. No way in hell am I not seeing her inside, but before we move across the sidewalk, she stops me.
“Would you like to come up for a drink?”
My stomach drops. Not in a bad way, more like surprised as shit. I’m not passing this opportunity up. Although it’s doubtful it’s gonna go the way I’d like it to, it is still a step in the right direction.
“Yeah, if you’re sure that’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t have asked Joey,” she gives me a smirk that makes me laugh.
“Let me tell the driver he can go. I’ll get a cab home,” I hasten to add, so she knows I’m not inviting myself to stay over.
Once I’ve done that, we head inside and take the elevator up to her floor. Her apartment is compact but nicely furnished, with soft eggshell blue walls and dove grey furnishings. There isn’t much in the way of décor, but she does have a lot of plants around and a huge bookcase.
There are a couple of photo frames in one slot. One is of an elderly couple I presume to be her grandparents, the other is her, Jenna and Brooke, their arms around each other.
Jenna and Brooke are both gorgeous women, but my eyes go to Meg and stay there. She’s beaming the hugest grin. It’s so carefree and happy, it’s fucking beautiful to see.
“I have beer, or soda. Or coffee,” Meg says from behind me.
“Beer is good,” I say, turning to face her .
She’s kicked off her high heels and dropped her purse in one corner of the couch. She disappears into the kitchen, and I walk to the windows to look at the view. It’s not great, other high-rise blocks surround the building. I can see someone in the apartment across the street, doing some kind of workout in front of their TV.
“That’s Jane,” Megan says, standing beside me and looking in the direction I am. She hands me a cold beer in a glass.
“A friend?”
“No, I just give nicknames to the people in the buildings.”
“Why Jane?” I laugh.
She scrunches her nose and tries not to laugh. “Jane Fonda.”
“Because she works out a lot,” I grin, looking back across at the woman as she bounces about, waving her arms around. “Your place is nice.”
“Oh, it’s not as nice as yours.”
“Don’t do that,” I tell her as she turns to walk to the sofa.
“Do what?” she pauses and turns to me.
“This place is yours. You worked for it. All we really all want is to have that space that belongs to us, where we feel comfortable.”
“Safe?” she adds, her eyes holding mine.
“Yeah,” I look around her place, see the locks on her doors, the fact it’s high up in the building, the security at the main entrance. “Safe,” I agree.
Megan blinks a couple of times, then goes to sit down. She looks around, as if seeing this place through my eyes.
I walk over and sit down beside her. There is some distance, but not as much as there was in the back seat of the car. I could do more than reach over and touch her hand from this distance.
She looks down into her water. She had champagne at the event, but just one. Not that I’ve been around her much in social settings before, but at Angelina’s she only had a half glass of beer, then switched to soda. I guess she always wants to remain in control .
I’m not a big drinker either. Given I’m going full on tee total, with no vices allowed in just over a week, I’m happy to have a few beers now.
“This isn’t where it happened.”
I’m shocked she brought it up but I do everything I can not to show it. I don’t want her to think I’ve been desperate to know what happened that night, even if I am. I’ve always known this has to come in her own time. Part of me wants to fist pump, because just this one sentence means she trusts me.
“I never went back there… After.”
“No one would want to,” I say, after some thought about the best way to respond. I don’t want her to think there is anything odd about what she is saying. I don’t want her to feel singled out. “Lots of bad memories.”
“A lot.” She gives me a tremulous smile.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I tell her.
“I know that. But… I want to.”
My first thought is to ask why, but I nod encouragingly at her, letting her know I’m here, I’m listening.
“My relationship with… him wasn’t always the way it ended up.”
It usually isn’t, but I say nothing.
“A cliché, right?” she reads my mind. “All women in my situation are ever told is, why didn’t you leave? Why stay when the person you are supposed to love hurts you like that? Most people don’t understand though. It’s not love. It’s fear. Plain and simple.
“And it pisses me off, not because they don’t understand that. It pisses me off that the question they’re asking is why I did what I did. Or didn’t do. Why I stayed, why I let him hurt me. When the question they should really ask is, why did he hurt you? Why did he think it was okay to put his hands on you like that? Why is no one judging him?”
Damn, she is right. Everything she just said. I’m guilty of it too. You hear some guy is knocking his partner around and you instantly ask, why does she let him ?
“And that puts into perspective why it’s so hard to leave. People judge you. Even when they’re trying to be supportive. It’s written all over their faces. You stayed, so that is on you. It’s never about the man doing something wrong. Like, he can be forgiven because you know he’s that way, so you have to take responsibility for your own situation.” Her head comes up, and she looks horrified. “I’m sorry, that was full on. I didn’t mean to say all of that.”
“Never apologize for speaking about anything to do with what happened,” I take her hand without thought and she lets me. “I’ll admit I’m guilty of that too, without even thinking about it, it’s true, that is how people react. And I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all of that.”
She shrugs, but I don’t want her to downplay this.
“I can’t change the way society sees things,” I tell her. “But I want you to know this wasn’t your fault. Any of it.”
“Even killing him,” she whispers.
“Especially not killing him,” I say, a little louder than I thought because she leans away from me. She doesn’t let go of my hand though. “Especially not that,” I repeat, a little gentler.
“You don’t even know what happened,” she says.
“I don’t need to know any details to understand you did what you had to in the moment, Meg.”
“But I…”
“But nothing. You defended yourself and your friend. It’s not about doing what is right to fight back or when it matters most that you took a stand. It’s not about standing up for yourself and fighting back.”
“Are you saying if he hadn’t attacked Jenna, I wouldn’t have done it?”
“I’m saying you need to look at it as something separate from what was going on. Don’t think about what other people say about it. Don’t think that you gave him what he deserved for everything he did to you. It’s written all over your face, Megan. You don’t think he got what he deserved, do you? You think you’re the one who didn’t get what she deserved?”
“I killed him.” A tear spills over her cheek. “He didn’t deserve to die.”
“Maybe not. If a man comes into your apartment and attacks you and your friend, especially intending to harm you, then he takes the chance that things might go bad for him. Megan.”
I turn so I’m facing her and set her drink down from her shaking hands. I take hold of both of them, hoping like fuck I’m getting across what I want to say, and that she doesn’t close up and pull away. Not when we’ve made all this progress. Not when I’m wondering if there might be a chance at us having something more.
“Just because you were in a relationship with him doesn’t change that.”
She frowns and stares at a point just below my chin. I let her work it out in her head. Megan is smart, but it’s been so ingrained in her she did the wrong thing at every turn. She’s struggling to see this for what it was.
Sure, she fought back against her abuser, but that wasn’t why she killed him. It hurts me to think that if that night hadn’t happened she’d still be suffering at the hands of that scumbag, but I need her to know she did nothing wrong because of how people see her situation.
“Thank you,” she says.
This may be wrong, but I decide to take a chance. I let go of one of her hands and put my thumb on her chin, pushing ever so slightly, but not enough to force her. She lets her head tip back on its own and meets my eyes. I fucking hate seeing her tears. She owes him nothing. But I get it, they were together for a long time.
Maybe she didn’t love him, but like she said, she was fearful and that is a powerful emotion too. It tied her to him in a worse way than love ever could. For a second, I struggle to contain my own emotions. My fingers remain on her chin, and we stare at each other.
In my heart, I know what I want to do, but I can’t make that first move. Not until I know she’s ready. After a few seconds I go to move away but her hand comes up and grabs my wrist. Then I watch as she leans towards me, as her chin lifts higher so we’re at eye level.
Her eyes sweep closed, the long lashes dusting the tops of her cheekbones and she presses forward. I watch her, holding my breath, and I swear my fucking heart stops beating.
A delicate, hesitant brush of her mouth against mine. It’s a sweet kiss, a perfect kiss, and one I know I’m never going to come back from.